Authors: G. A. Aiken
Tags: #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Romance, #dragons
He didn’t realize Dagmar sat beside him until he felt her take his hand, interlacing their fingers.
“You wouldn’t lie to me—even if I begged you to, would you?” he asked.
Dagmar shook her head. “No, Gwenvael. Not about something like this.”
“I understand.”
“But I will be here. As long as you need me. If that helps.”
“It helps.”
She nodded and squeezed his hand.
And when the screaming started, she squeezed his hand tighter.
Standing in the middle of the courtyard, the afternoon suns beginning their descent to nighttime, Dagmar gave the guard captain further instructions on what she wanted and sent him off. She pulled out her plans and studied them. Her overwhelming feeling of dread had made her choices confusing. Usually she knew what to do and when to do it almost immediately. Quick decision-making something she’d always prided herself on. But the gut instinct she often relied on was too clouded by the dread that had settled over Garbhán Isle. A dread that had magnified in the past hour. Because in the past hour, the screaming had stopped.
Dagmar had assisted on many births over the years. Not by choice but because it was expected of her. And in all those years the one thing she’d always known was that it was never a quiet affair. There was always screaming, crying, some laughing, and, in the case of many of her brothers’ wives, lots of cursing and promises of brutal retribution.
One look at Annwyl and Dagmar knew she was a curser. And yet now the queen lay quiet behind her closed door. Only Morfyd, Talaith, and several healers allowed inside. And outside that bedroom were Gwenvael’s kin—waiting.
Suddenly Dagmar heard screaming, but it was not Annwyl. It was the humans around her in the courtyard. They screamed and ran off. She only had a few seconds to wonder why when the wind stirred and lifted around her. She looked up and watched in fascination as a great white dragon touched her claws to the ground, her wings scraping against the nearby buildings. A black dragon landed behind her, and almost immediately they shifted to human.
Dagmar had to fight her urge to stare. The female was beautiful. Astonishingly beautiful with white hair that reached down to her toes and a long, strong body. But it was the markings that had Dagmar wanting to move closer to take a long look. The dragoness had been branded with the image of a dragon from the tip of one toe, across her foot, around her leg, swirling around her torso, back, chest, until it reached her neck. It was not a nasty brand she might have received while being held prisoner either. It was a beautiful brand of a dragon. Almost elegant in its execution with the darkest black markings against white skin. It should have marred her beauty, but it didn’t. And she clearly wore it with pride.
The Claiming that Morfyd and Talaith had told Dagmar about. Romantic? Really? Looked more painful than romantic.
Cold blue eyes immediately locked on Dagmar. “You. Servant girl. Where is your queen?”
Bercelak placed his hand on the female’s shoulder and turned so he could speak to her in hushed tones. That was when Dagmar realized Bercelak had his own brand. This one covered his back all the way down until his ass met his thighs.
“This is Dagmar Reinholdt, my love. Of the north.” He gave something of a smile to Dagmar while motioning to the female. “Dagmar, this is the Dragon Queen of Dark Plains.”
Sizing the monarch up almost instantly, Dagmar dropped to one knee and bowed her head. “My liege. It is a great and overwhelming honor to meet you.”
“Hhhhm,” the Dragon Queen said. “One who knows the proper ways of things.”
Long legs, one of them branded, now stood in front of Dagmar. “Rise, Northlander.”
Dagmar did. “What is thy bidding, my liege?”
“Yes,” she said. “This one has been taught well.” She motioned toward the castle. “Take me to Annwyl.”
Dagmar headed back to the castle, the two dragons behind her.
“We need to put clothes on,” her consort told the Dragon Queen.
“I don’t have time for that.”
Dagmar stopped right inside the doorway leading to the Great Hall. “Your daughter left you clothes for your convenience, my liege.”
“Honestly! Humans and their weakness.”
“I couldn’t agree more, my lady.”
The queen sniffed and held her hand out. “Just give me the damn things.”
Once the queen had slipped the simple sheath gown over her head and Bercelak had pulled on black leggings and boots, Dagmar led them up the stairs and to the back of the hallway. The room had been set up specifically for when Annwyl was ready to give birth. Supplies had been stocked and at the ready and the bed had been much smaller than her own so that the healers and Morfyd could move around it easily.
As soon as they stepped into the hallway, the Dragon Queen’s offspring pulled themselves up from the floor.
The queen’s blue eyes swept across the group before she stepped next to Briec. “Where is Keita?” she demanded softly.
The silver-haired dragon shrugged and rolled his eyes. “I have no idea.”
The queen let out a sigh. “Foolish brat. I should have known…Never mind. I’ll deal with her later.” She leaned over and kissed her son’s cheek. “Briec.”
“Mother.”
She moved down the hallway, greeting each of her children.
Smiling at Éibhear, she brushed his blue hair off his worried face. “My baby boy.”
“Hello, Mum.” She went up on her toes and he came down a bit so she could kiss his forehead. She greeted Gwenvael next, kissing his cheek. “And my brat.”
“Mother.”
She stopped in front of Izzy, placing her hand on the girl’s cheek, wiping a tear with her thumb. “Hello, my little Izzy.”
Izzy choked on a sob. “Grandmum.”
The queen leaned down and kissed her cheek, then whispered something in the girl’s ear. Izzy let out a breath and nodded.
Several more steps took the queen to the front of the door Annwyl lay behind—and her eldest son.
“My son.”
“Mother.”
She petted his cheek, and Dagmar saw more affection in that single gesture than she’d ever seen before. The queen turned away from her son and grabbed the handle on the door. She snapped her fingers. “Northlander. With me.”
Gwenvael’s eyes widened and he reached for Dagmar. She shook her head. “It’s all right,” she whispered as she passed him and followed the queen.
The door closed behind them, and Dagmar saw the relief on Morfyd’s face at the sight of her mother. She stepped away from the bed and motioned her mother closer. The two began to speak in soft whispers while Talaith held Annwyl’s hand and wiped her brow. Three other healers worked with herbs and roots, creating different concoctions they hoped would help.
Dagmar looked down at Annwyl and she felt suddenly cold all over. The strong—albeit crying—female she’d met just yesterday in the library was gone. All that remained was a pale, sweat-covered body lying in soaked furs. The only sign of life was when her body would stiffen as another bout of pain shot through her. It would last twenty or so seconds, and then she’d be still again.
For the first time in years, Dagmar thought of her own mother. Had she looked like this before Dagmar came screaming into the world? Did she seem so weak and near death to Sigmar? And would these children spend their lives blaming themselves for their mother’s death as Dagmar secretly did?
Would they be right?
The Dragon Queen stepped away from her daughter and over to Talaith’s side. She took Annwyl’s hand from Briec’s mate and closed her eyes. Dagmar had no concept of how long the queen stood like that. A few seconds, minutes, days? She didn’t know. They all crowded around the bed, waiting for her to say something. Anything.
But she didn’t have to say a word. Not once she opened those eyes. Those blue eyes that had been so cold only minutes before when she’d looked at Dagmar, now appeared…devastated. She was devastated. Devastated because there was absolutely nothing she could do.
Dagmar knew this even before Talaith turned away and walked to the window. Even before Morfyd shook her head and said, “No, Mother. You have to do something. There must be something.”
The queen gently laid Annwyl’s arm back down, placing it carefully. “You already know there’s nothing I can do. That you can do. Nothing except one thing.”
“No.” Tears flowed freely down Morfyd’s cheeks as she stepped away from the bed and her mother. “No. I won’t do it.”
“Tell her what she told you, Northlander.”
Dagmar’s head snapped up and both Talaith and Morfyd turn to stare at her. “My liege, I—”
“This is no time for games, little girl. In fact, we are running out of time quite quickly, so you tell them. Tell them what she said to you and Bercelak when you brought her back here from the stables. Tell them what she made you promise her.”
Dagmar had never planned to say anything about what Annwyl had said, hoping it was merely the words of a scared, first-time mother. And when Bercelak had only grunted at Annwyl’s words, Dagmar had assumed he’d say nothing either. And perhaps he hadn’t. Perhaps his mate knew him so well he’d not had to say a word for her to know the truth of things.
Dagmar cleared her throat, wishing for the first time in days she was back at home with her idiot sisters-in-law and her dangerously stupid brothers.
“She…um…She told us that no matter what, you were to save the babes. Even if it meant her life, you were to save them.”
Morfyd’s head bowed at Dagmar’s words while Talaith’s gaze moved to the ceiling.
“She knows the price,” the Dragon Queen explained. “She knows and she’s made her choice. We can not ignore that.”
“But Fearghus…”
“Has to know before we start.” The queen nodded. “I will tell him.”
“No.” Morfyd wiped her face with the palms of her hands. “I’ll tell him.” She headed toward the door, but stopped long enough to tell the healers, “Prepare everything we need.”
Gwenvael looked up from his place on the floor as the door slowly creaked open and Morfyd stepped out. She kept her eyes down and immediately reached for Fearghus. She took his hand and walked him down the hall a bit, pulling him into the doorway of an unused room at the very end of the hall.
The rest of them got to their feet, pulling themselves up off the floor and watching as Morfyd placed her hand on their brother’s shoulder and stepped in close. She kept her voice low, but whatever she said, whatever she told him, had Fearghus sitting hard on the floor, the door slamming against the wall as his back fell into it. Morfyd dropped in front of him, both hands now on his shoulders as she spoke to him. He shook his head and pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes.
Gwenvael immediately looked at Briec and he saw the same shock and pain in his brother’s face that he felt. Éibhear simply kept shaking his head, as if refusing to believe what he knew was truth.
But it was Izzy, Izzy who loved Annwyl as more than a favorite aunt, who burst into hysterical tears. She pushed herself away from the wall and tried to run. But Bercelak grabbed hold of her and swept her up in his arms.
“It’s all right, Izzy. It’s all right,” he whispered as he stroked her back and let her sob uncontrollably into his neck, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her legs around his waist.
Gwenvael looked back at Fearghus and Morfyd. His brother finally nodded to something his sister said. She kissed his forehead and stood, walking back toward them. She reached out and grasped the door handle. Before pushing it open, she said to them all, “We’ll let you know when we’re done.”
Then she slipped inside, the door closing behind her.
Fearghus sat on the castle roof, staring out over Dark Plains. He’d stayed human, knowing he’d have to go back inside at any moment. But he’d discovered this particular spot long ago that he could easily reach while human or dragon.
He sat and stared, his boot-shod feet pressed against the slats all that kept him in place.
He’d always known that any time Annwyl went off to battle, she may not return to him except on the shields of her men. They both knew it was a risk they took because they were monarchs who did not hide behind fortress walls waiting for wars to end. They fought alongside their kind. And with that choice, they risked death.
Yet this had not been their choice. They’d never sat down and discussed having children and when. Instead the gods had chosen for them, taking away any choice they had.
And because of the gods, Fearghus was going to lose his mate. The only female he would ever truly love. Even when they were thousands of leagues apart from each other, Fearghus always knew Annwyl was part of his world, part of his life.
Now he’d no longer have that comfort, that certainty.
He heard two strong cries ring out through the castle and he shut his eyes, trying so very hard not to feel resentment toward innocents who had even less choice in all of this than he and Annwyl had.
He knew he should go down to be with his twins, but he simply didn’t have the heart. The pain tore at him like knives.
As he sat, relieved when the crying eventually stopped, he felt his mother sit down next to him. He wasn’t surprised she’d tracked him down. The only other who could have was Annwyl.
“A boy and a girl,” she said. “Beautiful. Healthy.” She shrugged. “Seem human.”
“And Annwyl’s dead.”
“No. Not yet.”
Fearghus looked at his mother. “But you’re the only thing keeping her alive.”
“For as long as I can.”
“And how long is that?”
She took a breath. “Three days. Perhaps four.”