A Tale of Two Dragons
And, yes, Braith did consider that a compliment.
Chapter 16
At some point, Braith had removed Addolgar’s chains, but by then he’d had no desire to go anywhere. He was much too comfortable, too bloody happy, to even consider leaving this bed. Not when he had her asleep in his arms, one impossibly long leg wrapped around his waist, her silky hair sweeping across his chest.
He stroked her back and let her sleep until he heard the happy scream of returning hatchlings.
“Braith,” he murmured softly. “Wake up, luv. Your kin are home.”
She lifted her head, pushing her hair off her face. “Huh?”
“Your kin have returned.”
Braith rested her arms on his chest and frowned into his face. “So? Oh. Did they call for me?”
“No, but—”
Owena walked in. “When you’re up,” she said to Braith, “come into the hall. We have something for you.”
“Ooooh!” Braith cheered. “Gifts!”
Owena laughed and walked out. That’s when Addolgar realized something. “They don’t care, do they?”
“Don’t care about what?”
“You, the long lost daughter of their sister, being with someone like me.”
“Someone like you?”
“A Cadwaladr. A low born.”
“Considering they sigh every time your father’s name is mentioned, I’d have to say no, they don’t care.”
“For good or bad, there were few who escaped my father’s attention before he mated with me mum. But it was never far from anyone’s mind that he was and always would be a Cadwaladr. A battle dog that the royals use for protection.”
“I like dogs,” she softly mused. “Especially when they have a little extra fat and are well seasoned.”
“Don’t”—Addolgar closed his eyes and worked hard to not laugh—“ever say that to my mother. She has a fondness for dogs. Live, happy ones.”
“Is that why there were all those dogs running around your—”
“Gods,” he cut in, “you didn’t eat one, did you?”
“No, no.” Braith sat up. “I was too annoyed at you to eat much of anything while at your parents’ home.”
He chuckled. “Aye. You were.”
“I’m going to go see what they got me,” Braith told him, tossing off the fur covering. “I’ll bring you some supper.”
Addolgar sat up, stretching and yawning.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m getting up.” He shook his head before she could argue that. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere. I just can’t lie here anymore. Besides”—he smiled—“I want to see what they got you too.”
“What is he doing up and about?” Owena demanded.
Braith, with Addolgar’s arm over her shoulder so he could hop on his good leg, led the dragon to the big table in the middle of the hall chamber.
“Chair or table?” she asked him.
“Table.”
She got him on the table and waited until he was comfortably situated before facing her aunt.
“What did you ask?”
“I asked what he was doing up?”
“Don’t worry. He’s not planning to make a run for it.”
“He better not,” Owena warned.
“So what did you get me from town?” Braith asked.
“Go on, Delyth. Show your cousin what you picked out for her.”
Delyth, with her hands behind her back, walked up to Braith and, after a lengthy pause, brought both her arms around. She held out something cloth-covered and long. Braith pulled back the cloth and blinked.
“Oh,” she said, staring at the steel and leather-covered hilt. “A sword. How nice.”
“It’s a good weight,” Delyth replied. “A short sword to start you out.”
“Right.” Braith took the weapon from her cousin’s outstretched hands. She hefted it a bit, held it up. “Lovely. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Braith turned and showed Addolgar the weapon.
He stared at it for a long moment before he asked, “That’s what you got her?”
“What does that mean?” Delyth snapped.
“That’s a bloody toothpick.”
Delyth marched around Braith until she faced Addolgar. “It’s not for when she’s dragon. It’s for when she’s human.”
“As human she can break dwarven steel into pieces.” He reached over and took the sword from Braith’s hands. “It’s a beautiful weapon. One my sister Ghleanna would adore. But this isn’t for Braith.”
“Then what is the right weapon for Braith, Lord Smarty Claws?”
Addolgar, his brow going up at the challenge from Delyth, slipped off the table Braith had just put him on and hopped back to their chamber.
“Addolgar!”
“I’m fine!”
Owena shook her head. “That leg will never heal if he keeps running around on it.”
“I know.”
A few seconds later, Addolgar returned with his oversized carrying bag. He hopped over to the table, tossed the bag on it, then sat down again. Once comfortable, he reached into his bag and pulled out a large-headed hammer.
“A hammer?” Delyth asked, hands on hips. “A sword, Cadwaladr, is elegant. A beautiful extension of a warrior’s arm. But you want to give my royal-born cousin a thick, heavy, clumsy weapon like a hammer?”