How to Drive a Dragon Crazy
“I have no idea.”
“You have no idea why you’re here?” Morfyd frowned. “So you just . . . wandered away from battle?”
“You know how my mind wanders. . . .”
“Izzy.”
Izzy chuckled and replied, “Ragnar sent Éibhear to retrieve me, but Éibhear doesn’t know why. My mother doesn’t know why. No one seems to know why. But here I am.”
“And that doesn’t concern you?”
“Keita has always said I’m too pretty to be concerned with anything.”
“Gods!” Morfyd exclaimed. “If you start taking advice from that small-brained idiot—”
“I’m joking. Of course I’m concerned. But it’s not like I was summoned to a pit in one of the hells. At worst, I’m home for whatever problem may come up.” She patted her aunt’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. With me and Brannie here, I’m sure everything will be just fine.”
She stepped around Morfyd and headed toward the kennels.
“Good. And Izzy?”
Izzy stopped and faced her aunt.
“Have you heard from Rhydderch Hael?”
Taking a breath, Izzy outright lied. “No.”
Her aunt studied her. “You let me know if you do.”
“Of course,” Izzy stated, again heading toward the kennels.
She had no idea why she’d just lied to Morfyd, but her gut had told her that, at least for the moment, it was the best idea all around.
Chapter 13
Éibhear, as was his way, got lost in the books. Instead of merely piling them in the corner of the library and going to take a nap before evening meal, he ended up attempting not only to organize the new books he’d brought to the library but the ones that had been there before Annwyl’s father’s time.
To be honest, he’d thought Dagmar’s nephew would have wandered away by now—he seemed a constantly dazed boy—but, like Éibhear, he seemed comfortable in the library, quickly and easily taking orders on where to place books or what shelves to clean off so they could start again.
It was a nice, quiet time such as Éibhear realized he hadn’t enjoyed in quite a while. As one of the Mì-runach, spending more than a few hours reading, once or twice a week, was frowned upon. “Who has time for books when there’s drinking and whoring and killing to do?” Old Angor would demand before slapping some book Annwyl or Talaith had sent to Éibhear from Éibhear’s hands and shoving him toward the closest pub.
Not that Éibhear minded drinking and whoring and killing. He didn’t. But he’d always felt that reading and book buying fit easily into that list as well.
Frederik handed over another book to Éibhear. “I wish I could read better.”
“Spend time in here and you’ll be able to. Reading is learned by doing. It’s a skill almost all can have to some extent as long as they practice.” He leaned in and added low, “Besides, it’s a wonderful escape from your family when necessary.” He shrugged and stood tall, looking at the spine of the book. “Unless, of course, they track you down and—”
“My dear sweet son!”
Éibhear bit back a sigh and slowly faced the front of the library. He smiled. “Hello, Mum.”
Izzy had just stirred the simmering stew once again when she heard the knock.
Grinning, she dropped the ladle on the table and charged across the small room. She snatched the door open and grinned.
Brannie held up two bottles of Bercelak’s ale, her smile wide. But it was what was behind Brannie—or, in this case, who—that had Izzy pushing past her friend and straight into the arms of the dragon standing there.
“Celyn!”
Big arms tightened around her waist, lifting Izzy from the ground and holding her tight. “My little Izzy.”
“Pack it in, you two,” Brannie said, walking into the house. “There’s stew and bread and ale. . . . We can save the hugging for later.”
Éibhear hugged his mother, smiling when she whispered in his ear, “Oh, how I’ve missed you, my son.”
“I’ve missed you too, Mum. So much.”
“Did you miss me too, boy?” Éibhear could hear the sneer in that voice, his own lip starting to curl in annoyance as he spotted his father in the doorway.
His mother quickly pushed him back and asked, “And who is this young lad?”
Father and son snarled at each other until his mother shoved Éibhear’s shoulder. “Introduce us, son.”
“This is Frederik Reinholdt. Lady Dagmar’s nephew.”
“Ohhh, well aren’t you a strapping lad!” his mother exclaimed. She motioned Frederik closer. “I’m Queen Rhiannon, but you can call me Queen Rhiannon.”
Gazing at Rhiannon, his mouth slightly open, Frederik took the hand Rhiannon offered and bowed low from the waist. “My . . . my lady.”
Rhiannon’s smile was wide as she leaned in and said, “Aren’t you just adorable! I could just eat you right up!”
“Mum!”
“Well, I don’t mean literally!”
Izzy took the stew off the fire and placed it in the middle of the table, while Brannie put bowls and spoons out and Celyn poured the ale. It was an old routine that they’d started a few years back.
Hard to believe, though, considering all that had happened.