Light My Fire

“What are you talking about?” Dagmar asked Gwenvael.

“Var wasn’t with Bram. I found him with the Rider. She was taking him to safety. Protecting him with her life from what I could see.”

Dagmar’s eyes narrowed. “That does not change how I feel about her whore sister.”

“Completely understandable. But since she did protect our boy, perhaps we could use the term ‘whore sister’ a little less. Just a suggestion, mind. But still . . . seems in poor taste, considering.”

“Elina said I had nothing to fear, Mum. That she’d protect me. And you should have seen the way she rode her horse,” Var gushed. “And she still shot her arrows while her horse was moving. She can turn all the way around in mid-gallop so she can shoot whatever’s behind her.”

“Oooooh,” Arlais sang. “Someone’s in lo-oo-ve.”

Var pushed his sister to the ground and she let out an ear-deafening screech.

“You fool! Auntie Keita gave me this dress! Now there’s dirt all over it!”

“Oh, stop whining!” Var shot back. “You already have blood on the front of it.” Var stopped. Blinked. “Wait. Why do you already have blood on the front of it?”

“Inside!” Dagmar ordered. “Everyone inside!”

“Mum? What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you inside,” she whispered to her son. “Now take your sisters and go.”

Var helped his still-complaining sister up and dragged her into the Great Hall. Izzy and Frederik followed behind with the rest of the girls.

Once they were gone, Dagmar wrapped her arms around Gwenvael’s waist and hugged him.

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for bringing my son home to me.”

Gwenvael hugged her and admitted, “I had little choice. That Rider woman made it very clear she wanted the world to be safe. And the only way to do that was to get your son back to you. I definitely heard fear in her orders.”

“You heard nothing of the kind. Not from a death-welcoming Rider.” She lifted her chin, resting it against his chest. “But she was right. If you hadn’t brought my son back to me alive and well, I would have destroyed everyone and everything.”

Gwenvael laughed and kissed her nose. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now, I have a question for you.”

“Of course.”

“Where’s your dog, Dagmar? Adda is never far from you.”

“She was . . . hurt. Badly. Éibhear was heading to Bram’s castle to get Var when communication opened up again. He knew you had Var and that his cousins were protecting Bram, so he came back here and rushed Adda to the kennel master, but I have no idea if she’ll survive her injuries. . . .”

Unable to go on, Dagmar held Gwenvael tighter.

“You need to tell me what happened with my daughters.”

“I will. I’ll tell you everything. When we’re alone . . . and absolutely no one in this world can hear a word we say. Ever.”

“Well . . . that sounds ominous.”

Those sent to Bram’s castle had returned and now sat at one table in the Great Hall, mostly silent.

Although Bram and Dagmar had survived the day, Gwenvael and his siblings had heard from Rhiannon that quite a few other peacekeepers—dragon and human—had not. Within the same hour, it seemed, they’d all been assassinated by people or fellow dragons they thought loyal to them or, at the very least, loyal to the queens.

Things had changed in a most sudden and brutal fashion, but none of that would stop Gwenvael’s kin. Gods knew, his siblings and the Cadwaladrs loathed change like horse shit caught between one’s talons. But that would never stop them from fighting. From defending what belonged to them.

There was just one hindrance to moving forward on any bold plans they could come up with . . . Annwyl.

She was still missing; even Fearghus and Briec, who’d missed all the action while searching, had been unable to track her down.

Even more terrifying, they were all sure that Annwyl had gone off with Brigida the Foul. Once the spell that had blocked communications between kin had been removed by Rhiannon, and Morfyd and Talaith had found out that Annwyl had gone missing, they’d quickly used magick in an attempt to track the errant queen down. They found the last place she’d been in Garbhán Isle just before she’d entered some mystical doorway and disappeared. Opening doorways, they explained, was bloody hard work and often took weeks if not months of preparation. But this doorway had been opened suddenly and with no warning by a great power. A power they could only assume came from Brigida.

And if Annwyl and Brigida were together? Well, that was something that could only end badly. And that such a She-dragon might have her talons dug deep into Annwyl the Bloody of all beings . . . ? Gods.

What else did this day hold?

Izzy, sitting on Éibhear’s lap, straightened her spine, and looked around the table. “Well I guess the Rebel King won’t be asking us to protect his sister again.”

“I don’t know why he asked us to do it in the first place,” Briec grumbled. “Her flame nearly burnt out the valley.”

Celyn winced. “What is that flame she has? Me ankle still hurts where her damn flame hit me.”

“Your whining sickens me,” Elina stated, her gaze locked on the wall behind the table.

And Gwenvael had to know . . . what was she always looking at over there?