What a Dragon Should Know
Of everything, the loss of her spectacles worried her the most.
She reached out, her eyes squinting, trying to find the small round frames she’d come to depend on so much. When she got home, she would beg Brother Ragnar for several new pairs.
“No one’s ever taught you to fall, I see.”
Exhausted, in pain, and afraid she’d broken the only things that could help her see clearly, Dagmar glared at the dragon beside her. He’d crouched down next to her, so his form only blurred at the edges. “No, Lord Gwenvael, no one has ever taught me to fall.”
“You need some help?” he asked.
“I need my spectacles.”
He reached in front of her and took hold of something. “Is this the only pair you have?”
Panic swept through her. “They’re broken?”
“No. Just asking. When you’re on the road, things have a tendency to break or get stolen or simply lost. If this is your only pair—”
“It is my only pair at the moment, but I hardly have time to worry about getting a new pair now, do I?”
“You’re being awfully snappy.”
Gritting her teeth together so hard she feared she’d break them into little pieces, Dagmar reached out for her spectacles, hoping to snatch them from his hand. He easily held his hand up, out of her way.
“Give them to me.”
“No. You’ll get blood on them. Your palms are bleeding.” He glanced around, the other people on the road walking around the pair as if they were simply dead animals in their way. “Here. Let’s get off this road.” He reached for her and she raised her hand, expecting him to take it. He didn’t. He simply pushed her arm aside and picked her up by the waist.
“I don’t need to be carried.”
“Obviously you do, you poor, weak, clumsy thing.”
Gwenvael took her deep into the surrounding forest and set her down against a large old tree, her back against its trunk. “Look up at me.”
She did, and he carefully placed the spectacles on her face, making sure they fit perfectly behind her ears. “There. Better?”
She blinked, the world around her back in focus. “You have no idea.”
“Actually I do. When I was ninety-eight, my brother shoved me into a volcano.”
He told her the strangest, most violent stories about his family. And what did that have to do with anything?
“Please tell me there’s more to that story.”
“There is. As you can imagine, lava doesn’t do much damage to my kind. Although”—he leaned in a bit and lowered his voice—“it is great for torturing the Lightnings and the Sand Dragons.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Do. You never know when you’ll need that kind of information. Anyway,” he slowly and carefully moved her hand and wrist, side to side, up and down, watching her closely as he kept talking, “the lava did sting a bit but nothing that would really bother me. But I didn’t close my eyes fast enough. Some splashed in. My sight was blurry for weeks. Finally my mother took me to a healer after I stood in the middle of her Court and cried out, ‘Will no one help the blind one? Will no one love me now that I’m blind?’ ”
Dagmar twisted her lips to prevent any laughter from sneaking out. She wanted to stay angry at him.
“I’m sure you were relieved to have your eyes fixed.”
“I was. But I must admit it was great fun reaching up to my brothers, feeling their faces, and saying, ‘Is this you, Briec? I … I really don’t know.’ ” He laughed. “And if Briec wasn’t such a right bastard, he would have felt really bad for me. Instead he slammed my head against whatever was available.”
He checked each finger and knuckle. “Good. Nothing seems broken there.” He moved down her body and tugged up the hem of her dress. He pulled off her boot and smiled. “Wool socks?”
“They’re warm.”
“A royal wearing socks?”
“I’m not a royal, we don’t have royals in the Northlands. And vanity versus keeping all my toes during our winters … guess which wins?”
“Fair enough.” He pulled off her socks, and both of them cringed. “You need a healer, Lady Dagmar.”
Looking away from the sores covering her feet, Dagmar was forced to agree. “Unfortunately … I believe I do.”
Rhiannon walked quickly down the steps and around a corner to another clearing she could take off from. She sent out a thought for her guards to meet her, giving her a few moments alone with her daughter.
“I can’t believe you hadn’t contacted me before now.”
“You made it clear you didn’t believe her. What was the point of contacting you?”
She swung on her daughter, her forefinger pointed in her hatchling’s face. “I only had to see her to know. Has it been like this all this time?”
“No. The last month or so.” Morfyd threw her hands up. “Talaith and I have tried everything. But it’s like she’s—”
“Being drained. From the inside out.”
“Exactly.” Morfyd rubbed her forehead. “Perhaps we should take her to Devenallt Mountain. There we can—”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“She won’t be safe there.”
“Since when?”
“Since the Elders have decided to focus their attention on Annwyl’s twins. I thought they’d outright reject them, but they haven’t—and that makes me more nervous.”