What a Dragon Should Know
Gwenvael winced. “I understand how that could upset you, Dagmar, but I can assure you it’s a very common practice. My grandmother attended colleges all over the Southlands as human and no one ever knew.”
She pointed at the letter and continued to sob.
“Dagmar, all it says is that he’s responsible for me being alive and safe and wants to talk to my mother about an alliance to help him overthrow his father.”
When she continued to cry, he went on, “This is standard political crap. I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”
Swallowing back her tears, “We both know this”—she pointed at the parchment in his hand—“is, excuse my father’s term, elk shit. We both know he doesn’t simply want me to convince you to take me to the Southlands just to get this ridiculous letter into the Dragon Queen’s hands.”
“So?”
“Which means he really wants me there for another reason. Once I’m there, he’ll want me to do something to benefit him.”
“Probably true … so?”
“And normally, I would jump at the chance. To travel into the Southlands. To meet Queen Annwyl and bargain for a much better deal than I got with you.”
“That was an excellent deal.”
“Normally, I’d lie and connive and do whatever necessary to make you take me into the south.”
“But …”
More tears began to flow. “But that thing …”
“Thing? What thing?”
“That thing … in one’s head … that tells you when something would be wrong to do. It won’t let me do it.”
Feeling a sudden high level of annoyance, Gwenvael carefully asked, “Do you mean your … conscience?”
Her tears turned into hysterical sobs, and she went down on her side, her head dropping into his lap.
“Dagmar! Everyone has a conscience.”
“I don’t!”
“Of course you do.”
“I’m a politician, Gwenvael! Of course, I don’t have a conscience. At least I didn’t. Now I’m cursed with one. And it’s your fault!”
Somehow he knew that last bit would happen.
Why didn’t he understand? Why couldn’t he see? A conscience made her weak and vulnerable. Another poor female to be taken advantage of. Next thing she knew, she’d be planning parties, begging her father to arrange for suitors, and thinking about having children.
This was a nightmare!
“Stop it,” he ordered, grabbing her shoulders and forcing her to sit up. “Stop it right now.”
“Just say it. Say that I’m pathetic. That I allowed that bastard to trick me for twenty years and I never realized it and now I have a bloody conscience. Just say that I’m worthless and get it over with.”
“I will do no such thing. You have a conscience. You’ve always had a conscience. You might as well face it.”
She scowled at him through her tears. “Liar! I’ve never had a conscience before now.”
“Dagmar, you attacked a dragon that breathes fire because he was going to eat your puppy.”
“I had to protect him.” And when he smirked, she quickly added, “He has a use.”
“Looks a little small to be one of your battle dogs. So what use does he have?”
“Who else would eat up all the scraps off the floor?”
“Dagmar.”
“All right, all right. Fine. I have a conscience. There. Happy?”
“Ecstatic.” He crouched in front of her and wiped her face with the sleeve of his linen shirt. “Annwyl’s going to like you. She doesn’t like to think she has a conscience either.”
“I’m not going with you, but I will give you the information you need and I have maps that should help.”
“Good. You’ll bring them with you when we leave for the Southlands in the morning.”
He had to know this was dangerous. Ragnar wanted her in the south for a reason, but neither of them knew why. “Don’t be foolish, Gwenvael.”
“I’m not.” He grabbed the wine and settled on the ground, his back against the trunk. He took her hand and tugged her to his side. The thought of sitting on the ground did nothing for her, but it seemed an evening for such things.
Taking a sip, he handed her the bottle. “Before we do anything, though, I need answers to important questions. Honest, direct answers.”
“All right.”
“What’s coming for Annwyl?”
“Minotaurs.”
He sighed. “I asked for honest, direct answers.”
“And that’s what you got.”
“Minotaurs? Standing cows are coming for Annwyl? You want me to believe that?”
“Standing cows that are trained from birth to kill in the name of whatever gods their elders worship.”
“Did Ragnar tell you about the Minotaurs?”
“He did. But I heard it from others. I believe it’s true.”
“Fine. Then I’ll believe it’s true as well.” Gwenvael took another drink of wine. “I have to say the day is getting stranger.”
“And your second question?”
“How did you get the name Beast?”
Dagmar rubbed her forehead, the pain of her past returning violently. “And that’s important to know why?”
“Tell me.”
Dagmar held her hand out. “More wine.”