What a Dragon Should Know

“When I was thirteen,” she began, suddenly looking much younger than her thirty winters, “one of my father’s nephews came to visit. He was much older than I, but we’d never gotten along. Apparently I was a ‘know-it-all bitch who should be tossed into a convent’ while he ‘should have been strangled at birth and thrown off a mountainside as our ancestors used to do.’ Needless to say, when he came to visit this time, we kept our distance. Yet he was never a smart boy and rumors quickly spread that he’d been making fun of me to his men. Telling them I was ‘growing into a right beast.’ I ignored it, even though my father and brothers had also heard the same rumors. But I didn’t say a word or complain. Just didn’t see the point.

“One night, a day or so before he was supposed to return to his father’s lands, I left the kennels and was about to enter the fortress. I heard one of the servant girls and went around the corner to make sure everything was all right. I didn’t like what I saw and she seemed to be even unhappier, so I grabbed my cousin and pulled him away. Angry and drunk, he grabbed my throat and punched me in the face, breaking my spectacles.”

“Bastard.”

She chuckled, but kept with her story. “As usual, however, I was not alone. I had Canute’s great-grandfather with me. As he’d been trained to do, he took my cousin to the ground by the throat and held him there, waiting for my next command.” She stopped, took another gulp of wine. “My cousin was begging me to call him off, and by this point my father and three eldest brothers were standing behind me after they’d been fetched by the servants. I looked at my father and said, ‘I shouldn’t.’ He replied, ‘But as a Northlander, we all know you will.’ I knew what was expected, so I did it.” She swallowed. “I gave the command and my dog … finished him. The next day my father sent the remains back to my uncle with a note that read, ‘A little gift from The Beast.’ ”

“And that uncle was Jökull?”

She nodded. “And that was Jökull’s favorite son. Not long after was the siege that killed my brother’s wife.”

“You blame yourself.”

“Sometimes. I can’t help but wonder where we’d be if I’d only given a different command.”

“Too late for those thoughts. They don’t help. Besides, I don’t worry about what I should have done. I only worry about what I’m going to do now.”

“Yes. That sounds about right for you.”

He got to his feet. “Come on. We need to get ready.”

“You still plan to bring me to the Southlands?” She held out her hand and he grabbed it, easily hauling her to her feet. “Seems foolish to me.”

“Maybe. We’ll see.” But he didn’t think so. Nothing had ever felt more right before in Gwenvael’s life than taking Dagmar Reinholdt to Dark Plains with him.

“I’ll need to send my father another letter before we go.” She wiped the dirt from the back of her skirt with both hands and gave that wicked little grin he’d learned to enjoy. “And I think I could use your help with wording.”

Sigmar shoveled food into his mouth and completely ignored his daughter-in-law. Ever since Dagmar had gone off with the dragon, his oldest boy’s wife had been more and more impossible.

It wasn’t news that she hated his daughter, but she needed to face the fact that she didn’t stand a chance against The Beast. Few did.

“All I’m suggesting is that a marriage between her and Lord Tryggvi would do you very well.”

“Is that right?” Sigmar asked, putting down his spoon. “What do you know about him?”

“He’s the ruler of Spikenhammer and is an excellent warrior.”

“True enough. What else?”

“What else? Well, I know his mother is—”

“His mother? What do I care about his mother? I mean what about him? Which gods does he worship?”

“I don’t know. Who cares?”

“You should. What if he worships them gods that demand sacrifices? Human sacrifices,” he said before she could mention oxen or deer. “How does he handle crime in his city? What kind of executions does he run? Does he believe in torture? If so, what kind?”

Her mouth opened and closed several times, but she had no answers.

“That’s the difference between you two.” He looked at his sons, each of them eating heartily before they headed off for training. “Isn’t that right?”

They grunted agreements around their food.

“You don’t know those answers, girl, but she would. She sure as f**k wouldn’t come to me with some half-thought-out idea. She’d have already asked the questions and found the answers.” He slammed his finger into his temple several times. “ ’Cause she thinks that one does. Which is more than I can say about you.”

She looked at Sigmar’s oldest. “You going to let him talk to me that way?”

“Only if he’s right. And he’s right.”

“My lord.” One of the servants rushed in. He was the one Dagmar worked closest with, and he now handled many of her duties now that she was gone. He was smarter than most but feared Sigmar enough not to push anything. “Another missive from Lady Dagmar. It seems to be nearly three days old.”

“Read it,” Sigmar ordered him.

Opening the sealed parchment quickly he began, “ ‘Dearest Father. I hope this letter finds you well. I know I promised to be at Gestur’s by now, but there’s been another change of plan.’ ”