How to Drive a Dragon Crazy
Page 51
Éibhear stopped and faced her. “Will you be less caustic if I get a little food in you?”
“I might be,” she snapped. “As I said, I’m hungry and I have a lot on my mind!”
“Now we’ve got bellowing,” he muttered, again heading toward the kitchens. “Lovely.”
Annwyl sat at the desk she rarely used, one foot on the edge of the desk, her gaze focused on the stained-glass window. When the knock on the door came, she ignored it. But, as she’d learned over the years, there were few who lived at Garbhán Isle with her who let one ignored knock deter them. Yet she also knew that whoever was on the other side of that door was human, for dragons rarely knocked at all, and if they did knock, they rarely waited for her answer.
By the third knock, Talaith’s voice said from the other side, “Come on, you bitchy sow. I know you’re in there.”
Laughing a little, and also a little relieved to be pulled from her darker-by-the-day thoughts, Annwyl called, “In.”
Talaith entered, closing the door behind her. “You all right?”
“Do I have to be?”
“You should at least try. For the children.”
Then they laughed because some days it seemed like the last thing their children needed was them.
Talaith sat down in a chair on the other side of the desk, her hands resting on the wood. She wore her usual ensemble of black cotton leggings, black knee-high boots, and a loose cotton shirt. This time in a bright blue. Her long hair was loosely tied with a leather strap at her nape, the curly tendrils reaching down her back, and she wore no jewelry except for a lone silver necklace that she kept under her clothes and close to her heart. She was a woman with simple tastes and yet the most beautiful Annwyl had known.
She tried not to hate Talaith for that.
“How did it go with Izzy?” Annwyl asked.
“Surprisingly awful. Who knew she hated my mother so much? She’s never even met her.”
“Do you really not know how protective Izzy is of you?”
“I don’t need protection.”
“It doesn’t matter. Not to Izzy. As far as she’s concerned, your mother is a demon incarnate and deserves to burn for eternity for what she did to you.”
“Well”—Talaith shrugged—“she’s right, but that’s not the point.”
Izzy would have to say that going through Bram the Merciful’s desk was quite fascinating. The dragon seemed to have some connection to everyone. He had correspondence from the hills and valleys to the west that went far past the territorial lines of the Sovereigns. He also had ongoing correspondence with the people of the east, who lived far across the dangerous seas. He’d also been in communication with warlords from the Northlands and Ice Lands, attempting to broker peace between different tribes and hordes. There were other documents that she assumed were from dragons. She couldn’t read them since they were written in the old language of the dragons, but based on the size of the documents . . . yeah, probably dragons.
“Find what you need?” Éibhear asked her from the doorway.
“I think so.” She held up a document. “Does this look right?”
He took the parchment from her and studied it. “Based on what you told me, it does. But Annwyl will never agree to this.”
“If anyone can talk her into it, it’s Bram.” Izzy dropped back into the chair. “But you’re probably right. She hates the Western Horsemen and their horse gods.” The nomadic tribes in the west had been the bane of Annwyl’s existence for many years. They were mostly slavers, raiding weak, poorly defended towns and kidnapping children and the weaker men and women to sell to the Sovereigns. Annwyl hated slavery of any kind, which made her an enemy of the Horsemen. A much hated enemy.
“They tried to kill the twins and Rhi when we were all away at war against the Iron dragons and Sovereigns,” Éibhear reminded her.
“True. And all those involved were wiped from this world by Annwyl’s sword and rage when she returned to Garbhán Isle.”
“I believe your axe was involved also.”
“Well, I was her squire. I couldn’t leave her to fight alone.”
“When do you ever?” He handed the parchment back to her. “Food’s ready.”
“Yeah, all right.” She looked at the other papers she’d set aside. “I think I’ll bring these as well.” She scooped them up and put them into her travel bag. “Just in case.”
Izzy followed Éibhear back to the hall, but she stopped and closed her eyes. “Gods . . . that smells wonderful.”
“I had to go with boar. There was no lamb.”
“I’m so hungry I don’t care.”
“No wine either. I looked everywhere.”
“Oh, I know where that is. He hides it.”
“Hides it? From who?”
When she stared at him, mouth open, he nodded. “Right, right. His own offspring.”
Izzy went to the closet buried deep in Bram’s library where he kept cases of wine and ale and pulled what looked the most interesting. When she returned, the food was on the table and a fire was going in the nearby pit. Éibhear had also put out plates and utensils, their chairs cattycorner from each other.
“Will this do?” she asked, figuring the royal would have a better understanding of wine and ale than she.
Éibhear took the two bottles from her and blew the dust off them. Then his eyes grew wide when he looked at the seal. “Gods, Izzy. This is my grandfather’s.”
“I might be,” she snapped. “As I said, I’m hungry and I have a lot on my mind!”
“Now we’ve got bellowing,” he muttered, again heading toward the kitchens. “Lovely.”
Annwyl sat at the desk she rarely used, one foot on the edge of the desk, her gaze focused on the stained-glass window. When the knock on the door came, she ignored it. But, as she’d learned over the years, there were few who lived at Garbhán Isle with her who let one ignored knock deter them. Yet she also knew that whoever was on the other side of that door was human, for dragons rarely knocked at all, and if they did knock, they rarely waited for her answer.
By the third knock, Talaith’s voice said from the other side, “Come on, you bitchy sow. I know you’re in there.”
Laughing a little, and also a little relieved to be pulled from her darker-by-the-day thoughts, Annwyl called, “In.”
Talaith entered, closing the door behind her. “You all right?”
“Do I have to be?”
“You should at least try. For the children.”
Then they laughed because some days it seemed like the last thing their children needed was them.
Talaith sat down in a chair on the other side of the desk, her hands resting on the wood. She wore her usual ensemble of black cotton leggings, black knee-high boots, and a loose cotton shirt. This time in a bright blue. Her long hair was loosely tied with a leather strap at her nape, the curly tendrils reaching down her back, and she wore no jewelry except for a lone silver necklace that she kept under her clothes and close to her heart. She was a woman with simple tastes and yet the most beautiful Annwyl had known.
She tried not to hate Talaith for that.
“How did it go with Izzy?” Annwyl asked.
“Surprisingly awful. Who knew she hated my mother so much? She’s never even met her.”
“Do you really not know how protective Izzy is of you?”
“I don’t need protection.”
“It doesn’t matter. Not to Izzy. As far as she’s concerned, your mother is a demon incarnate and deserves to burn for eternity for what she did to you.”
“Well”—Talaith shrugged—“she’s right, but that’s not the point.”
Izzy would have to say that going through Bram the Merciful’s desk was quite fascinating. The dragon seemed to have some connection to everyone. He had correspondence from the hills and valleys to the west that went far past the territorial lines of the Sovereigns. He also had ongoing correspondence with the people of the east, who lived far across the dangerous seas. He’d also been in communication with warlords from the Northlands and Ice Lands, attempting to broker peace between different tribes and hordes. There were other documents that she assumed were from dragons. She couldn’t read them since they were written in the old language of the dragons, but based on the size of the documents . . . yeah, probably dragons.
“Find what you need?” Éibhear asked her from the doorway.
“I think so.” She held up a document. “Does this look right?”
He took the parchment from her and studied it. “Based on what you told me, it does. But Annwyl will never agree to this.”
“If anyone can talk her into it, it’s Bram.” Izzy dropped back into the chair. “But you’re probably right. She hates the Western Horsemen and their horse gods.” The nomadic tribes in the west had been the bane of Annwyl’s existence for many years. They were mostly slavers, raiding weak, poorly defended towns and kidnapping children and the weaker men and women to sell to the Sovereigns. Annwyl hated slavery of any kind, which made her an enemy of the Horsemen. A much hated enemy.
“They tried to kill the twins and Rhi when we were all away at war against the Iron dragons and Sovereigns,” Éibhear reminded her.
“True. And all those involved were wiped from this world by Annwyl’s sword and rage when she returned to Garbhán Isle.”
“I believe your axe was involved also.”
“Well, I was her squire. I couldn’t leave her to fight alone.”
“When do you ever?” He handed the parchment back to her. “Food’s ready.”
“Yeah, all right.” She looked at the other papers she’d set aside. “I think I’ll bring these as well.” She scooped them up and put them into her travel bag. “Just in case.”
Izzy followed Éibhear back to the hall, but she stopped and closed her eyes. “Gods . . . that smells wonderful.”
“I had to go with boar. There was no lamb.”
“I’m so hungry I don’t care.”
“No wine either. I looked everywhere.”
“Oh, I know where that is. He hides it.”
“Hides it? From who?”
When she stared at him, mouth open, he nodded. “Right, right. His own offspring.”
Izzy went to the closet buried deep in Bram’s library where he kept cases of wine and ale and pulled what looked the most interesting. When she returned, the food was on the table and a fire was going in the nearby pit. Éibhear had also put out plates and utensils, their chairs cattycorner from each other.
“Will this do?” she asked, figuring the royal would have a better understanding of wine and ale than she.
Éibhear took the two bottles from her and blew the dust off them. Then his eyes grew wide when he looked at the seal. “Gods, Izzy. This is my grandfather’s.”
