How to Drive a Dragon Crazy
Page 54
“My father’s ale? You can drink my father’s ale?”
“I love your father’s ale. Clears me lungs of smoke after we’ve burned an army fort down.”
“You’ve become quite a woman.”
“Are you being sarcastic?”
“Not at all. Even I can’t drink my father’s ale. While it clears your lungs out, it just burns mine.” He shook his head, stared at her a moment. “You really can see me? And Gwenvael?”
“Aye.” She gestured to her shoulder and the brand burned into her arm from a bastard god so many years ago. “I just assumed it was something from Rhydderch Hael.”
Éibhear poured himself a mug of ale. “What else do you think you got from him?”
“Don’t know. I used to think my strength, but Mum figures that was from the Magicks not used when I was born.”
“I don’t understand.”
“When a Nolwenn is about to have a girl, she performs spells and sacrifices to direct the Magicks she’ll be born with.”
“Direct them where?”
“I don’t know. Maybe to her soul or whatever. Anyway, my mother was unable to do this with me at the time and it seems any Magicks I might have had dissipated and instead became bound up in my muscles, my strength. I guess it makes sense . . . but it doesn’t explain Annwyl, and she’s as strong as me.”
“Nothing explains Annwyl.” He placed the bottle on the table. “But I’m sure her strength comes from her anger. There’s no god or Magicks that can fight that.”
“Very true.” She held up her mug. “To kin.”
Éibhear nodded, touched his mug to hers. “To kin.”
They each drank deep. When Izzy lowered her mug, she wiped the back of her mouth with her hand. “Not bad. Very smooth.” She glanced at Éibhear. “What do you think?”
He didn’t speak, just shook his head.
“You all right?”
Another head shake.
Izzy reached across the table and touched his hand. “What is it?”
“I think I’ve gone blind,” he finally gasped and coughed.
Laughing now, Izzy took the mug from Éibhear and poured the rest of the ale into her own. “Yeah. Right. You were going to get me drunk enough to tell you anything.”
Chapter 17
They sat on his Uncle Bram’s table, one of the bottles of ale polished off. But Éibhear was unwilling to open the second. He liked his lungs to be functional . . . to breathe. He was sure if he drank another drop of that ale, breathing would be the last thing they’d ever do.
Yet he was willing to drink as much as he had because, at the very least, it relaxed things a bit between him and Izzy. She wasn’t drunk. Not even close. But she was like the Izzy he remembered. The Izzy he hadn’t embarrassed in front of their family. The Izzy he hadn’t walked away from that last night on the hill outside Garbhán Isle. Instead, she was the Izzy who liked to steal his weapons—weapons very few humans could lift much less abscond with and then “train” with—and argue with him over ridiculous things and play with his hair.
It gave him hope that, even now, when she thought he wasn’t looking, she’d stare at his hair. He liked to imagine her fingers itching to run through it.
Laughing, she held up a dagger he’d taken off a Spike a couple of years back. How she’d got it from his leg holster, he had no idea. He’d never seen her move.
“It’s gold.”
“Mostly. Steel makes up the blade.”
“But they use so much.”
“They have tons of it. Under all that ice and snow is tons of gold.”
She handed the weapon back to him. “Did you find a lot?”
“Of gold? Aye. We all did. Anytime we had a break, we’d start digging around a cave or breaking the ice on a river. I was able to afford my own castle not far from my grandfather’s territory. I always liked it there.”
“You own a castle?”
“I own a town. It’s nice. People are friendly. Has an amazing library.”
She snorted. “You and your precious books.” She glanced around. “Uncle Bram’s place must be heaven to you.”
“Too messy. I don’t know how he finds anything.” He looked at the disorganized stacks of books piled on the floors, studying the titles. “Besides . . . read most of these.”
“Why?”
Exasperated, Éibhear demanded, “Who questions reading?”
“I guess I do. Just don’t know why you bother.”
“Because I like it. Did no one teach you to read?”
“I know how to read, you big bastard. I just read important things.”
“Battle histories?”
“Those are quite helpful.” Izzy inched closer. “Did you miss being here? In the Southlands? Among your kin?”
“I guess.” Then Éibhear admitted, “Well, not at first. At first I was too angry to miss anything or anyone.”
“Because of what happened to Austell?”
“That was part of it.”
“It’s hard losing comrades, Éibhear. Of course,” she added, leaning in a bit closer, “everyone tells you that, but it means nothing until you’ve actually been through it.”
“I’m guessing you have.”
“More than I care to think about. It never gets any easier, does it?”
“I love your father’s ale. Clears me lungs of smoke after we’ve burned an army fort down.”
“You’ve become quite a woman.”
“Are you being sarcastic?”
“Not at all. Even I can’t drink my father’s ale. While it clears your lungs out, it just burns mine.” He shook his head, stared at her a moment. “You really can see me? And Gwenvael?”
“Aye.” She gestured to her shoulder and the brand burned into her arm from a bastard god so many years ago. “I just assumed it was something from Rhydderch Hael.”
Éibhear poured himself a mug of ale. “What else do you think you got from him?”
“Don’t know. I used to think my strength, but Mum figures that was from the Magicks not used when I was born.”
“I don’t understand.”
“When a Nolwenn is about to have a girl, she performs spells and sacrifices to direct the Magicks she’ll be born with.”
“Direct them where?”
“I don’t know. Maybe to her soul or whatever. Anyway, my mother was unable to do this with me at the time and it seems any Magicks I might have had dissipated and instead became bound up in my muscles, my strength. I guess it makes sense . . . but it doesn’t explain Annwyl, and she’s as strong as me.”
“Nothing explains Annwyl.” He placed the bottle on the table. “But I’m sure her strength comes from her anger. There’s no god or Magicks that can fight that.”
“Very true.” She held up her mug. “To kin.”
Éibhear nodded, touched his mug to hers. “To kin.”
They each drank deep. When Izzy lowered her mug, she wiped the back of her mouth with her hand. “Not bad. Very smooth.” She glanced at Éibhear. “What do you think?”
He didn’t speak, just shook his head.
“You all right?”
Another head shake.
Izzy reached across the table and touched his hand. “What is it?”
“I think I’ve gone blind,” he finally gasped and coughed.
Laughing now, Izzy took the mug from Éibhear and poured the rest of the ale into her own. “Yeah. Right. You were going to get me drunk enough to tell you anything.”
Chapter 17
They sat on his Uncle Bram’s table, one of the bottles of ale polished off. But Éibhear was unwilling to open the second. He liked his lungs to be functional . . . to breathe. He was sure if he drank another drop of that ale, breathing would be the last thing they’d ever do.
Yet he was willing to drink as much as he had because, at the very least, it relaxed things a bit between him and Izzy. She wasn’t drunk. Not even close. But she was like the Izzy he remembered. The Izzy he hadn’t embarrassed in front of their family. The Izzy he hadn’t walked away from that last night on the hill outside Garbhán Isle. Instead, she was the Izzy who liked to steal his weapons—weapons very few humans could lift much less abscond with and then “train” with—and argue with him over ridiculous things and play with his hair.
It gave him hope that, even now, when she thought he wasn’t looking, she’d stare at his hair. He liked to imagine her fingers itching to run through it.
Laughing, she held up a dagger he’d taken off a Spike a couple of years back. How she’d got it from his leg holster, he had no idea. He’d never seen her move.
“It’s gold.”
“Mostly. Steel makes up the blade.”
“But they use so much.”
“They have tons of it. Under all that ice and snow is tons of gold.”
She handed the weapon back to him. “Did you find a lot?”
“Of gold? Aye. We all did. Anytime we had a break, we’d start digging around a cave or breaking the ice on a river. I was able to afford my own castle not far from my grandfather’s territory. I always liked it there.”
“You own a castle?”
“I own a town. It’s nice. People are friendly. Has an amazing library.”
She snorted. “You and your precious books.” She glanced around. “Uncle Bram’s place must be heaven to you.”
“Too messy. I don’t know how he finds anything.” He looked at the disorganized stacks of books piled on the floors, studying the titles. “Besides . . . read most of these.”
“Why?”
Exasperated, Éibhear demanded, “Who questions reading?”
“I guess I do. Just don’t know why you bother.”
“Because I like it. Did no one teach you to read?”
“I know how to read, you big bastard. I just read important things.”
“Battle histories?”
“Those are quite helpful.” Izzy inched closer. “Did you miss being here? In the Southlands? Among your kin?”
“I guess.” Then Éibhear admitted, “Well, not at first. At first I was too angry to miss anything or anyone.”
“Because of what happened to Austell?”
“That was part of it.”
“It’s hard losing comrades, Éibhear. Of course,” she added, leaning in a bit closer, “everyone tells you that, but it means nothing until you’ve actually been through it.”
“I’m guessing you have.”
“More than I care to think about. It never gets any easier, does it?”
