Light My Fire
Page 116
A circle was formed around them as everyone clapped and cheered.
Brannie walked over to him, her mouth opening to say something. But Celyn raised his finger, waved it twice. “Not a word,” he told her. “Not one word.”
As he asked, she said nothing. But she did hug his upper arm with both her hands and rest her head against his shoulder. They stayed like that for a long while as they watched the sisters dance.
“And then,” Var went on, oblivious to the dancing and merriment going on around him, “Uncle Bram had me catalog all the books he had stacked in one corner of his house. It took me ages because there were so many. But some of them were very interesting about the history of dragons from the human perspective and the history of wars of Annwyl’s great-grandfather. It was said he was never as happy as when he was right in the middle of battle, which reminds me of Annwyl. Even though I’ve never seen her in battle.”
“So you enjoyed yourself then? At your uncle Bram’s house?” Dagmar asked.
“Oh, yes. It was just hours of quiet. Wonderful, wonderful quiet. Then at dinner last night, I was able to talk to King Gaius and his sister, Princess Agrippina. Life in the Sovereigns sounds very interesting. After dinner, Uncle Bram pointed out some books about living there that I could read later.”
Var took a brief break from talking when he guzzled back a tall chalice of milk. Dagmar glanced over his head at her nephew, Frederik. He gave her a small smile, but she knew what that smile really said. Your son will be moving in with Uncle Bram and away from you. Forever.
Placing his nearly empty glass down, Var took another bite of the cake he’d been eating and said, “I’ll be heading back with him tomorrow morning. So I can’t be up too late tonight.”
“You’re going back already? We didn’t discuss that, Var.”
“I have more books to catalog, and I think Uncle Bram is going to let me help him organize his papers. Auntie Ghleanna says they’re a mess. He can never find anything. You know how good I am at organizing. If I organize it, I know it will be done right.”
Frederik winced even while he smiled. Why? Because Dagmar had created this judgmental little monster. He was so much her son, it would be horrifying if she didn’t like herself as much as she did.
Dagmar took a cloth from the hidden pocket inside her dress and wiped her son’s nose where he’d managed to get frosting on it. “I guess I should go up now and get a few more of your things packed.”
“Already done.” When Dagmar just stared at him, he added, “You know I like my things packed a certain way, Mum.”
Frederik snorted, but quickly turned so that she didn’t have to experience the betrayal of her favored nephew too closely.
Gwenvael danced by with Keita but stopped and turned, his arms open wide to hug his son. Var immediately raised his hand and said, “No.”
“But—”
“No.”
“Oh, come—”
“Father, no.”
Gwenvael dropped his arms. “Would it kill you to show a little affection to a father who adores you?”
“I think so . . . yes.”
“Unnvar Reinholdt of the House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar, hug your gods-damn father!” Dagmar snapped at her only son.
With a heavy sigh, Var handed his small plate of nearly finished cake over to his mother and grudgingly accepted the hug from Gwenvael. The patting on his father’s back was painfully perfunctory.
When the “ordeal”—as Dagmar knew her son would think of it—was over, Var slipped off the table he’d been sitting on and grabbed the last hunk of cake from the plate.
“I’m going to eavesdrop,” Var told her nonchalantly before disappearing into the crowd.
“I don’t know why you’re glaring at me,” Gwenvael stated. “If anyone has taught him the casual ease of gathering information, love of my loins, it was you.”
Dagmar didn’t bother arguing with her mate, since she knew he was right.
She turned and placed the dessert plate on the table. That’s when she saw that Elina’s sister, Kachka, was standing in front of Frederik. She was eyeing him like a prize cow at the fair.
“What is your name, little boy?”
“Frederik Reinholdt.”
“A Northlander, yes?”
“Yes.”
“And your age?”
“I turn twenty-four winters in another moon.”
“Good.” The Rider took his hand. “You will dance with me then.”
Before Frederik could answer, she yanked him onto the dance floor.
Dagmar had her eating dagger out of her belt and was about to follow when Gwenvael caught her around the waist and pulled her back.
“No.”
“He’s just a child!”
“He’s a man. Full grown, but with much to learn still.” Gwenvael kissed her temple. “And something tells me Kachka Shestakova is just the female to teach him.”
Izzy gripped Celyn’s arm.
“Ow, woman! Unleash me.”
“Look! That Rider has poor Frederik in her grip!”
Celyn lifted his head to watch Kachka drag Frederik up the stairs toward the bedrooms.
Celyn looked at Éibhear over Izzy’s head, the pair of them grinning at each other over “poor” Frederik’s plight.
“You two disgust me,” Izzy growled before stalking off.
After rolling his eyes, Éibhear went after her. “Come on, Iz. We didn’t mean it like that.”
Brannie walked over to him, her mouth opening to say something. But Celyn raised his finger, waved it twice. “Not a word,” he told her. “Not one word.”
As he asked, she said nothing. But she did hug his upper arm with both her hands and rest her head against his shoulder. They stayed like that for a long while as they watched the sisters dance.
“And then,” Var went on, oblivious to the dancing and merriment going on around him, “Uncle Bram had me catalog all the books he had stacked in one corner of his house. It took me ages because there were so many. But some of them were very interesting about the history of dragons from the human perspective and the history of wars of Annwyl’s great-grandfather. It was said he was never as happy as when he was right in the middle of battle, which reminds me of Annwyl. Even though I’ve never seen her in battle.”
“So you enjoyed yourself then? At your uncle Bram’s house?” Dagmar asked.
“Oh, yes. It was just hours of quiet. Wonderful, wonderful quiet. Then at dinner last night, I was able to talk to King Gaius and his sister, Princess Agrippina. Life in the Sovereigns sounds very interesting. After dinner, Uncle Bram pointed out some books about living there that I could read later.”
Var took a brief break from talking when he guzzled back a tall chalice of milk. Dagmar glanced over his head at her nephew, Frederik. He gave her a small smile, but she knew what that smile really said. Your son will be moving in with Uncle Bram and away from you. Forever.
Placing his nearly empty glass down, Var took another bite of the cake he’d been eating and said, “I’ll be heading back with him tomorrow morning. So I can’t be up too late tonight.”
“You’re going back already? We didn’t discuss that, Var.”
“I have more books to catalog, and I think Uncle Bram is going to let me help him organize his papers. Auntie Ghleanna says they’re a mess. He can never find anything. You know how good I am at organizing. If I organize it, I know it will be done right.”
Frederik winced even while he smiled. Why? Because Dagmar had created this judgmental little monster. He was so much her son, it would be horrifying if she didn’t like herself as much as she did.
Dagmar took a cloth from the hidden pocket inside her dress and wiped her son’s nose where he’d managed to get frosting on it. “I guess I should go up now and get a few more of your things packed.”
“Already done.” When Dagmar just stared at him, he added, “You know I like my things packed a certain way, Mum.”
Frederik snorted, but quickly turned so that she didn’t have to experience the betrayal of her favored nephew too closely.
Gwenvael danced by with Keita but stopped and turned, his arms open wide to hug his son. Var immediately raised his hand and said, “No.”
“But—”
“No.”
“Oh, come—”
“Father, no.”
Gwenvael dropped his arms. “Would it kill you to show a little affection to a father who adores you?”
“I think so . . . yes.”
“Unnvar Reinholdt of the House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar, hug your gods-damn father!” Dagmar snapped at her only son.
With a heavy sigh, Var handed his small plate of nearly finished cake over to his mother and grudgingly accepted the hug from Gwenvael. The patting on his father’s back was painfully perfunctory.
When the “ordeal”—as Dagmar knew her son would think of it—was over, Var slipped off the table he’d been sitting on and grabbed the last hunk of cake from the plate.
“I’m going to eavesdrop,” Var told her nonchalantly before disappearing into the crowd.
“I don’t know why you’re glaring at me,” Gwenvael stated. “If anyone has taught him the casual ease of gathering information, love of my loins, it was you.”
Dagmar didn’t bother arguing with her mate, since she knew he was right.
She turned and placed the dessert plate on the table. That’s when she saw that Elina’s sister, Kachka, was standing in front of Frederik. She was eyeing him like a prize cow at the fair.
“What is your name, little boy?”
“Frederik Reinholdt.”
“A Northlander, yes?”
“Yes.”
“And your age?”
“I turn twenty-four winters in another moon.”
“Good.” The Rider took his hand. “You will dance with me then.”
Before Frederik could answer, she yanked him onto the dance floor.
Dagmar had her eating dagger out of her belt and was about to follow when Gwenvael caught her around the waist and pulled her back.
“No.”
“He’s just a child!”
“He’s a man. Full grown, but with much to learn still.” Gwenvael kissed her temple. “And something tells me Kachka Shestakova is just the female to teach him.”
Izzy gripped Celyn’s arm.
“Ow, woman! Unleash me.”
“Look! That Rider has poor Frederik in her grip!”
Celyn lifted his head to watch Kachka drag Frederik up the stairs toward the bedrooms.
Celyn looked at Éibhear over Izzy’s head, the pair of them grinning at each other over “poor” Frederik’s plight.
“You two disgust me,” Izzy growled before stalking off.
After rolling his eyes, Éibhear went after her. “Come on, Iz. We didn’t mean it like that.”
