What a Dragon Should Know
Page 100
“Here we are, Princess Keita.” Lightning strikes dotted around her for a moment as the Lightning shifted from dragon to human before he carefully placed her on the ground. “Nice and safe.”
She waited while the net was slowly removed, biding her time. She stayed curled on her side, panting.
“Is she hurt?” another voice asked.
“No. But she wants us to believe she is. Don’t you, my lady?”
Realizing she had no more time to spare, Keita came up. She had her hands curled into fists and punched twice, knocking her abductor back several steps. She ran, needing to get her feet off that cursed netting. But she didn’t get far as her abductor’s arm swung out and, without him even touching her, sent Keita flying back. Her squeal of surprise and outrage at the brutal use of Magick was cut short as her human form rammed into the base of the nearby mountain.
Now she wasn’t pretending anything. She couldn’t move or speak, too exhausted to fight as the Lightning crouched beside her and clipped the small, human-sized collar around her throat. The power of that Magickal item plowed through her, leaving her a shuddering pile of human flesh at his feet.
Big fingers brushed her hair from her face.
“Red,” another voice said about her hair.
“Pretty,” said another.
“Tricky,” said the one looking down at her. He smiled when she glared up into his face. “Hello, Princess Keita. I’m Ragnar. I am sorry I had to end your trip back to your brother and his dying pet, but I have need of you. And until I tell you differently, princess … you’re mine.”
Dagmar closed the doors to Violence’s stables. She’d brought him and his mares a basket of apples and stayed with them until Violence finally ate. The stable dog whined on the other side of the door, more than ready to follow her back to her room. He was a very sweet dog, but he had other responsibilities.
“Quiet now,” she said through the thick wood. “Go lie down.”
The mutt sniffed a bit under the crack, but eventually went back to his warm bed and cold food.
Dagmar turned to head back to the castle but stopped short when she saw Queen Rhiannon standing behind her—staring.
“You have a way with animals, I see.”
“Yes, my lady. I raise dogs for my father’s troops.”
“You do?” She frowned in disapproval. “Is that an appropriate task for the Only Daughter of a Northland warlord?”
“No. But my father could not deny my talents.”
The dragoness moved toward her. She seemed to glide, in a way. “My son tells me you have other talents.”
Dagmar couldn’t help it. Her eyes widened in shock and she felt as if she’d wandered into the Great Hall completely naked.
The queen frowned again and then gasped. “Oh, gods! No, no. Not like that.”
The pair began to laugh and immediately stopped, realizing how out of place it sounded and felt. But they had both been startled.
“I forget sometimes that Gwenvael is not like his brothers. What I meant to say is he told me you have a skill with words and negotiations.”
This time Dagmar was surprised but flattered. She’d had no idea Gwenvael had praised her so to his mother. “I … have helped my father when—”
The queen raised her hand and swiped it through the air. “Please, Lady Dagmar. I am in no mood for false modesty.”
Dagmar folded her arms across her chest. “Is this about Ragnar?”
She snorted. “I can handle that Horde hatchling myself. He’s a mage, you know? Not a bad one either. I can feel his power among the lines of Magick. But I guess all that means nothing to you as a follower of Aoibhell.”
“I’m not a follower. I agree with her teachings.”
Rhiannon gave a small snicker. “Even suggesting you may worship Aoibhell herself is an insult to those who believe in her word.”
“To turn her into a god would go against everything she believed.” Dagmar briefly glanced at the ground. “What is it you want from me, my lady?”
“I’ll be blunt since I’m not good with subtlety. I’m having an issue. It involves Annwyl’s twins. I need the help of a devious mind combined with a …”
“Barbarian will?”
The Dragon Queen leered. “Exactly.”
“I can help you.” As she’d promised to help Annwyl. And as long as the human queen breathed, she’d keep that promise.
Dagmar motioned away from the stables with a wave of her hand. “Tell me everything, Majesty, and we’ll figure it out from there.”
Olgeir stared out over the edge where he’d guessed Lady Keita had made her escape. At his feet, one of his favorite guards lay dead from an expertly broken neck, and behind him were the idiots he called sons.
“We’ll go after her,” his oldest said. “We’ll find her.”
“It’s too late!” He turned and his sons backed up. He may be old, but for dragons that only made them harder to kill. “Can’t you smell him? On the air? He already has her.”
“Who? Who has her?”
“The boy. That treacherous, bastard boy.”
One of his younger sons raised a brow. “Ragnar would never be fool enough to come back here.”
But Olgeir knew he had. Knew his son was fool enough to risk everything to become warlord of the Olgeirsson Horde.
“We’ll find him, Da,” his oldest said, the others roaring behind him. “We’ll find him and kill him. Bring his head back to you.”
She waited while the net was slowly removed, biding her time. She stayed curled on her side, panting.
“Is she hurt?” another voice asked.
“No. But she wants us to believe she is. Don’t you, my lady?”
Realizing she had no more time to spare, Keita came up. She had her hands curled into fists and punched twice, knocking her abductor back several steps. She ran, needing to get her feet off that cursed netting. But she didn’t get far as her abductor’s arm swung out and, without him even touching her, sent Keita flying back. Her squeal of surprise and outrage at the brutal use of Magick was cut short as her human form rammed into the base of the nearby mountain.
Now she wasn’t pretending anything. She couldn’t move or speak, too exhausted to fight as the Lightning crouched beside her and clipped the small, human-sized collar around her throat. The power of that Magickal item plowed through her, leaving her a shuddering pile of human flesh at his feet.
Big fingers brushed her hair from her face.
“Red,” another voice said about her hair.
“Pretty,” said another.
“Tricky,” said the one looking down at her. He smiled when she glared up into his face. “Hello, Princess Keita. I’m Ragnar. I am sorry I had to end your trip back to your brother and his dying pet, but I have need of you. And until I tell you differently, princess … you’re mine.”
Dagmar closed the doors to Violence’s stables. She’d brought him and his mares a basket of apples and stayed with them until Violence finally ate. The stable dog whined on the other side of the door, more than ready to follow her back to her room. He was a very sweet dog, but he had other responsibilities.
“Quiet now,” she said through the thick wood. “Go lie down.”
The mutt sniffed a bit under the crack, but eventually went back to his warm bed and cold food.
Dagmar turned to head back to the castle but stopped short when she saw Queen Rhiannon standing behind her—staring.
“You have a way with animals, I see.”
“Yes, my lady. I raise dogs for my father’s troops.”
“You do?” She frowned in disapproval. “Is that an appropriate task for the Only Daughter of a Northland warlord?”
“No. But my father could not deny my talents.”
The dragoness moved toward her. She seemed to glide, in a way. “My son tells me you have other talents.”
Dagmar couldn’t help it. Her eyes widened in shock and she felt as if she’d wandered into the Great Hall completely naked.
The queen frowned again and then gasped. “Oh, gods! No, no. Not like that.”
The pair began to laugh and immediately stopped, realizing how out of place it sounded and felt. But they had both been startled.
“I forget sometimes that Gwenvael is not like his brothers. What I meant to say is he told me you have a skill with words and negotiations.”
This time Dagmar was surprised but flattered. She’d had no idea Gwenvael had praised her so to his mother. “I … have helped my father when—”
The queen raised her hand and swiped it through the air. “Please, Lady Dagmar. I am in no mood for false modesty.”
Dagmar folded her arms across her chest. “Is this about Ragnar?”
She snorted. “I can handle that Horde hatchling myself. He’s a mage, you know? Not a bad one either. I can feel his power among the lines of Magick. But I guess all that means nothing to you as a follower of Aoibhell.”
“I’m not a follower. I agree with her teachings.”
Rhiannon gave a small snicker. “Even suggesting you may worship Aoibhell herself is an insult to those who believe in her word.”
“To turn her into a god would go against everything she believed.” Dagmar briefly glanced at the ground. “What is it you want from me, my lady?”
“I’ll be blunt since I’m not good with subtlety. I’m having an issue. It involves Annwyl’s twins. I need the help of a devious mind combined with a …”
“Barbarian will?”
The Dragon Queen leered. “Exactly.”
“I can help you.” As she’d promised to help Annwyl. And as long as the human queen breathed, she’d keep that promise.
Dagmar motioned away from the stables with a wave of her hand. “Tell me everything, Majesty, and we’ll figure it out from there.”
Olgeir stared out over the edge where he’d guessed Lady Keita had made her escape. At his feet, one of his favorite guards lay dead from an expertly broken neck, and behind him were the idiots he called sons.
“We’ll go after her,” his oldest said. “We’ll find her.”
“It’s too late!” He turned and his sons backed up. He may be old, but for dragons that only made them harder to kill. “Can’t you smell him? On the air? He already has her.”
“Who? Who has her?”
“The boy. That treacherous, bastard boy.”
One of his younger sons raised a brow. “Ragnar would never be fool enough to come back here.”
But Olgeir knew he had. Knew his son was fool enough to risk everything to become warlord of the Olgeirsson Horde.
“We’ll find him, Da,” his oldest said, the others roaring behind him. “We’ll find him and kill him. Bring his head back to you.”
