How to Drive a Dragon Crazy
Page 78

While the guard went out the door, Frederik was coming in. Only one of the double doors was open and Dagmar watched the poor boy try to move around the well-armed and well-armored woman. It was kind of like an awkward dance.
Letting out an annoyed sigh, the guard moved back and allowed Frederik through. He came in quickly, heading for the stairs.
“Have you eaten, Frederik?” Annwyl asked him, causing the boy to stumble over his own feet. But at least he managed not to fall on his face.
“Uh . . .”
“That sounds like a no.” She pointed to the table. “Food. You need to eat.”
He walked over to the table, then walked into it, stepped back, then sat down in a chair across from Dagmar.
“Good morn, Frederik.”
He nodded, but didn’t look at her. “Auntie Dagmar.”
Talaith got up from the table and proceeded to get him a bowl of hot porridge and some bread while Annwyl widened her eyes at Dagmar and motioned to Frederik with her head. Dagmar didn’t like to be ordered by anyone to apologize, but Annwyl was queen and since she didn’t stop nodding at the boy, Dagmar could only guess that the monarch was serious.
Letting out a little sigh, Dagmar began, “Frederik, about yesterday . . . about what I said—”
“Good morn, my wonderful family!” Keita announced as she walked into the Great Hall with Ragnar. “How is everyone this beautiful morning?”
“Why are you in such a good mood?” Briec’s eyes narrowed. “Who did you kill?”
Laughing, Ragnar walked around Keita and sat at the table, reaching for one of the platters of meat.
“How dare you?” Keita snapped at her brother. “To suggest that I—”
“Oh, aye,” Annwyl laughed. “Someone’s dead somewhere.”
Keita walked over to Frederik and placed her hands over his ears. The poor thing, he was beginning to look completely traumatized.
“Must you say such horrible things around the boy?”
Gwenvael chuckled. “I very much doubt the boy cares.” He focused on Frederik and yelled, “Do you, Frederik?”
Dagmar glared at her mate. “Why, by all reason, are you yelling?”
He shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Leave the boy alone.” Keita moved her hands from his head and leaned down, yelling at the boy, “Are you enjoying your time here, Frederik? Is there anything we can do for you?”
Dagmar slammed her hands on the table. “Why are you both yell—”
“That reminds me,” Ragnar cut in, his calm, reasonable voice snapping her back.
“Reminds you about what?”
He reached into his bag and pulled out a book and a small wood box. He walked around to Frederik, moved his porridge out of the way, and put an open book on the table in front of him. “Can you read that?”
“Ragnar?”
He held his hand up at Dagmar, silencing her.
“I can,” Frederik said low. “Just not very well.”
“Right.” Ragnar crouched down next to him and pulled a pair of spectacles out of the box he held. Taking his time, he placed them on Frederik, adjusting them behind the boy’s ears and around his nose. “Now look again.”
The boy shrugged, his gaze moving to the book in front of him. He stared. Blinked. Leaned in a bit. Blinked.
“I . . . I don’t understand.”
“It seems you have the opposite of what your Aunt Dagmar has. She has trouble seeing far distances. You have trouble seeing close up. That’s why you struggle with reading. It probably gave you headaches when you tried to read? Your eyes felt tired?”
“Sometimes.”
“Did you teach yourself not to squint?”
Frederik looked over the glasses at Dagmar. “I used to squint. My father said it made me look weak. So . . . I stopped.”
Dagmar, shocked, focused on Ragnar. “How did you know?”
He shrugged. “It was a guess. And the more Keita and Gwenvael talked to the boy, the louder they became. Before Frederik arrived, they only seemed to do that with you.”
“But”—Keita covered the boy’s ears again, and whispered—“he still seems clumsy and awkward. You don’t want to convince him that these pieces of glass will cure all his problems.”
“You have a point.” Ragnar reached across the table, grabbing a piece of fruit from a bowl. He tossed it to Talaith. “Lady Talaith. If you please.”
Talaith shrugged and pitched the fruit at Frederik’s head. Dagmar cringed, afraid it would hit him directly in the face. But he caught the fruit in his hand. Without even looking.
“Oh.” Keita stepped back. “I see.”
“So do I.” Dagmar pushed her chair back and stood.
“Where are you going?” Gwenvael asked her.
“To write my father.” She walked toward the hallway that would lead to the small office she kept inside the castle, her two dogs slipping out from under the table and following her. “This level of deception and lies must be addressed immediately.”
“Aunt Dagmar—”
She stopped, faced the boy, raising a single finger. “No, Frederik. There’s nothing more to discuss.”
Frederik lowered his gaze. “I understand.”
Gwenvael rested his chin on his raised fist, smirked at Dagmar. “What are you going to do with him, my love?”
“What do you think?” Dagmar demanded. “Keep him! I’d never send a plotting little liar like this back to the dullards of my family. Oh, no. I will keep you, boy, and I will train you, and I will use you to the fullest extent of your twisted capabilities.” She clapped her hands together. “I’m so damn excited!”