Last Dragon Standing
Page 141
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Nannulf pouted, tail hanging low, until Dagmar petted his head. Then he slathered her face with his tongue; spun around, hitting Dagmar with his tail and almost knocking her on her ass; and took off running.
“Who are you talking to, Dagmar?” Morfyd asked as the Dragonwitch came up behind her.
“A god,” Dagmar said simply.
Turning right around, Morfyd marched back inside, muttering,
“Show-off,” as she did.
Éibhear walked up to his sister and tugged on the sleeve of her gown.
She faced him, one brow raised, her lips pursed in disapproval, before he’d managed to say a word.
“Don’t still be mad at me, Keita,” he said. “I can’t stand when you’re mad at me.”
“Did you apologize to Izzy?”
“No.” He folded his arms over his chest, knowing he was pouting but not caring. “And I’m not going to. She’s crazed! Won’t listen to reason.”
“She won’t listen to reason?”
“You know, you were my sister before you were her aunt. Does that mean nothing in this family?”
“Of course it doesn’t.” Keita walked away from him, and Éibhear stared down at the floor. This was intolerable. He had his brothers constantly telling him, “You should have killed Celyn when you had the chance, you idiot,” and Morfyd petting him and telling him, “It’ll be all right, luv. Don’t you worry now.” All expected reactions, but he didn’t realize until this moment how much he needed the full balance of his kin’s reactions, including Keita’s direct but fair advice. So having her simply angry at him without talking to him or telling him how she thought he should handle things was too much. Especially since Keita was the only one of his siblings who didn’t treat him like he was stupid or made of spun glass.
Éibhear heard something scrape the floor, and he lifted his head, watching Keita drag a big chair over to him.
“Isn’t that Annwyl’s throne?” he asked, looking around for someone to be concerned.
“I’m just borrowing it.” Keita placed the throne in front of Éibhear and stepped onto the padded seat. Now that they were at eye level, she placed her hands on his shoulders. “You do know I love you, don’t you, little brother?”
“I guess. But it would be nice to hear it.”
Keita smiled, and Éibhear felt relief at the sight of it. “It may take some time—you are ridiculously stubborn like the rest of this family—but I know you’ll make this right one day. Until then”—she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight—“remember that my love and loyalty always belong to you.”
“Aw. Thanks, Keita.”
She pulled back and pointed a finger at him. “But when you are rude, little brother, I will not hesitate calling you a prat!” That part Éibhear already knew.
“Oy, you dizzy cow!” Annwyl yelled from across the hall. “What the battle-fuck are you doing with my throne?”
Ragnar stared at his kin, his mouth slightly open.
“What’s that look for?” Vigholf asked. “You said to do it.”
“Even gave a suggestion,” Meinhard tossed in.
“I thought you two were joking. Have you both lost your bloody minds?”
“We were trying to be nice,” his brother argued.
“And when that crazed human monarch cuts off the rest of your hair, I don’t want to hear any more—”
“Who did it?” Annwyl demanded from behind him.
Ragnar faced her, “My lady—”
“Who? I want to know whose idea this was”—she held up the training mace, battle ax, warhammer, and shield, perfectly sized for a two-year-old girl with both human and dragon blood—“and I want to know now!” Vigholf and Meinhard raised their hands, and the queen’s eyes filled with tears. “This is so sweet! Thank you. Thank you both!” She hugged them, arms going wide to reach around their chests.
That’s when Ragnar let Annwyl know, “It was I who suggested the shield.”
Keita slid in next to her sister and the duke of something or other and his boring human mate, the duchess of something else or other, and announced, “I’m going to the north to be a Battle Whore!”
“Maid!” Morfyd yelped. “She’s going to be a Battle Maid.” Morfyd forced a smile. “Will you excuse us?”
Morfyd grabbed Keita’s arm and dragged her across the Great Hall.
“Is there something wrong with you?” she said, pushing her away once they arrived on the other side of the room. “Something that’s contagious?”
“Why are you yelling?”
“Battle Whore?”
“Whore. Maid. What’s the difference?”
“You purposely embarrass me!”
“It is a skill, but you make it so easy.”
Lips tight, Morfyd shoved Keita, and Keita shoved her back. There was a pause and then they both threw their drinks down and lunged for the other, but Dagmar stepped between them, her yummy-looking dog right by her side.
“I will not have this again.”
“She started it!” they both accused.
“I don’t want to hear it. This feast is to celebrate the birth and lives of your niece and nephew, and the least you two can do is have a little respect for their mother, who’s had to make the hardest decision any female can make. How hard do you think this night is for her? And you two fighting like cats?”
“Who are you talking to, Dagmar?” Morfyd asked as the Dragonwitch came up behind her.
“A god,” Dagmar said simply.
Turning right around, Morfyd marched back inside, muttering,
“Show-off,” as she did.
Éibhear walked up to his sister and tugged on the sleeve of her gown.
She faced him, one brow raised, her lips pursed in disapproval, before he’d managed to say a word.
“Don’t still be mad at me, Keita,” he said. “I can’t stand when you’re mad at me.”
“Did you apologize to Izzy?”
“No.” He folded his arms over his chest, knowing he was pouting but not caring. “And I’m not going to. She’s crazed! Won’t listen to reason.”
“She won’t listen to reason?”
“You know, you were my sister before you were her aunt. Does that mean nothing in this family?”
“Of course it doesn’t.” Keita walked away from him, and Éibhear stared down at the floor. This was intolerable. He had his brothers constantly telling him, “You should have killed Celyn when you had the chance, you idiot,” and Morfyd petting him and telling him, “It’ll be all right, luv. Don’t you worry now.” All expected reactions, but he didn’t realize until this moment how much he needed the full balance of his kin’s reactions, including Keita’s direct but fair advice. So having her simply angry at him without talking to him or telling him how she thought he should handle things was too much. Especially since Keita was the only one of his siblings who didn’t treat him like he was stupid or made of spun glass.
Éibhear heard something scrape the floor, and he lifted his head, watching Keita drag a big chair over to him.
“Isn’t that Annwyl’s throne?” he asked, looking around for someone to be concerned.
“I’m just borrowing it.” Keita placed the throne in front of Éibhear and stepped onto the padded seat. Now that they were at eye level, she placed her hands on his shoulders. “You do know I love you, don’t you, little brother?”
“I guess. But it would be nice to hear it.”
Keita smiled, and Éibhear felt relief at the sight of it. “It may take some time—you are ridiculously stubborn like the rest of this family—but I know you’ll make this right one day. Until then”—she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight—“remember that my love and loyalty always belong to you.”
“Aw. Thanks, Keita.”
She pulled back and pointed a finger at him. “But when you are rude, little brother, I will not hesitate calling you a prat!” That part Éibhear already knew.
“Oy, you dizzy cow!” Annwyl yelled from across the hall. “What the battle-fuck are you doing with my throne?”
Ragnar stared at his kin, his mouth slightly open.
“What’s that look for?” Vigholf asked. “You said to do it.”
“Even gave a suggestion,” Meinhard tossed in.
“I thought you two were joking. Have you both lost your bloody minds?”
“We were trying to be nice,” his brother argued.
“And when that crazed human monarch cuts off the rest of your hair, I don’t want to hear any more—”
“Who did it?” Annwyl demanded from behind him.
Ragnar faced her, “My lady—”
“Who? I want to know whose idea this was”—she held up the training mace, battle ax, warhammer, and shield, perfectly sized for a two-year-old girl with both human and dragon blood—“and I want to know now!” Vigholf and Meinhard raised their hands, and the queen’s eyes filled with tears. “This is so sweet! Thank you. Thank you both!” She hugged them, arms going wide to reach around their chests.
That’s when Ragnar let Annwyl know, “It was I who suggested the shield.”
Keita slid in next to her sister and the duke of something or other and his boring human mate, the duchess of something else or other, and announced, “I’m going to the north to be a Battle Whore!”
“Maid!” Morfyd yelped. “She’s going to be a Battle Maid.” Morfyd forced a smile. “Will you excuse us?”
Morfyd grabbed Keita’s arm and dragged her across the Great Hall.
“Is there something wrong with you?” she said, pushing her away once they arrived on the other side of the room. “Something that’s contagious?”
“Why are you yelling?”
“Battle Whore?”
“Whore. Maid. What’s the difference?”
“You purposely embarrass me!”
“It is a skill, but you make it so easy.”
Lips tight, Morfyd shoved Keita, and Keita shoved her back. There was a pause and then they both threw their drinks down and lunged for the other, but Dagmar stepped between them, her yummy-looking dog right by her side.
“I will not have this again.”
“She started it!” they both accused.
“I don’t want to hear it. This feast is to celebrate the birth and lives of your niece and nephew, and the least you two can do is have a little respect for their mother, who’s had to make the hardest decision any female can make. How hard do you think this night is for her? And you two fighting like cats?”
