“Why?”
“Gather information, proof, that the spread of the Chramnesind cults out of Annaig Valley is real—and dangerous.”
“What makes you think that the Anne Atli will care about some worthless religion that worships only one god?”
“Because like a plague, this cult is spreading beyond Annaig Valley borders, even beyond species. Already there’s unrest coming from the Northlands and Quintilian Provinces from both human and dragon.”
“The Provinces are known for fights between the cults of their territories. And the Northlands are filled with weak males and sad, useless females, begging for some god to save them rather than saving themselves.”
“I think we know different Northlanders. You know, to be honest, I’m surprised the Northland warlords didn’t try to capture your females. They have fewer than they need in that country.”
“We tried to help them with that. We used to take their men when we could. But they put up such a fight. . . . Things often ended badly.”
“I see.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’ve always believed it’s easier to get people to cooperate when you back up your argument with facts. If we have actual evidence to present to your Anne Atli . . . it may change everything.”
“And how will that help you?”
“I have no idea, but I’m willing to give it a chance.”
“To prove your worth to your people?”
“More like to my parents . . . my siblings . . . and my uncle Bercelak.”
That was a need Elina understood more than this dragon could ever know. So she agreed.
“Excellent!” The dragon grinned. “Now, first . . . we need to get you some new clothes.”
Elina looked down at what she was wearing. Leggings, shirt, and boots made of animal skin and fur. She didn’t understand the problem. “New clothes? What for new clothes?”
“We can’t blend into Southland cities with you looking like . . .”
“Like what?” she pushed when he did nothing but open and close his mouth for a few seconds.
“Like an outsider.” He seemed pleased by his moment of verbal brilliance. “If we want these humans to be honest about things going on, we’ll need to look like we belong.”
“And you look like you belong?”
“As human, I do. Thankfully I wasn’t cursed with blue or green hair, like many of my cousins. Nor am I freakishly tall or wide like my cousin Éibhear, who also has blue hair.” The dragon briefly glanced off. “Gods, how does he function as human?” Before Elina could tell him she had no intention of answering such a ridiculous question, he went on. “Anyway, I may be tall and well-built, but I fit in quite nicely among the humans. Something the Cadwaladrs have been very good at for generations.”
“I do not care,” Elina told him.
“What?”
“I do not care. You talk and talk, and I do not care.”
“But you asked.”
“And you could have said, ‘Yes, I belong.’ But you ramble. So much talking!”
“Are you done?”
“Are you?”
They both glared at each other until the dragon said, “Fine. I will work on not rambling if you allow me to dress you more like a Southlander.”
“That I agree to.”
“Then we have a deal?”
“Yes. We have deal.”
He held out his hand and Elina punched it. The dragon recoiled, holding his hand close to his chest.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“Agreeing to our deal.”
“That involves punching?”
“Of course,” she lied, hiding her smile until he stood. Then she giggled, unable to help herself.
The dragon glared down at her. “What?”
Elina shook her head. “Nothing.”
He didn’t look like he believed her, but he simply said, “Then let’s get started.”
Gwenvael did what he did every night around this time. Tucked his five youngest girls into their beds.
Although they could each have their own rooms, they stayed together. Only their eldest sister insisted on her own room, which was a good thing since she could be bitchy when she first woke up.
As ordered, Gwenvael “flew” each of his daughters into her bed. Each girl screeching until she hit the mattress. It drove the rest of the family crazy, which was why they all did it. These five were, much to his siblings’ horror, small, female versions of Gwenvael.
Plotting, ridiculous, and beautiful, his five youngest daughters brought absolute joy to Gwenvael’s life because they enjoyed the tormenting of others so much. And they were all so eager to learn his many techniques!
All his wonderful little girls.
He tucked in his little Seva last. She was the eldest of Gwenvael’s Five—as they’d been named by his uncle Addolgar. It was also Addolgar who had named Unnvar “Dagmar’s Little Sneak” and Arlais “The Snobby Brat.” They all felt that last one was not very original, but in Addolgar’s defense, at the time he’d been gripping the ankle Arlais had kicked while Arlais referred to him as “blood, perhaps, but you are still a Low Born!”
“Daddy?”
“Yes, my little tormentor?”
“Mommy is sad. You should talk to her.”
“She is? She seemed fine at dinner.”
“She lies, Daddy. I thought we all knew that.”
“Gather information, proof, that the spread of the Chramnesind cults out of Annaig Valley is real—and dangerous.”
“What makes you think that the Anne Atli will care about some worthless religion that worships only one god?”
“Because like a plague, this cult is spreading beyond Annaig Valley borders, even beyond species. Already there’s unrest coming from the Northlands and Quintilian Provinces from both human and dragon.”
“The Provinces are known for fights between the cults of their territories. And the Northlands are filled with weak males and sad, useless females, begging for some god to save them rather than saving themselves.”
“I think we know different Northlanders. You know, to be honest, I’m surprised the Northland warlords didn’t try to capture your females. They have fewer than they need in that country.”
“We tried to help them with that. We used to take their men when we could. But they put up such a fight. . . . Things often ended badly.”
“I see.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’ve always believed it’s easier to get people to cooperate when you back up your argument with facts. If we have actual evidence to present to your Anne Atli . . . it may change everything.”
“And how will that help you?”
“I have no idea, but I’m willing to give it a chance.”
“To prove your worth to your people?”
“More like to my parents . . . my siblings . . . and my uncle Bercelak.”
That was a need Elina understood more than this dragon could ever know. So she agreed.
“Excellent!” The dragon grinned. “Now, first . . . we need to get you some new clothes.”
Elina looked down at what she was wearing. Leggings, shirt, and boots made of animal skin and fur. She didn’t understand the problem. “New clothes? What for new clothes?”
“We can’t blend into Southland cities with you looking like . . .”
“Like what?” she pushed when he did nothing but open and close his mouth for a few seconds.
“Like an outsider.” He seemed pleased by his moment of verbal brilliance. “If we want these humans to be honest about things going on, we’ll need to look like we belong.”
“And you look like you belong?”
“As human, I do. Thankfully I wasn’t cursed with blue or green hair, like many of my cousins. Nor am I freakishly tall or wide like my cousin Éibhear, who also has blue hair.” The dragon briefly glanced off. “Gods, how does he function as human?” Before Elina could tell him she had no intention of answering such a ridiculous question, he went on. “Anyway, I may be tall and well-built, but I fit in quite nicely among the humans. Something the Cadwaladrs have been very good at for generations.”
“I do not care,” Elina told him.
“What?”
“I do not care. You talk and talk, and I do not care.”
“But you asked.”
“And you could have said, ‘Yes, I belong.’ But you ramble. So much talking!”
“Are you done?”
“Are you?”
They both glared at each other until the dragon said, “Fine. I will work on not rambling if you allow me to dress you more like a Southlander.”
“That I agree to.”
“Then we have a deal?”
“Yes. We have deal.”
He held out his hand and Elina punched it. The dragon recoiled, holding his hand close to his chest.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“Agreeing to our deal.”
“That involves punching?”
“Of course,” she lied, hiding her smile until he stood. Then she giggled, unable to help herself.
The dragon glared down at her. “What?”
Elina shook her head. “Nothing.”
He didn’t look like he believed her, but he simply said, “Then let’s get started.”
Gwenvael did what he did every night around this time. Tucked his five youngest girls into their beds.
Although they could each have their own rooms, they stayed together. Only their eldest sister insisted on her own room, which was a good thing since she could be bitchy when she first woke up.
As ordered, Gwenvael “flew” each of his daughters into her bed. Each girl screeching until she hit the mattress. It drove the rest of the family crazy, which was why they all did it. These five were, much to his siblings’ horror, small, female versions of Gwenvael.
Plotting, ridiculous, and beautiful, his five youngest daughters brought absolute joy to Gwenvael’s life because they enjoyed the tormenting of others so much. And they were all so eager to learn his many techniques!
All his wonderful little girls.
He tucked in his little Seva last. She was the eldest of Gwenvael’s Five—as they’d been named by his uncle Addolgar. It was also Addolgar who had named Unnvar “Dagmar’s Little Sneak” and Arlais “The Snobby Brat.” They all felt that last one was not very original, but in Addolgar’s defense, at the time he’d been gripping the ankle Arlais had kicked while Arlais referred to him as “blood, perhaps, but you are still a Low Born!”
“Daddy?”
“Yes, my little tormentor?”
“Mommy is sad. You should talk to her.”
“She is? She seemed fine at dinner.”
“She lies, Daddy. I thought we all knew that.”
