Grinning, his mother put her arms around his shoulders and hugged him tightly, kissing his forehead.
Although Var never said it, he adored his mother. She’d given him the tools necessary to think. To analyze. To treat one’s mind like a muscle no different from the ones in his arms or legs. How could he not love her more than any being he’d ever known?
This love of Dagmar Reinholdt was, perhaps, the only thing he and Var’s father had in common.
With her arms still around him, his mother asked, “So what brings you looking for me this day?”
“I’ve come to ask, again, about going to live with Uncle Bram. At least for a little while. Until he finds a new assistant.”
“You detest your father that much?”
“I don’t detest him. I just can’t stand him. And my uncles aren’t much better, except Uncle Fearghus, and that’s only because we barely speak to each other. They are distractions, Mother. How can I hope to learn more when they’re busy causing problems? The constant arguing. The constant fighting. The way their voices carry beyond what I would call acceptable levels of discourse. If only you and my aunts lived here, this wouldn’t be a problem. But you don’t. You live with them. And my sisters, who seem to make no other sound but high-pitched screeching. I don’t know how you tolerate it.”
“You forget where I come from. You’ve met your uncles in the north. They make your sisters seem like whispering willows in the breeze.”
“All I ask for is a chance to know what it’s like to enjoy civilized dinner discussions. To not have those discussions dissolve into yet another episode of who can slam my father’s head the hardest against the table or wall. Of not having to constantly think to myself, ‘Well . . . Father did deserve that.’ Uncle Bram is more than happy to take me on as his protégé, and I want the chance to work with him. Really work with him. Not just spend five or ten minutes with him when he comes by Garbhán Isle, only to lose him to something else Aunt Annwyl did to piss off another royal that Uncle Bram then has to fix.”
Her arms tightened a bit around his shoulders. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“I’m going to Uncle Bram’s, Mum, not off to war.”
“You have a point, but—”
His mother’s words were abruptly cut off when they heard a crash outside the castle walls. Var quickly got to his feet, then grabbed his mother’s hands and helped her to her own. Together, they rushed down the aisle of books until they reached a small window. Var pulled over a chair and stood on it so he could see as well as his mother. Their heads pressed together, they watched Aunt Annwyl yell at the stonemason she’d hired to create the new structure she’d been building behind the castle. It wasn’t even connected. It stood alone and rather tall.
“Everyone has been trying to figure out what she’s building,” Var said. “Do you know?”
“No. She’s told no one. Not even your uncle Fearghus. I asked him and he just looked terrified.”
“The rumor is that she’s creating a tower. For her enemies. When she’s not ready to kill them right away. That she plans to torture them there. Do you think that’s true, Mum? Do you think this is for the Salebiris?”
“I really don’t know.”
“You’ll need Uncle Bram even more now to help keep the peace where we can. And then, one day, I’ll do it.”
“I don’t want to lose you, Var.”
Var faced his mother. “By all reason, Mum, I’m going to Uncle Bram’s, not riding into battle. He’s not even a half-hour’s flight from here if the wind is with whoever is carrying me.”
“I don’t appreciate your condescending tone, Unnvar.”
“Because I sound too much like you?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s face it, Mum. I need to learn what I can from Uncle Bram because you can’t teach me all that you know until I’m at least eighteen winters. I mean, you could start now, but that leads to a moral dilemma I’m sure neither of us wants to deal with.”
His mother glanced off. “Your grandmother did warn me not to spread my evil to her grandson, which I took rather personally considering how many times my evil has helped that She-dragon.”
“At least talk to Uncle Bram for me.”
“All right. I’ll talk to him. But I promise nothing.”
“Thank you.”
Var hugged his mother, but before either could pull away, another crash outside had them turning back to the small window, where they could see Aunt Annwyl point a finger at the stonemason.
“Don’t think for a second I won’t have you pull all this down and start again. I’m the queen!” she announced. “I can do that!”
That made Var snort, but his mother quickly admonished, “We shouldn’t laugh.”
But they did anyway.
Chapter Twenty-Two
As Celyn suggested, they “swept through” the Annaig Valley, cutting through a few of the border towns. And each one had what Elina now termed “Penis Temples,” but unlike the Southland cities and towns, there were no other temples. No other gods worshipped in the area. At least not openly.
Elina also noticed the same military presence everywhere. Their armor, shields, and capes bore the benign image of flowers—unlike Annwyl’s coat of arms, which had two dragons facing each other and two swords clashing behind them—but the soldiers were well-trained, well-armed, and extremely dangerous.
Although Var never said it, he adored his mother. She’d given him the tools necessary to think. To analyze. To treat one’s mind like a muscle no different from the ones in his arms or legs. How could he not love her more than any being he’d ever known?
This love of Dagmar Reinholdt was, perhaps, the only thing he and Var’s father had in common.
With her arms still around him, his mother asked, “So what brings you looking for me this day?”
“I’ve come to ask, again, about going to live with Uncle Bram. At least for a little while. Until he finds a new assistant.”
“You detest your father that much?”
“I don’t detest him. I just can’t stand him. And my uncles aren’t much better, except Uncle Fearghus, and that’s only because we barely speak to each other. They are distractions, Mother. How can I hope to learn more when they’re busy causing problems? The constant arguing. The constant fighting. The way their voices carry beyond what I would call acceptable levels of discourse. If only you and my aunts lived here, this wouldn’t be a problem. But you don’t. You live with them. And my sisters, who seem to make no other sound but high-pitched screeching. I don’t know how you tolerate it.”
“You forget where I come from. You’ve met your uncles in the north. They make your sisters seem like whispering willows in the breeze.”
“All I ask for is a chance to know what it’s like to enjoy civilized dinner discussions. To not have those discussions dissolve into yet another episode of who can slam my father’s head the hardest against the table or wall. Of not having to constantly think to myself, ‘Well . . . Father did deserve that.’ Uncle Bram is more than happy to take me on as his protégé, and I want the chance to work with him. Really work with him. Not just spend five or ten minutes with him when he comes by Garbhán Isle, only to lose him to something else Aunt Annwyl did to piss off another royal that Uncle Bram then has to fix.”
Her arms tightened a bit around his shoulders. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“I’m going to Uncle Bram’s, Mum, not off to war.”
“You have a point, but—”
His mother’s words were abruptly cut off when they heard a crash outside the castle walls. Var quickly got to his feet, then grabbed his mother’s hands and helped her to her own. Together, they rushed down the aisle of books until they reached a small window. Var pulled over a chair and stood on it so he could see as well as his mother. Their heads pressed together, they watched Aunt Annwyl yell at the stonemason she’d hired to create the new structure she’d been building behind the castle. It wasn’t even connected. It stood alone and rather tall.
“Everyone has been trying to figure out what she’s building,” Var said. “Do you know?”
“No. She’s told no one. Not even your uncle Fearghus. I asked him and he just looked terrified.”
“The rumor is that she’s creating a tower. For her enemies. When she’s not ready to kill them right away. That she plans to torture them there. Do you think that’s true, Mum? Do you think this is for the Salebiris?”
“I really don’t know.”
“You’ll need Uncle Bram even more now to help keep the peace where we can. And then, one day, I’ll do it.”
“I don’t want to lose you, Var.”
Var faced his mother. “By all reason, Mum, I’m going to Uncle Bram’s, not riding into battle. He’s not even a half-hour’s flight from here if the wind is with whoever is carrying me.”
“I don’t appreciate your condescending tone, Unnvar.”
“Because I sound too much like you?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s face it, Mum. I need to learn what I can from Uncle Bram because you can’t teach me all that you know until I’m at least eighteen winters. I mean, you could start now, but that leads to a moral dilemma I’m sure neither of us wants to deal with.”
His mother glanced off. “Your grandmother did warn me not to spread my evil to her grandson, which I took rather personally considering how many times my evil has helped that She-dragon.”
“At least talk to Uncle Bram for me.”
“All right. I’ll talk to him. But I promise nothing.”
“Thank you.”
Var hugged his mother, but before either could pull away, another crash outside had them turning back to the small window, where they could see Aunt Annwyl point a finger at the stonemason.
“Don’t think for a second I won’t have you pull all this down and start again. I’m the queen!” she announced. “I can do that!”
That made Var snort, but his mother quickly admonished, “We shouldn’t laugh.”
But they did anyway.
Chapter Twenty-Two
As Celyn suggested, they “swept through” the Annaig Valley, cutting through a few of the border towns. And each one had what Elina now termed “Penis Temples,” but unlike the Southland cities and towns, there were no other temples. No other gods worshipped in the area. At least not openly.
Elina also noticed the same military presence everywhere. Their armor, shields, and capes bore the benign image of flowers—unlike Annwyl’s coat of arms, which had two dragons facing each other and two swords clashing behind them—but the soldiers were well-trained, well-armed, and extremely dangerous.
