What a Dragon Should Know
Page 85

“So she used me and she’s tossing me aside?” He gave Fannie his best pout.
“Apparently. Although I must say I admire her for it.”
He placed his hand over his heart. “Fannie … my love. You wound me. Do you not care for me at all? After all we’ve been through?”
“My Lord Gwenvael, I care for you as I care for one of my sons. But I also send off my sons at eighteen and bid them not to return until they have a wife, a babe, and coin in their pocket.”
“I have the coin …”
Her smirk turned into a smile. Fannie always had a warm spot for him, even while she openly teased him. Of course, she’d made it clear from his first night at Garbhán Isle that he was to keep a respectful distance from her and any of the servant girls who were under her command.
“I believe you’re taking too long, my lord, to remove that shiftless rear from my lady’s bed.”
“Fine. I’ll go.” He stood, one of the furs around his hips to protect dear Fannie’s modesty. “But you tell her I’ll be back and she is to follow my orders this time.”
“Somehow I doubt Lady Dagmar follows any orders but her own, my lord.”
“Very good point. But,” he added, pinching Fannie’s hip and enjoying the way she jumped and slapped his hand, “that is the challenge.”
It had been hard leaving that overly warm bed this morning, but Fannie had eased her awake with a cup of hot tea and they both knew she wasn’t in the mood for sly looks and brotherly nudges. The servant arranged for her to bathe in another room and presented her with another grey gown. This one simple and comfortable, easy to move around in.
If Dagmar thought she could lure Fannie away from Annwyl, she’d do it in a second.
Holding on to a mug of hot tea, Dagmar slowly walked around the Great Hall, her eyes taking in everything. The large number of tables from the previous eve were gone, replaced by one long table that went down the middle of the room. Talaith sat on one side, her feet up and a book in her lap that had her complete attention. She’d dismissed the porridge without even looking at it and absently munched on dry toast while fresh water was her morning drink. Talaith’s young daughter had already shoveled food down the way Dagmar’s father always did and then ran off to meet up with her cousins. Her mother screamed, “And no flying!” after her, but Dagmar seriously doubted the young girl would follow that edict.
Annwyl had come downstairs, but she’d kept right on going out the door. Walking was no easy feat for her, but she’d made it out eventually. She never said a word to anyone and she looked even worse than she did the previous eve. Still, even in her state, everyone seemed to give her a healthy distance.
The bulk of Gwenvael’s low-born family camped at the lake where Dagmar had first seen them and apparently enjoyed their morning meals there. The servants set out early with fresh bread and porridge for them.
Gwenvael’s brothers and Morfyd had the hall mostly to themselves and they focused on the business of defenses. They had open maps and discussed all the ways the cult could gain entrance to Garbhán Isle. They paid her no mind, so she wandered closer and closer until she stood behind them. She wasn’t surprised they ignored her. She was always ignored until she openly involved herself in something that garnered everyone’s attention. She wasn’t ready for that yet. She was still figuring out all the players for this game, trying to understand the dynamics. The previous evening had helped with that, but there was still so much for her to learn.
Until she learned the risks and rewards involved in this world, she’d simply keep her distance and her own council until she decided that it was the right time to—
“Are you going to keep standing back there, hovering, or are you actually going to help us?”
It took Dagmar a good ten seconds before she realized that Briec had directed that question at her. Raising her gaze, she saw Gwenvael’s siblings all staring at her over their shoulders.
“Pardon?”
Briec, who seemed to be in a constant state of boredom, rolled his eyes. “Gwenvael said you were knowledgeable in this. Is that true or was he blowing flame up my ass?”
The visual that particular phrase gave her was not attractive, but she ignored it and asked, “You mean knowledge about the Minotaurs?”
“Well, that would help.” And his tone was so rife with sarcasm one would think Dagmar had known him for decades and had been annoying him all that time. “But he said you helped your father with his defenses. True or not?” he demanded.
“Briec … tone,” Talaith said from her spot across the hall, her gaze firmly on the book in front of her.
“Is it true you helped your father with the defenses of the Reinholdt lands?”
His tone hadn’t changed, but he seemed to think reworking the sentence covered that.
“Yes. I did. We worked quite closely together.” Of course, she really had to pry her way into all that and, in the end, she worked with her father at night, giving him her ideas and suggestions, often trying to make him think he came up with it all on his own. In the morning, he would give instructions to his men to build the defenses she’d designed and she doubted anyone among her father’s troops had any idea of her involvement.
“Then help or go away. I can’t stand hovering.”
“I’m still hearing tone,” Talaith said dryly, the book continuing to hold her interest.