Especially when she glanced over her shoulder and saw someone back into the shadows so she wouldn’t see.
Yes. Definitely getting worse.
Taking much quicker steps, Dagmar rushed back to the Stomping Horse Inn. She stepped inside and let out a sigh of relief. The place was quite busy and she felt safer in the well-lit inn with many around her, male and female.
“My lady, you’ve returned.”
Dagmar smiled at the owner. “Yes. I was wondering if I could get a table.”
“Anything for you.” She’d tipped him well that morning and she was very glad she had. He forced a few men to move and gave their table to Dagmar. It was in the back, and she faced the door, hoping to see Gwenvael come in looking for her. The owner went out of his way to keep the local men away from her, but a few still stopped by, trying to chat her up.
Men were so strange. She knew they weren’t enamored by her looks, but the colder and more off-putting she became, the more they swarmed. Willing local women all around, but they wanted the “cold bitch,” as one dismissed male mumbled at her.
She stared hard at the door, willing it to open and bring in Gwenvael. The chair on the other side of her small table scraped against the floor as it was pulled back and Dagmar let out an annoyed sigh.
“Go away.”
“I think we need to talk.”
Dagmar felt a fresh blade through her heart as she turned and looked deep into blue eyes with silver flecks through the iris. And until her hands, bent into claws, were going for his face, she had no idea she’d react so violently. But Ragnar simply grabbed her wrists and slammed them back to the table.
“Sit down,” he calmly ordered.
“My lady?” The owner rushed over. “Are you all right?”
Ragnar raised a brow, and Dagmar forced herself to smile up at the owner. “Everything’s fine. Thank you.”
He nodded at her and glared at Ragnar.
When they were again alone, she snatched her hands back and snarled, “You lying bastard.”
He wore no monk’s robes this time, no cowl, but a simple black cape with the hood pulled right to his forehead—to hide the purple hair, she supposed.
“Do you think it was so easy for me to lie to you for the last twenty years? You, who were always so kind to me?”
“Then why did you? What did you want from me?”
“What I got.”
She studied him closely. Reason help her, but he was beautiful. Those gorgeous eyes combined with sharp cheekbones, full lips, and an almost-but-not-quite-too-long nose would make any female stop and stare—and dream.
“He warned me your kind is everywhere,” she said. “But I believed a Northlander would be too honorable. Bigger fool, I.”
“If it had been safe, I would have told you the truth. Hearing stories about dragons is vastly different from realizing one is sitting across from you, drinking your wine.”
“You know it wouldn’t have mattered to me.”
“No. I see now that it wouldn’t have.” His smile was affectionate. “Not to my reasoning, Dagmar.”
“Your name, dragon. What is it?”
“Ragnar the Cunning, of the Olgeirsson Horde.”
“Fitting.” She gazed into his handsome face. “And why are you here now?”
“I have contacts at the Great Library. I would have preferred you not found out that way, though.” He leaned back in his chair. “Why were you looking for me?”
“Trying to confirm a rumor about Jökull’s truce with the Horde.”
He chuckled. “Where did you hear that?”
“Is it true?”
“No. Although it’s a brilliant rumor to start, don’t you think?”
“You know the actions of every horde?”
“Don’t need to. I only need to know your father’s territory is on my father’s territory—and Olgeir the Wastrel isn’t making any truces with humans. He considers you more … well, like your kitchen dogs. Pets that amuse and take scraps off the floor, but have no other real purpose.”
Dagmar rested her elbow on the table and her chin in her palm. “If I thought I could manage it—I’d kill you where you sit.”
He gave her a surprisingly warm smile. “I’ve always had a great fondness for you, Dagmar. A very great fondness. If I could have protected you from being hurt, I would have.”
“But you want something more. Don’t you? That’s why you’re here now.”
“Always quick.”
“Just as I’ve been taught.”
“Your Fire Breather. The Gold.”
She felt her stomach tighten, not enjoying the mention of Gwenvael one bit. “Deserted me for the night, I suspect.”
“You know he didn’t. But he was foolish to bring you here. Foolish to think he’d be ignored by my father’s spies or that the truce between the Hordes and the Dragon Queen would keep him safe.”
Dagmar let out a breath, struggled for calm. “You have him.”
“No. I have no need of him. But my father’s Horde has long memories and we’re just as protective of our females as your kinsmen. Chances are he will not last the night … unless I help him.”
“You mean for a price.”
“A price I suspect you’re willing to pay to get him back.” He took her hand in his and studied it. “Has he seduced you too, Lady Dagmar? Like he has so many others? Has that cold heart you always professed to have been thawed by a Fire Breather?”
Dagmar would give him nothing he could feed on, nothing he could use again in years to come. But she couldn’t deny to herself that she feared for Gwenvael’s safety. She’d seen firsthand what her kinsmen did to those who’d involved themselves with the wrong woman or sullied a kinswoman’s good name.
She knew that as she sat here across from the lying Horde dragon, Gwenvael suffered horribly at the hands of his enemies. She also knew hysteria would get her nowhere. If she kept calm, cold, and just as merciless, perhaps she could get them both out of this.
“At the moment, we’re business partners. And that’s all. You know me well enough, my lord. Know that when I want something, I’ll do what I have to in order to get it.” She leaned back in her chair and folded her hands primly on her lap. “We both know I need him alive if I hope to get what he promised me from that mad bitch queen. So what’s your price? What do I need to do to get you to bring the Southlander to me—alive?”
“It’s simple.” His small smile turned wide and brilliant. “Help me start a war.”
* * *
Gwenvael gritted his fangs and bit back a cry of pain as the blade of a dagger was forced under his scale and then lifted, tearing away the scale from its flesh anchor. But it was not removed completely. No. That was a weaker form of torture. Instead a small, jagged piece of metal was placed between scale and flesh and the scale pressed back into place. In minutes the flesh would seal again to the scale, enclosing the jagged metal inside. The pain of that would only get worse as the hours went on.
It was a very old form of torture but had been quite popular in his grandfather’s day.
When the Lightnings had first dragged him into the city tunnels, he’d thought they wanted information from him. Information he’d never give, but he’d assumed they’d try. Yet for hours, they hadn’t said a word to him. They hadn’t asked him questions or demanded anything. They’d simply beaten him until he shifted to his dragon form, and then they’d chained him from a thick steel pipe. After that they kept hitting him, again and again. If he passed out, they woke him up with water or herbs and went back to beating him. When they paused from beating him, one of them would lift several of his scales and put the metal bits underneath.
A good portion of his body was covered now, and as he hung from the chains manacled to his wrists and ankles, all he felt was pain. Excruciating, nearly unbearable pain. And it would only get worse. That much he knew.
It had crossed his mind to call out to his kin, but he’d decided against it. It would take them days to get to him, and in that time they’d have started another war with the Lightnings. He wouldn’t be responsible for that.
With the scales back in place, the hitting started again. Someone had very big fists and seemed to enjoy hitting Gwenvael’s face with them. By the tenth hit, he slumped in his chains.
That’s when he heard her voice for the first time. “Gwenvael,” she sang. “Gwenvael. My dear, dear heart.”
“He’s out again. Give me some water.”
“We’re out.”
“Then get some, you idiot.”
A claw gripped his jaw and lifted his head. “Don’t you worry, Fire Breather. We’ll get you taken care of.”
“It’s time to fight, Gwenvael,” the voice told him so sweetly. “It’s time to live. You must come to me. Come to me as quick as you can.”
Gwenvael nodded. “I will.”
“You are awake then? Good. So we can—”
Snapping his mouth open, Gwenvael wrapped it around the Lightning’s snout. He bit down, enjoying the screaming, and unleashed his flame. The Lightning’s purple scales would protect him to a degree, but he couldn’t breathe through flames the way Gwenvael’s kind could. So he kept the flame strong, drowning the bastard in effect, letting him twitch and struggle.
He heard other screams, knew the Lightning’s kinsmen would come to protect him, but they didn’t and eventually the one in his maw went limp. Gwenvael released him, staring down at the half-seared face of his torturer.
“Gods, look at him.”
Gwenvael raised his head. More Lightnings, their swords covered in blood, watched him.
“And look at this.” One of them swiped up something in his claw and showed it to the other two.
“They’re still doing that? Ragnar’s going to have a fit when he finds out.”
“We’ll worry about that later. Let’s get him down.”
“Can you walk?” one of them asked, and Gwenvael nodded.
“Can you shift to human?”
He nodded again. If nothing else, he’d definitely try.
“All right then, lad. Come on.”
Chapter 14
Dagmar saw Gwenvael being helped out of the tunnels by three other Horde dragons.
“My brother and cousins,” Ragnar murmured.
She rushed to Gwenvael’s side and lifted his head. “He needs a healer.”
Gwenvael surprised her by shaking his head and pulling away from the three who held him. She wasn’t sure where he’d found the strength. “No,” he said.
“She’s right, Fire Breather. I can see what they did to you,” Ragnar added with a frown. “Let me help you.”
“Help? From a Lightning? I think I’ve had all the help I can stand from you bastards.” Gwenvael took her hand.
“Don’t be foolish,” Ragnar argued. “Let me help you.”
“No. I’ll find my own help.”
“In the Northlands? Do you really think more of my kin aren’t out looking for you? Or that our Dragonwitches will help your kind?”