“Don’t you think the two of you are so adorable together?”
Dagmar eagerly clapped her hands together and said, “No!” before she let her face return to its natural state of disdain.
“It’s not easy finding someone who not only accepts you for who you are but tolerates you as well.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that you’re the type of woman only bloodthirsty battle dogs could love.”
“Thank you,” Dagmar replied flatly.
“Before you get insulted … I am too! And yet Rhy loves me anyway.”
“Rhy?”
“Don’t start.” She gazed off, sighing. “Rhy loves me in spite of the—”
“Occasionally missing body parts?”
“Well—”
“The bits of blood and gore still caught in your hair?”
“That’s—”
“The corpses piled high in your name?”
“Yes!” She let out a frustrated growl. “In spite of all that he loves me.”
“And yet you brought Annwyl back. Against his wishes.”
“She was already dead. His”—she shrugged—“proprietary rights, shall we say, over her were no longer in effect. Her corpse was mine to do with as I wish. The twins were a little more complicated. I couldn’t simply take them since he’d sent them there. And I couldn’t rescue you.”
“Why not?”
She huffed indignantly. “I can’t reward bad behavior.”
“What bad behavior?”
“You don’t worship me. Or any of us.”
“How is that bad—”
“So I had to find another way and that’s when I decided to bring Annwyl back.” She pursed her lips. “It was a risk, though. She’d already been to the other side; she’d been swimming, laying out in the sun, had a little something to eat. Dragging her back here can sometimes cause problems, especially with humans. There was every chance she would have killed you and those babes as she did those Minotaurs.”
“What an excellent plan then.”
“It worked, didn’t it, Lady Sarcasm? And so we understand each other, all I do is set the plan in motion. The rest is up to you.”
“Yes, but I don’t understand all these rules you have in place. Who you can help, who you can’t, when, how … it’s endless. They’re all so complicated.”
“But they have their reasons. I and the other gods of war built these rules for gods and the creatures we gods create for one simple reason.”
“So that when the rules are broken, there’s war?”
The goddess stilled for a moment and then giggled. Giggled like a child. “Yes.” She bent over at the waist, her arms around her middle, the laughter becoming louder. “That is why! And it works every bloody time!”
For the life of her, Dagmar didn’t understand what she liked about this goddess, but she did. She did like her. “I’m glad you’re so amused by all this.”
Wiping away tears, the goddess stood tall. She was a little smaller now. Dagmar wondered how big she could actually get. Or how small. Could she change into a hat?
“One gets her joy where she can,” Eir added. “And that’s all I want for you.”
“Are we back at Gwenvael again?”
“He’s perfect for you. And you love him. Don’t you?”
Dagmar petted the large wolf-god standing beside her. She didn’t have to crouch to reach his back. On all fours he neared her shoulder. “If I were to love anyone, it would be him. But I don’t love anyone.”
“Of course you—”
“I do care. For many things, many people. But I just don’t think it’s in me to love anyone.”
“That very well could be true. But I think if gods can love, then I can hold out hope for you.”
She patted Dagmar’s shoulder. “Good-bye, my friend.” Eir headed deeper into the glen. “It was good seeing you again.”
“And you.” Dagmar smiled at Nannulf. “And you as well.”
After a moment of hesitation she whispered in the wolf-god’s ear, “And watch out for Canute and the others. I don’t think they worship the gods either, but … I think they deserve the protection just the same.”
Dagmar stroked her hand down his head and across his fur. He leaned in, nuzzling her cheek, and, without warning, dragged his tongue across her collarbone.
Dagmar shuddered, unable to hide her disgust.
“Don’t be too hard on him,” Eir called back. “He likes you.”
The wolf stepped back and stared at her expectantly, his tongue hanging out. For her dogs, she’d make the sacrifice. But only for her dogs.
Fighting her urge to wipe the slobber off her neck in front of him, Dagmar said, “Thank you, Nannulf.”
The wolf barked. But he was a god, and the sound of it shook the glen, causing the trees to sway and the ground to vibrate.
Dagmar almost fell to her knees, so she quickly pressed her body against the boulder and held on.
“Don’t do that, you big idiot!” Eir snapped. “Now come on.”
Nannulf ran off after his traveling companion, and Dagmar finally wiped at the slobber on her neck. She felt slightly ill when she realized it had already dried on her skin and her flesh began to itch in response.
Determined to wash it off immediately, she turned and came face to chest with Gwenvael.
“Who are you talking to?”
“Powerful gods.”
“Of course you are.”
“You asked.”
“I did.” He brushed his hand across her collarbone. “Rash?”
She looked down at the red irritated area that was becoming redder and more irritated by the second. “Dog slobber.”
“Lovely.” He took her hand and led her through the trees. “Anyway, I heard from Morfyd this morning.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Well, Izzy apparently has sold her soul to Rhydderch Hael. Talaith found out and it looks as if she’s disowned her. And our mother has invited Lightning dragons over for tea. Specifically Ragnar the Cunning.”
Dagmar pouted. “We miss everything.”
“Exactly. We need to get back to Garbhán Isle before everything implodes and we’re not there to witness it—while enjoying wine and cheese.”
“Good plan.” Dagmar stopped walking and frowned.
“What is it?”
“Lord Ragnar’s here? In Dark Plains?”
“That’s what she said. Showed up last night. Why?”
Dagmar examined the ground at her feet. “I wonder if we got all those tunnels—or if Ragnar left a few open for himself.”
Now Gwenvael stared down at the ground. “Shit.”
It would be a much quicker trip with a horse, but she didn’t care. She needed the run. She needed the freedom. She needed her lungs to ache and her muscles to burn. Izzy needed all of that to work through the pain she felt at her mother’s anger.
What she didn’t need, however, was to trip over her own two feet.
Izzy went down face first in the soft grass. Her hands braced her fall and she caught herself before smashing her nose into the ground and breaking it. The tumble itself did no harm and normally she’d be back up on her feet in seconds, but the dread of discovery she’d been living with for so many months had come full circle and all she could do was cry. She thought she’d cried herself out ages ago when Annwyl was dying. But it seemed she still had some tears left.
Izzy feared this crying jag would go on for hours, but she was easily distracted when the ground underneath her feet and legs moved a bit. What if there were snakes under there? She’d walked over a nest once and it had taken her father hours to calm her down.
Nervous, her hate of snakes a strong one, Izzy raised her chest up using her arms and looked down toward her feet. She didn’t see any snakes, but they were tricky, weren’t they? Plotting world domination, as far as she was concerned. She thought about running, but she had her sword sheathed at her side and her shield strapped to her back, so she felt somewhat ready. Her mother often asked her, “Do you sleep with those damn things on?” She didn’t … not often anyway. But better safe than sorry, Izzy always felt.
And she knew her logic to be sound when the ground at her feet slowly rose up. She pulled her legs away and turned over, her palms flat on the ground as she crawled backward.
The ground broke apart and something thin and long poked out from the middle. A snake! Just like she thought. Tricky, evil snakes! But as the snake raised farther up, Izzy realized she knew no snakes that looked like that. Sharpened metal over scales. Purple scales.
Her grandmother had said a Lightning was coming to Garbhán Isle. But she knew something wasn’t right. She could feel it … sense it.
Moving fast, Izzy flipped on to her stomach, her hands shoving hard at the ground as her feet pushed her off. But she’d barely run a foot when that tail wrapped around her neck, lifting her off the ground. The Lightning dragon attached to it pulled himself from the ground, three others doing the same from different spots.
“Find that son of mine,” the dragon holding her ordered. “And bring him to me.”
He shook dirt from his hair and face and lifted his head to look around. He squinted up at the sun, scowling. “Too bloody hot here.”
Since he seemed distracted, Izzy slowly reached for her sword, but the sharpened tip of the tail pressed against her cheek until her head tilted all the way to the side.
“Don’t do anything stupid, girl.” The dragon brought her around so he could look directly at her. Izzy immediately pulled her hands away from her weapon and instead struggled with the bit of tail choking her.
The dragon was extremely old. Older than her grandparents. Unlike her grandparents, though, he was mean. Not unfriendly or grouchy or cranky … just mean. Mean because he could be and because he enjoyed it.
He brought her even closer until his breath hit her in the face—an unpleasant experience to be sure. His eyes examined her closely before he roared, “Where’s me son?”
Chapter 33
Gwenvael took Dagmar’s hand. He’d hoped to take his time walking back to Garbhán Isle. He had much to discuss with her and didn’t want his family’s dramas to distract either one of them from the fact that they were in love … At least they’d better be, because he bloody well loved her.
Unfortunately their talk about the future would have to wait until he had Dagmar safely inside Garbhán Isle and the rest of his family dealing with any of the holes in their defenses.
“We need to talk to Ragnar,” she said breathlessly as he dragged her through the trees to a clearing. “Find out how he got here and then—”
“I know. I know. It’ll be—”
That tail blindsided him, Dagmar’s screamed warning giving him only enough time to release her hand before he was sent flying into the forest. He shifted in mid-flight and when his body hit a tree, he plowed right through it and many others. He slid to a stop on his back and looked up into the old face of Olgeir the Wastrel.