Last Dragon Standing (Dragon Kin #4)(81)

With Annwyl it was even simpler. He held up his book. She scowled at it, read the title, and then grinned. And gods, what a grin!

“Isn’t his writing amazing?” she asked, suddenly eager to talk to him when only an hour before she could barely be bothered to smile and nod in his direction.

“I agree. But I didn’t enjoy his last book.”

“But didn’t you see? He wanted you to look deeper. He was challenging the reader.”

“Perhaps, but his third book is still my favorite. With that amazing line: ‘If I knew then—”

“—what I know now—”

And together they finished it: “—I would have killed the bitch when I had the chance!’”

They laughed until they realized everyone was staring at them.

Annwyl shrugged. “Gorneves, Royal Spy to the Queen.”

“A spy novel?” Dagmar asked. “You two are talking about a spy novel?”

Annwyl threw her hands up in the air. “Not just a spy novel!”

“It’s much more than that,” Ragnar argued, and when Dagmar gawked at him in disgust, he added, “I can’t read deep, meaningful, thought-provoking philosophy all the time.”

“Exactly. Sometimes you have to read about a completely amoral hero whoring and killing his way across an unnamed land in the name of the queen that he’ll always love—”

“—but never have.” Then both Ragnar and Annwyl sighed a little.

Dagmar briefly closed her eyes. “I think I’m going to vomit on my new gown.”

“Oh, no, dear,” Keita counseled. “Don’t do that. Just aim to your left.” Now the Ruiner threw up his hands, as he was sitting to Dagmar’s left. “Was that reall y necessary, Viper?”

Chapter Twenty-One

Morfyd packed up her equipment, put out the pit fire, and headed back to the castle. She’d spent longer than she’d originally planned casting protective spells around Garbhán Isle and her nieces and nephews, but to be honest, she hadn’t been ready to go back. Not yet. Especially when she’d gotten word that Brastias would be late this eve. But she’d run out of things to do and knew she couldn’t stay out by this small stream much longer.

She trudged back to the castle and, after taking a deep, fortifying breath, headed up the stairs. The dinner was already winding down, which she was quite grateful to see. Walking into the Great Hall, Morfyd smiled, nodding at her kin and their guest. She wasn’t surprised to see that only one of the Northlanders had made it to dinner. The one with the broken leg— uh, Meinhard…I think—would need the night for her Magick and his natural power as a dragon to heal that damage. And she knew the other one— Vig-something or other—was still morbidly embarrassed about his hair. Not that she could blame him. Although she hoped the Northlanders would be far from here when Annwyl received her new helm. She’d already handed the braid of hair over to her blacksmith and told him to add it.

Morfyd rested her hands on the back of Gwenvael’s chair and smiled.

“How was everyone’s meal?”

“Did you eat yet?” Talaith asked after everyone agreed the food was delicious. Her ability to mother seemed innate some days, as she always checked up on all of them to ensure they’d eaten, slept enough, and spent enough time with the children. “There’s more than enough—unless your brother plans to unhinge his jaw again and inhale what’s left.”

“I was starving,” Briec returned, “after a whole day of putting up with you.”

“Putting up with me?” Talaith demanded. “Putting up with me? ”

“All right,” Morfyd cut in, her hands raised. “Perhaps we can table this next Talaith–Briec argument to a time when we don’t have guests.”

“But we were so looking forward to another one of their arguments,” Gwenvael muttered.

“Quiet, snake,” Talaith shot back. She pushed her chair out and stood.

“I’ll get you something to eat,” she said to Morfyd.

“Oh, don’t bother.” Morfyd waved her off. “I’m not hungry.”

“Are you sure? It will only take me a moment.”

Actually Morfyd was starving, but she had other plans for this evening with her mate in their room, and sitting with her family, eating cold food wasn’t one of them. But she wasn’t about to go into any detail on that in front of her brothers and, more importantly, Chief Dragonlord of the Lightning dragons, Lord Ragnar.

“No, no. I’m fine.”

And that’s when Morfyd heard it. A sigh. A soft, annoyed sigh. Her gaze moved to where her sister sat between Lord Ragnar and Éibhear. And, as timing would have it, caught her sister at the midway point of an eye roll.

“Something wrong, sister?” Morfyd asked sweetly, already tired of Keita’s presence in her home.

“No, no. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? It seemed there might be some issue? Something you’d like to discuss?”

“Sisters,” Fearghus said low, the warning in his voice clear.

“It’s all right, Fearghus. I’m just trying to find out if there’s something I can do to make my precious baby sister’s stay here at Garbhán Isle all the better. I do hate to see her unhappy.”