Light My Fire (Dragon Kin #7)(26)

“First off,” Ghleanna snapped, “don’t talk about your brother that way. Fal has many . . . talents.”

“Do you pause like that when you talk of me?”

“Of course not!”

“Son,” Bram said, his hand resting on Celyn’s shoulder. “We have complete and utter faith in you.”

“Then why don’t you want me to escort that girl? It’s one of the things Cadwaladrs are called on to do all the time.”

“And we’re sure you’ll do it very well.”

Celyn reared back, horrified.

“What?” Bram asked, panicked. “What did I say?”

“That’s what you said to Fal before Uncle Bercelak had him shipped off to the salt mines.”

“Oh.” Bram glanced at Ghleanna. “Did I?”

Disgusted, Celyn turned and stalked off. He now, officially, had the worst headache of all time!

Dagmar, her dog Adda by her side, searched the library until she tracked down her nephew Frederik. She wanted to fill him in on all the latest. Not because she needed him to do anything, but because he was always a good source of rational thought in this insane household filled with a mad queen, her dragon consort, and the dragon consort’s entire bloody family.

Frederik had been left on Queen Annwyl’s doorstep by Dagmar’s older—and idiotic—brothers some ten years ago. It was something done by many a Northman when faced with a boy he didn’t know what to do with.

And, at first, Dagmar had found the boy’s presence the highest inconvenience. As Battle Lord to Queen Annwyl and Steward of Garbhán Isle, Dagmar had little time for boys who seemed tragically . . . stupid.

Yet she’d been as wrong about Frederik as her own people had been wrong about her simply because she was a woman. Frederik had not been stupid. Cursed with as poor eyesight as herself? Yes. Stupid? Oh, very far from it. In fact, he’d been much smarter than she’d been because he’d successfully hidden his keen mind from his kinsmen, forcing them to send him away rather than deal with his supposed uselessness.

But Frederik had become quite useful to Dagmar once he’d gotten some spectacles to help with his close-in sight and was given the freedom to be who he was. He was a thinker, that one. He had a talent that was nothing but a curse in the harsh Northlands, but worthy of praise in the gentler south. A smart, quick-thinking plotter. But he was never cruel. Never heartless. Simply bright and cunning.

Just like his aunt.

Unlike Dagmar, however, Frederik did manage to find the hidden warrior within. It hadn’t been easy for him. Not like it was for her other nephews, who many believed had been shot from the womb with small warhammers at the ready. Frederik had had to work much harder to get as far as he had, but—as always—he’d been very smart. He didn’t ask any of Gwenvael’s brothers for battle training. Instead, he’d approached Bercelak the Great. A bold and risky move that had impressed everyone.

Because of his bravery, many dragons and humans came to Frederik about sensitive issues that they hoped he’d bring directly to her. It should have bothered Dagmar, but it didn’t. There was something about knowing that dragons feared her the way many humans did that had a rather heady effect.

Especially considering where her life had started. As a “girl child” of the great Reinholdt. True, girls were revered in the Northlands because they were so rare, but they were also protected to the point of smothering. It wasn’t until Dagmar came to the Southlands that she’d found her home, where she could happily be her true manipulative, plotting, conniving self. And she’d found a dragon who was the perfect match for her.

Although, Dagmar had to admit that as things had changed so drastically between them over the last few years, she’d thought Gwenvael’s feelings for her would change too. But she’d forgotten he was not a human male. He was a dragon and dragons were different. Difficult, but different.

She was grateful, though, because she still loved the devious bastard. With all her hard heart. Important since the last ten years they’d been forced to need each other more than they’d ever thought possible.

Dagmar turned a corner in the expansive library that Éibhear and Frederik had organized together and that Frederik now meticulously maintained, and she stopped as she neared a large table covered in books and scrolls.

Frederik, always sensing when Dagmar was nearby, lifted his head from his work. He had the Reinholdt eyes. Grey and cold . . . just like her own. He smiled at her, a warm and loving smile that disappeared as soon as that ball of parchment hit her in the forehead.

She sighed and glared at the offender, desperately trying to ignore all those giggles. “Does someone want to miss supper yet again?”

“You’d starve us?”

“Yes. Yes, I would.”

Small feet landed on the table, small balled fists were placed on small hips. “I’ll tell my father that you dare starve his precious offspring.”

Dagmar pointed a finger at her eldest daughter, Arlais. “You would think you’d be grateful.”

“Grateful for what exactly?”

“That I didn’t smother you at birth. A situation that can change at any moment.”

“Auntie Dagmar!” Frederik admonished, even while he laughed.

“She started it!”