Light My Fire (Dragon Kin #7)(53)

“No excuse? He’s my son.”

“And like his mother, he plans to get what he wants. The question is whether we give it to him willingly, or he rips it from our cold, dead hands.”

“I ask so little of this world—”

“That’s a lie.”

“—that I don’t think it’s unreasonable to insist my only son stay by my side until he’s at least eighteen winters so that I may raise him properly.”

Gwenvael moved in until Dagmar felt forced to open her legs to allow him closer. He then placed his arms on either side of her and leaned in until their faces were only inches apart.

“Do you really think,” he asked, “that I want my son to go?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I’ll have you know, female, that unlike my father, who has always felt he only loved his sons due to some flaw in his gods-given instincts, I actually love and, more importantly, like my son. How could I not? He reminds me of you.” He kissed her nose.

“But I do fear,” Gwenvael went on, “that he’s stagnating here. A mind like his must be constantly occupied or—and I know this from experience—it will only turn to ill.”

“I managed.”

“Your kin thought so little of you in the beginning, how could you not? Var doesn’t have that problem here. Even Briec respects him.” Gwenvael lowered his head a bit so that they were looking each other right in the eyes. “Briec.”

“But to send him far away—”

“It’s not like we’re sending him to the Ice Lands, Dagmar. Bram’s not even an hour’s flight from here. And, even better, my uncle Bram will be able to teach our boy something that neither you nor I can.”

“Empathy?”

“I was going to say humility, but now that I think on it . . . both would probably apply.”

Annwyl sat on the outside steps leading into the Great Hall and gulped down more water from the chalice one of the servants had brought her. Her training had not gone well today. She hadn’t done her best, leaving herself open to easy hits and sloppy technique. Now her muscles were fairly screaming and she had a few new cuts that hadn’t been there this morning. They were also still bleeding, but she knew that Morfyd could tend them. Besides, it wasn’t like she was bleeding to death on the steps. Then she would have sent for a healer. Although many didn’t believe it, she did have common sense.

Gwenvael’s eldest daughter ran out of the Great Hall and down the steps.

“What is it, Arlais?” Annwyl asked the pompous child. Gods, she’d thought her Talwyn had been difficult. She’d take a thousand Talwyns over this one pain-in-the-ass brat.

Arlais didn’t answer Annwyl’s question, but her gaze was fixed on the sky above. That meant one of two things. Either Rhiannon was coming for a visit or—

“I will not have this argument again!” the red She-dragon snapped as her claws landed hard on the ground, her thick, long hair settling around her in all its shiny, perfect red glory.

“All I’m saying,” the purple dragon calmly explained when he landed next to her, his cousin not far behind, “is that you could have handled that better. Now I have to fix it.”

“Then fix it!” She sat back on her haunches and pointed a sharp black talon at him. “She started this, if you’d bother to remember. And I was kind enough to do nothing more than add a little something to her food that didn’t kill her. It merely made her scales fall off. I could have come up with something that would have made her head explode. But I didn’t do that, now did I?”

“That was so big of you,” the purple dragon replied drily, his eyes rolling back in his head.

“Of course it was.” And Keita said those words with so much sincerity that Annwyl had to take a quick moment to close her eyes and bite back her laughter. “I didn’t want her dead, my love. I just wanted to make it clear who’s in charge.”

“In the Northlands, I’m in charge, Keita.”

The redhead leaned over and patted his forearm. “Of course you are, dear. And you just keep thinking that if it gives you ease.”

“Auntie Keita!” Arlais shouted—sounding, for once, like an actual child and not a defiant hell spawn.

“Arlais!” Keita quickly shifted to human just as her young niece threw herself at her.

Hugging the laughing child tight, Keita lifted Arlais up and spun her around while covering her face in kisses. “My dear, dear, niece!”

Keita placed her laughing niece on the ground but held her hand. “Let us go inside and find me a divine gown to put on that will put all these worthless humans to shame with my astounding beauty.”

“I have the perfect one for you!” Arlais happily crowed while she dragged Keita toward the stairs.

“Excellent! You have such a fine eye, my dear Arlais.”

When Keita was close, Annwyl smiled at her and said, “Hello, sister.”

“Good day, dearest Annwyl.”

“What brings you all this way?”

“My mother tormented my poor Ragnar about coming home until he couldn’t stand it anymore.”

“She sings to me inside my head,” he complained while getting dressed. “She knows I hate that. She knows!”