What a Dragon Should Know (Dragon Kin #3)(107)

Dagmar studied the male holding Annwyl’s babes. His mouth twisted a bit as he debated something and, with a small shrug, moved forward, heading toward Annwyl’s room.

Dagmar followed right behind him, the guards noticing her immediately. She waited a moment, took a breath, and entered the queen’s dying chamber.

He stood beside the bed, staring down at Annwyl.

“Wanted to give them a chance to say good-bye?” she asked coldly.

Looking up in surprise, he smiled. “Amazing. That you can see me, I mean.” When she didn’t comment on that, he seemed to lose interest.

“It seemed only fair to bring them to their mother. Don’t you think?” He placed the babes on their mother’s chest and stomach. His smile was indulgent, like a father’s over a puppy his children had grown fond of but could no longer have. “Now say bye-bye,” he told them, his voice teasing. “Can you say bye-bye?”

Dagmar’s eyes narrowed, her top lip curled, and her hands turned into tight fists.

God or not, she wouldn’t be letting this bastard off that easily.

Briec, thoroughly disgusted with his kin, rolled his eyes. The mate of his brother lay dying in the rooms above and all these idiots could do was argue about the best way to track down and decimate Minotaurs.

A waste of energy in his opinion. But typical of the way the Cadwaladr Clan handled something like this.

They couldn’t help Annwyl, and his father’s kin did like to “help.” So they would do what they did best: kill and destroy. But they couldn’t do that if what the tiny barbarian female had told them was true—that the Minotaur tracks may be in one location, but that only meant the Minotaurs themselves were surely in another. So they stood over maps and argued and debated and disagreed. All while Fearghus sat in a chair, staring at the table with the maps. Briec knew his brother saw nothing that was in front of him. Felt nothing except the loss of his mate.

Late every night Briec had to track an exhausted Talaith down and pull her away from her books so she could get at least a few hours of sleep. She didn’t sleep, though. She mostly cried. It was heartless and cruel, he knew, but it would be better for all if their mother—who sat silent across the room staring at Fearghus—would simply let Annwyl go. Let her go so they could release her ashes to the wind, and then move on to the business of raising her offspring the way she would have wanted.

It wasn’t that Briec wanted her to die. He’d never disliked her that much. But keeping her around for no reason other than to give Fearghus a still-breathing corpse to stare at ever, day and night didn’t seem like a much better idea.

Of course, whenever he thought of himself going through any of this—losing his Talaith this way—he felt the pain as a physical thing. Never before had he wanted so badly to do something, anything, that would help his brother. Fearghus had never been a happy-go-lucky dragon like Gwenvael, but Fearghus had never been like this. Broken.

His brother was broken. And although Fearghus’s devastation would have been great if Annwyl had fallen in battle, his enemy would have been clear. His task clearer—to kill and destroy all those who’d had a hand in Annwyl’s death.

But how did one kill a god?

If Briec knew, he would have done it himself long ago.

As Bercelak’s bad temper lashed out at his own brother and Addolgar—whose temper could be much worse—lashed back, Briec glanced around the room.

Something … he felt something.

He immediately glanced at his sister. Her expression didn’t change, her annoyance didn’t dwindle.

If Morfyd felt nothing then perhaps there was nothing to feel.

He dismissed it all and focused on his father, wondering which one of them would throw the first punch.

Ahh. Bercelak, of course. Not surprising.

The god in human form stood tall and looked at her. His hair was wildly long, a good portion of it dragging along the floor, and it seemed to have an array of colors streaking through all that black. When she’d first seen him, it had been too dark to tell all the nuances, but now she saw it all clearly. Even his eyes were a strange color. Violet perhaps? Very much the color of Briec’s eyes, although more vibrant—and surprisingly warmer than Briec’s. More friendly. Just like his handsome face.

Everything about him said handsome, charming, and sweet—and Dagmar didn’t believe any of that for even a second.

“So you don’t worship the gods.”

Dagmar moved farther into the room.

“Reason and logic are all I need.”

“But so cold and unfeeling are dear reason and logic.”

“They’ve done well enough for me. I’ve seen my people worship at the altars of gods like you and I have yet to see the benefit. Men cut down in their prime during battle, leaving wife and babes to their own. So the wife prays to her god. ‘Please god, help me now that my husband is gone.’ ” Dagmar shrugged. “Within a month or two, when she’s worked her way through the paltry sum given to her by the army, I’ll see her in the market, selling herself on the street to the highest bidder. Hoping to earn enough to put food on the table for babes who’ll grow-up as thieves and murderers. Or maybe as soldiers, because their father was, and then it can start all over again. No, I’m sorry. That I cannot worship.”

“But to save your friend, won’t you lie to me? Tell me what I want to hear? Won’t you play those same games you play with others?”