What a Dragon Should Know (Dragon Kin #3)(5)

Her father rested his big fists on the table, and Dagmar knew she was no longer talking to the frightening warlord feared throughout the Northlands, but Sigmar Reinholdt. The man who cared greatly for his people and his kinsmen. “It’s Jökull you’re worried about. Isn’t it?” he asked, not looking at her.

“With good reason. We can no longer ignore your brother.”

“I ain’t been ignoring him!”

“He’s increasing his troops, buying them apparently. Your men are clearly preparing for a siege. I want to help and Queen Annwyl allows me that.”

“I don’t need your help, little miss.”

“No. You need hers. And I see no shame in it.”

Her father cleared his throat, glanced around, and muttered, “You know this ain’t ya fault.”

Unfortunately, she didn’t know that. But when she didn’t reply to his statement, her father took a large breath and slowly let it out. “What are we giving her?”

“Information.” They could afford to give her little else.

“You and that bloody information.”

“It’s what I barter in.” She leaned forward, looking him right in the eyes—one of the few unafraid to do so. “I need you to trust me on this.”

He snorted and stared down at the table, Dagmar patiently waiting.

When he finally grabbed hold of his ax handle, yanking the weapon from the table, she knew she’d won—or at least gotten a short-term reprieve.

“Don’t push your luck with me, little miss,” he grumbled.

Of course she would. She was so good at it.

As her father walked out, a servant rushed in. “My lady, Brother Ragnar approaches.”

She nodded and stood, her appetite long having left.

“Look all”—Kikka sneered, her husband still ranting about “all the bloody coin you spend!”—“another male who won’t be bedding our little Dagmar.”

“And then there’s you, sister.” Dagmar leaned down and finished on a whisper, “Who will apparently f**k anything.”

Heading toward the doors and her respite from idiocy, Dagmar heard her brother snap, “What did she say? What are you doing?”

Gwenvael skimmed the note quickly. “The Reinholdt wants you—they’re very clear on that ‘you’—to come to his territory to save the lives of your unborn children. You know, personally, I don’t appreciate him trying to order my lovely queen about, but what really bothers me—”

“Is that the barbarians already know I’m having twins?” At Gwenvael’s nod, she added, “And if they know that, they might already know I’m no longer as fierce as I once was.”

“You won’t be expecting forever, Annwyl. And once the twins are here, you’ll be as violently cruel and madly bloodthirsty as you always were.”

“Now you’re just trying to make me feel better.”

“Is it working?”

“A little.” She closed her eyes, and he knew she was in pain, the “twinges,” as she called them, happening more and more lately. She took a cleansing breath and went on. “But even if I wanted to go to the Northlands myself, Fearghus will never let that happen. And Morfyd! Gods, the whining.” Gwenvael’s older sister, a powerful Dragonwitch and healer, could wear the scales off a fast-moving snake when she was in a mood. “Besides, someone I thought adored me told me I was too fat to travel.”

“That is not what I said, although I love how all of you willfully misinterpret me. And how quick we are to forget I did notice that your br**sts had grown even fuller and more lovely. If that’s possible.”

Annwyl laughed and shook her head. “Not even a modicum of shame.”

“Not even a teaspoonful. Now, we both know you can’t travel, so what would you like me to do? Want me to write them back for you? I think we both have to admit that I have a way with the written word that you do not, my lovely.”

“This is very true.” She turned a bit on his lap so that she looked directly at him. “But I thought perhaps you could go in my stead.”

“Me? Go back to the Northlands?” he scoffed. “I’d rather eat bark.”

“Do you think I like asking you to take this risk? Especially with the reputation you left behind?” She raised a brow. “Ruiner.”

“You know, they weren’t virgins,” he argued as he’d been arguing for decades. “They stumbled upon me at the lake. Took advantage of me. They used their tails in a manner I found enticing, and I did what I had to do to survive the horrors of war.”

“Is it true you, and you alone, is specifically mentioned in the truce?”

“As long as I keep my distance from Lightning females—you may also know the Lightnings as the Horde dragons, my beautiful majesty”—he gave her his most appealing smile but she only stared at him, so he continued—“I can go into the Northlands for short periods of time.”

“Then I need you to go. But to be quite honest you’re the only one I can send.”

The admission surprised him. “I am?”

“I can’t send Morfyd. She’s female, and the Lightnings would snag her faster than you can lure a local girl to your bed.”