What a Dragon Should Know (Dragon Kin #3)(98)

Cautiously, Dagmar opened the gate to his stall and stepped inside, making sure to close the gate behind her. This would definitely be one of those times her father would yank her by the hair and tell her not to be stupid, but when it came to animals, Dagmar always followed her instincts—and they’d never failed her.

She approached the enormous beast, wondering how Annwyl ever sat, much less fought, on top of such an animal. She moved carefully, doing her best not to startle him. The mare watched her closely, wanting to see what she might be up to.

Once she stood next to him, Dagmar reached out and brushed her hand against his side. The stallion moved restlessly but didn’t strike out.

She held up the fur blanket she had in her arms, showing it to the mare. Soft brown eyes blinked at Dagmar but the mare didn’t do much of anything else.

Dagmar really wished this was a dog. Dogs she understood so easily. But horses were different and she knew that. She also knew that the horse would be forgotten for the next few days, even though he loved Annwyl as much as anyone else. The bond between a horse and rider was the same as between dog and handler. It went beyond being a mere pet. It was a partnership where one trusted the other and vice versa. Of all the bonds she knew, it was the most indestructible and the most unappreciated.

Taking a deep breath, Dagmar lifted the fur blanket she’d nicked from Annwyl’s room and slowly placed it over the stallion’s back. She adjusted it so it rested high on his shoulders and he could catch her scent.

The stallion’s head lifted up and over his mate’s, his black eyes looking down at her. After a moment, he lowered his head, his muzzle near her. She reached up and stroked him there.

“I am so very sorry,” she said softly, and his eyes closed.

She walked away, making sure to lock the gate behind her. Once outside, Dagmar looked around. It was late and she hadn’t eaten, but she wasn’t very hungry, truth be told. Nor was she tired.

With a sigh, she started back to the castle, but stopped when she heard sniffles. Following the sound, she came around the stables and what she’d always considered a painfully hard heart melted right inside her chest.

She crouched down beside him, but didn’t know why. He was so large, she wasn’t that much bigger than him when she stood up.

Dagmar placed her hand on his knee, smiling into the teary silver eyes that peered up at her beneath long dark blue lashes.

“I’m so sorry,” she said again, knowing words would do nothing at the moment.

“I’ll miss her,” Éibhear said while trying to wipe the tears away. “I’ll miss her so bloody much.”

“I know. I’ve barely known her and I know I’m going to miss her.”

He shrugged sheepishly. “Guess your kin don’t blubber, though.”

“My father cried once. He doesn’t know that I know, but my old nursemaid told me before she died.”

“Why did he cry?”

“Because my mother died while having me. She made the choice to save me. Just as Annwyl did to save her own babes.”

He nodded. “I know it was her choice and that she’d make no other. Not Annwyl. She’ll risk everything for the ones she loves.”

The great blue dragon in human form relaxed his head back against the wall behind him. “But Fearghus … He’ll never recover from this. Not really.”

“And all you can do is be there for him. To let him know that he’s not in this alone.”

“I will.” He tried to wipe his face and Dagmar took a clean cloth from the pocket of her dress and wiped his tears for him.

“You won’t tell, will you?” he asked. “That you found me crying.”

Dagmar rested back on her calves and said, “Your secret will always be safe with me, Éibhear the Blue.”

Gwenvael leaned over and stared down into the crib. The girl frowned like her father—no, that wasn’t right. She frowned like his father. And that did nothing but make Gwenvael rather nervous. Especially with those bright green eyes watching him so intently as if she were debating whether to cut his throat or not. Her brother, however, had quickly grown bored of staring and gone back to sleep.

Thankfully, his niece and nephew looked human. More human than he’d hoped to expect. They had no scales, no wings—no tail, which would have been awkward in the best of situations. They looked like every other human baby he’d ever seen.

Except that they appeared to be three or four months old physically and yet they already moved as if older than that. He’d give them a few days before they could roll over and crawl just like most hatchlings.

Gods, what else did their future hold? As it was, he could feel the Magick surrounding them. No, that was wrong. It didn’t surround them. It poured from them. Out of every pore. They were still weak and terribly vulnerable, but one day … One day their power would be phenomenal.

“How are they?”

Gwenvael glanced over his shoulder. Fearghus lurked in the doorway, unwilling to enter.

“They’re doing well. They’re healthy. Seem to have all the important parts and nothing in addition we have to worry about.” At least not yet. “You should take a look.”

“No. I need to go back to Annwyl.”

“I understand.” Gwenvael reached down and scooped up the girl. He’d done that earlier and immediately put her back down. She clearly wanted to be left alone, but he needed the same reaction he got the first time. And he got it. Her face turned red and she began screaming.