The screams abruptly ended and the Lightning appeared dazed. He stumbled forward, stumbled back, and then his big body was falling. With both Izzy and Talaith still on the highest point.
Gwenvael went to catch them, but Addolgar held him back. He was glad, too. Otherwise, he would have missed the beautiful way mother and daughter took their leave of Olgeir. Talaith waited until the dragon neared the ground before jumping off and away, her body rolling effortlessly from him until she was right back to her feet. Even more impressive was that she still held her dagger, having pulled it out at the last second.
Izzy was a bit more flamboyant, releasing her hold on the dragon’s tip and letting her body fall. When her feet touched Olgeir’s forearm, she pushed off and backflipped away from the dragon. His knee tapped her on the way down so she flipped again, her head almost slamming into the ground. But she was a fast girl and her hands hit the ground first, pushing her off yet again. Three more backflips and she was standing by Gwenvael.
Panting, she smiled up at him. And, of course, she waved “Hello, Gwenvael!”
He beamed back at her, loving his little niece more than he thought possible. “Izzy. Having a good day?”
She peeked at her mother and when Talaith blew her a kiss, her grin grew much wider. “It’s getting better.”
Chapter 34
Ragnar stepped past the doorway, the afternoon suns blazing down on his head. The Southland Dragon Queen stood next to him. They’d made their deal, and now the hard part would begin.
“Back to the Northlands, then?” she asked.
“Yes. I have many arrangements to make.”
“And your father?”
“Will be a problem, but not my only one. There are others who hope to rule as well. They’ll need to be dealt with.” He exhaled. “But first … my father.”
And that’s when the land shook as Olgeir the Wastrel crash-landed in the middle of the courtyard.
“Sorry,” someone yelled from above. “Lost me grip!”
That Gold dragon he’d sent Dagmar off with dropped to the ground beside the corpse. “It’s all right,” he called back up. “You didn’t hit anyone.”
The Gold lowered himself to the ground and three females slipped off his back, one of them Dagmar. Ragnar was so relieved to see her, he didn’t have words.
The Dragon Queen’s children rushed from the Great Hall to the courtyard stairs. “What the hell is this?” the arrogant, silver-haired one demanded.
A young girl pointed excitedly at Olgeir’s body. “Daddy! Look what Mum and I did!” She held up Olgeir’s horns. “And Addolgar gave me these! He said I could wear them on my helmet as a sign of honor!”
Bercelak the Great leaned against the doorway, his arms folded over his chest. “This is awkward,” he said with a definite smirk.
The girl stared up at Ragnar, suddenly asking, “Do you know him?”
Rhiannon leaned forward and whispered quite loudly, “Its his father, dear.”
Horrified, she said, “Gods. I’m so sorry.”
The other human female, browner than the first but smaller, pushed the girl toward the stairs. “Let it go, Izzy.”
“I didn’t know.” The girl held up his father’s horns when she reached the step Ragnar stood on. “Do you want these back? Or his tail?”
“Izzy!” The woman pushed her into the Great Hall. “Stop talking.”
“And what have you been up to?” the Silver snapped at the females. “First you don’t want her fighting at all, and now you’re throwing her into battles with this idiot’s father!”
“Don’t yell at me! It’s not like we had a choice!” She nodded at Ragnar. “Sorry about your father.” She marched into the Great Hall. “And just shut up about it, Briec!”
“I will not!”
The Gold shifted to human and brazenly walked naked up the stairs past Rhiannon. “Mother of my heart!” He stopped by Ragnar. “Liar monk.”
“Ruiner.”
He glanced back at Dagmar who was making her patient cautious way up the stairs. “Go near her,” the Gold said low, “and I’ll let Talaith and Izzy do to you what they did to your father.”
Ragnar raised a brow as the Gold slung his arm over Bercelak’s shoulders.
“Father! I need to fill you in on a new fighting technique I’ve discovered. Come. Let me tell you all about it.”
Ragnar smiled down at Dagmar. Her simple grey gown was torn, dirty, and covered in soot. Her spectacles were frighteningly dirty and one side of her face had scrapes. She’d never looked happier.
“Spot of trouble?” he teased as she climbed the stairs to him.
“A bit. Sorry I missed the meeting. But I’ll do what I can as things progress though”—she reached up and tapped his chin as she came to a stop before him—“betray me again at your own peril, Horde dragon.” Panting, exhausted, she still managed a smile. “I know Brastias thought my little trap was a waste of time. Now I can tell him it’s not. I just have to make sure to account next time for the fire-lightning dynamics.”
“What have I always told you, Lady Dagmar?”
She rolled her eyes. “Every action has a positive reaction—blah, blah, blah.” Dagmar winked at the Dragon Queen. “Don’t worry, though, Majesty. The Cadwaladrs are putting out the forest fire as we speak.”