She no longer even had that pair she brought with her. She’d given it to …
Dagmar rested her hand on the baseboard of the bed, steadying herself. She had only one chance here; she’d better make it good.
“And what of your mate, Rhydderch Hael?”
He stared at her. “What of her?”
“Ragnar told me the stories about the dragon gods.”
He laughed. “You mean when you thought he was a monk?” When she didn’t laugh along, he let out a bored sigh. “So what about my mate? And can we make this speedy?”
“I have a theory.”
“That does not sound speedy.”
“Everything I’ve read by humans or been told by Ragnar and those who traveled with him is that Eirianwen, your mate and the most feared goddess of war, is a dragoness.”
“I grow so bored,” he suddenly said.
“I’m sure you do. But just hear me out. I found this very old text written by a monk believed to be completely insane—”
“That’s always a good source.”
“—and he wrote about a tale of two goddesses. One, Arzhela. A goddess of beauty, light, and fertility. Loved by all the human gods. Worshipped as one of the most loved deities. Then there was her younger sister. Eirianwen. A dark goddess. Opposite in purpose and even looks. She favored the desert gods. Brown of skin and hair and eyes. And”—now she made a sad, pouting face—“so unfairly feared. Even by her own sisters and brothers. Because she looked nothing like them and she had a blood thirst rivaled by few. It makes sense she’d become a god of war. Aaah.” She wagged her finger. “But few human warriors would worship her. Those who followed Arzhela had nothing but horrible things to say about poor Eirianwen and gave her nothing but a horrible reputation throughout the land. Saddened, Eirianwen wandered away, becoming the traveling war god. Until she eventually wandered into the midst of the dragon gods. Unfortunately, she was human and they did not like human gods.”
Feeling her confidence return, Dagmar moved closer toward him. “And just as Eirianwen was about to give up and wander away yet again, tragically dismissed by everyone, she met the father of all dragons. Oh, and he took quite a shine to her, and so he and she could … well … you know, he turned himself to human. A skill he only had because he was a god. None of has own creations could turn to human, which had never been a problem until the humans began to fight back on being dinner.
“Then Arzhela found out about you and Eirianwen, didn’t she? And she was not happy, mostly because she still had no mate of her own. How could her scary, over-muscled, blood-drenched, murderous baby sister have a mate and not she? Even worse, he wasn’t one of the human gods but one of those scaly reptiles.”
When that received a raised eyebrow, she held her hands up. “Merely repeating the text I read, my lord.”
“Of course.”
“So there was war because that’s how things are handled between gods. A surprise attack was planned, with the retrieval of Eirianwen added in for good measure. Because it wouldn’t be right if they didn’t bring her back to her own kind who had been treating her so wonderfully up to this point.” He smirked at her dry tone. “But Arzhela, always a little too confident, forgot that her sister was a god of war. Battle, blood, and strategy are her friends, just as reason and logic are mine. She knew this would be coming and planned a counterattack, rallying all the other dragon gods to your side. And by doing so, she risked everything for you.” Dagmar moved in until the hem of her dress mingled with his long hair. “Because when the battle was done and the air cleared, there was no more crossing over from one god domain to the next. She was now part of the dragon pantheon.”
“So what?”
“Dragons’ ability to shift to human is not a gift from you at all, is it? It’s a gift from her. Because of her love for you and desire to protect your kind as best she could.” Dagmar tapped his chest with her forefinger. “That explains why, when the dragons of the Southlands fly into battle, it is her colors they wear under their armor. It is her powers that their battle mages call upon. Not yours.”
The Dragon God said nothing, merely stared.
“That was Morfyd and Talaith’s mistake all along, wasn’t it? It should have been Eirianwen they called upon. Eirianwen to protect Annwyl. Because of the two of you, she seems to be the one with the heart. The one who cares.”
She stepped back from him. “I know! Perhaps I will call on her. I’ve never called on a god before, but as a follower of Aoibhell, I’m sure my call will be heard by all the gods. Dragon, human or otherwise. Perhaps she will be able to do,” she sneered, “what you are not powerful enough to do!”
Then his hand was wrapped tightly around her throat, stopping any more words or air from escaping her mouth. He lifted Dagmar from the floor, ignoring the way she clawed at his fingers.
“So very smart, Dagmar Reinholdt. So very, very smart. Let’s see just how smart you are.”
He released her, tossing her back in the process. Coughing and trying to get her breath back, Dagmar didn’t have a moment to ask what he meant before he slipped his hand under Annwyl’s neck and tilted her head back. He kissed her then, and Dagmar watched as he pulled the last breath from her lungs, the Magicks that had kept her breathing, harshly ripped from her.
The dragon god stepped back and Annwyl’s arm fell to the side, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.
He’d killed her.
Dagmar felt panic sweep through her, her body trembling as she stared at the dead queen.
“Now her death is on your head, human.” He placed Annwyl’s twins in Dagmar’s arms. “The question is … Will the twins’ deaths be on your head as well? I think so.”
“Wait—”
He turned from her, snapped his fingers, and when Dagmar blinked again she was no longer safe in the Garbhán Isle castle. She was underground in a tunnel somewhere, the babes in her arms crying because they’d felt the last gasp of their mother.
And at her feet was Annwyl’s nak*d corpse, the wound from where they’d opened her up to get to the babes no longer bleeding since there was nothing left inside her to bleed out.
Slowly Dagmar raised her gaze and kept raising it until she could look into the face of the nine-foot beast standing before her. The light from the torches they used to allow them to clearly see their work as they dug out one of the recently closed tunnels glinted off the creature’s horns.
“It seems today,” the Minotaur said softly, grinning down at her and the babes, “the gods have decided to treat their most loyal servants with gifts.”
Chapter 28
It was something none of them had ever heard before. At least not in the context of true pain.
Their mother cried out.
Gwenvael spun around to look at her, along with everyone else in the room, as Rhiannon sat forward, her hand over her chest.
“Oh, gods. She’s dead, Fearghus.” She looked at her eldest son. “He took her from me. He ripped the life right from her body.”
They were all moving for the door when she said, “No.” She shook her head, still trying to get her breath back. “She’s gone.”
“What do you mean she’s gone?” Fearghus snapped.
“I mean she’s gone. The babes are gone. They’re gone. He took them.”
“No.” Morfyd stepped forward, her eyes unfocused as she saw what her mother saw. “He didn’t take them. He sent the babes away.”
“Where?” Gwenvael asked. “Where did he take them?”
Rhiannon closed her eyes, going inside herself for more information.
Bercelak pushed past his children and siblings and crouched in front of his mate. “What is it, Rhiannon?”
“He wanted me to see. To see what he did because seeing through her pain makes it harder—” She gripped Bercelak’s hand, her face contorting as she tried to see past a god’s tricks to the truth.
Rhiannon snatched her hand away from Bercelak and abruptly stood, her face red with rage as she snarled, “That bastard.”
Fearghus moved toward his mother. “What is it? What has he done?”
“He sent them to the Minotaurs.”
The room fell silent, everyone standing for a moment, brutally stunned. Then Fearghus was stalking across the room and tearing the door open. Without even realizing it, he ripped it off its hinges, Briec and Gwenvael forced to step aside as it flew by.
They all stormed into the Great Hall, Talaith and Izzy waiting for them all.
The Nolwenn witch had felt it, too. She knew what had happened to her friend and the twins.
“They’re not alone,” Rhiannon called after them, and as one they all turned to face her.
“Who’s with her?” Fearghus demanded.
When his mother’s eyes rested on him, Gwenvael felt the breath stop in his lungs. “Dagmar?”
His brother asked him something, but he couldn’t hear him. He couldn’t hear anything above the roar in his ears as Gwenvael realized what had happened to Dagmar—and what would happen to Dagmar if they didn’t get to her and the babes in time.
Fearghus slammed his shoulder, snapping his attention back in the room.
“What?” Gwenvael snarled.
“Will Dagmar buy us time?” Fearghus demanded.
“Yes,” Gwenvael nodded, already running toward the Great Hall doors. “She’ll buy us time.”
Dagmar stared up at the Minotaur standing over her. His eyes were brown, his hair shaggy and unclean, his face bovine with a flat, moist snout covered in some kind of unpleasant-looking mucus. He wore nothing more than a cloth made of some animal skin around his h*ps and a necklace made of what she would guess was pure gold. The chain was thick and broad and the medallion that hung at the end of it, the size of a small plate. She recognized the symbol of the goddess Arzhela immediately.
Dropping to one knee in front of the head Minotaur, Dagmar said, “I’m so happy to have found you, my lords. I’d taken the children when the chance presented itself, but it was not easy.”
“You took the spawn?”
She nodded, but did not raise her gaze. “I knew you waited here, and at the death of their mother it seemed the most opportune time.”
He shoved the body at Dagmar’s feet with his hoof. She was glad her head was lowered and he couldn’t see the wince his actions caused.
“This one. This is the great Blood Queen of the South?”
“Yes. Giving birth is what killed her, my lord. As you can see, the … uh … spawn drained her of her very life.”
“Good. The whore deserved it.”
Another Minotaur stepped closer, crouching beside the body. He pressed big, meaty fingers against her throat, then nodded. “She’s dead.”
The head Minotaur stepped around Annwyl’s body and kicked it, sending it flying.
Dagmar bit the inside of her cheek when she heard it slam into a far wall, bones crushed from the pressure. The great human queen landed limply on the rocky ground, her remains unnaturally twisted.