How to Drive a Dragon Crazy

by G. A. Aiken

  “I’m so glad to see you again after all these years, Uncle Éibhear.” She hugged him tight, arms around his waist, head resting against his chest. “You’ve been greatly missed.” She sniffed and leaned her head back to look up at him. “Although no one but my mother and aunts will ever admit that to you.”

  He kissed her forehead and hugged her back. “Don’t worry. I already know that.”

  “He’ll train us,” Talan told his sister.

  “Good. Something new to learn.”

  “Later,” Rhi chastised. “At least let him get comfortable before you come at him with your stupid requests.”

  “Fine.”

  “Whatever.”

  Then the twins were gone, quickly, quietly. It was a little more than frightening.

  “Don’t let them worry you,” Rhi said, although he hadn’t spoken a word. “They’re not nearly as horrible as everyone thinks they are . . . but they are annoying.”

  “Good to know.”

  She stepped back, took his hands into hers. “I’ve heard you’re a bit of a reader.”

  “More than a bit.”

  Rhi grinned. “So am I! Although I love to draw as well. I bet we’re just alike, you and I!”

  Uh . . . all right.

  Dagmar blew out a breath, smoothed down the front of her unadorned dress. She no longer wore a kerchief over her long hair as she had when she’d first arrived, even though it was custom among the Northland women. Instead she wore her hair in a simple, single braid that reached down her back—something, Izzy was sure, Gwenvael delighted in unbraiding every night. But other than that, she looked no different from the Northlander who’d first arrived with Gwenvael all those years ago. She still wore her simple gray gowns, with fur boots in the winter and leather boots in the summer. And her spectacles. Gods, who could forget those spectacles that Gwenvael spoke of as if they were breathing human beings? As always, they were perched primly on her nose, while those sparkling gray eyes watched Izzy. Calculating. Dagmar always calculated.

  “I’m . . . concerned.”

  “About Lord Pombray’s son?”

  “Oh, gods no.” She rolled her eyes. “That boy and your sister are the least of my worries.”

  Izzy dropped to the ground and pulled on socks and her boots. “So it’s the twins then.”

  “It’s Talwyn. She’s become . . . close. To the Kyvich. Especially Commander Ásta.”

  Izzy shrugged, tugging her boots on and wondering if she should get another pair now that she was home for a bit.

  “Well, she’s young. And Ásta is an attractive woman.” She stood and stomped her feet to get the boots perfectly fitted. “I’m sure it’s nothing to be worried about. Some women are just more comfortable with other women. It doesn’t mean she can’t breed with a male when she’s ready to have a child and then she and the other woman can raise the child togeth—”

  “No, no.” Dagmar eyed Izzy. “That is not what I meant, Iseabail.”

  “Oh.” Izzy shrugged. “Then what’s your concern? They were her protectors. Of course Talwyn’s close to them, just as I was close to my protectors.” When Dagmar only stared at her, Izzy said, “You think they want something more?”

  “She’s a powerful girl. Her fighting skills . . . and I’ve been told she has untapped Magick about her. Not at the same level as Rhi does, of course, at least she hasn’t shown it in front of any of us. But that Magick is something the Kyvich would be drawn to.” True. The Kyvich were warrior witches who pulled their number mostly from outsiders. But . . . “They only take children, Dagmar. That’s what I was told.”

  “And that’s true.” Dagmar adjusted her spectacles. “In the Northlands there are stories of the Kyvich coming in from the Ice Lands and snatching female newborn babes from their mothers’ arms. But, like most, power is what draws them.”

  “And Talwyn has power.”

  “Much of it.”

  “And my sister?”

  “She is a Nolwenn witch by blood. The Kyvich barely speak to her.”

  “And Talan is male.”

  Dagmar smirked. “Very.”

  “I see. Like uncle, like nephew?”

  “He hasn’t quite racked up the same body count with women as Gwenvael the Handsome, but he’s clearly working on it.”

  Izzy picked up her bag, shoving her dirty clothes and weapons into it. Then she hooked her arm with Dagmar’s and the pair headed back to the castle.

  “Do you want me to talk to Talwyn?”

  “I don’t know. To be blunt, Izzy, whether Talwyn stays here or goes off and becomes a Kyvich means very little to me. I love her, but I have no illusions about my niece.”

  “But . . . ?”

  “It’s Annwyl.”

  Of course it was Annwyl. A brilliant warrior, a benevolent queen, but get on the wrong side of her and she’d been known to decimate entire battalions with nothing more than her sword and rage.

  “You’re worried about what she’ll do.”

  “We don’t want the Kyvich seeing us as enemies. That I do know. I’ve been trying to read up on all their past dealings with other monarchs to ensure we don’t cross any lines we’re unaware of, but it’s not like there’s much out there about the Kyvich. They mostly keep to themselves.”

  “Well, let me see what I can find out. Knowing Talwyn, she’s simply using them to learn new fighting skills.”

  Dagmar sighed. “I truly hope that’s all it is.”

  Éibhear lifted his niece so she could reach the book high on a shelf.

  “Got it?”

  “Yes!”

  Smiling, he lowered Rhi.

  “Here.” She handed the book to him. “I think you’ll like this.”

  “Did Annwyl like it?”

  “Of course not. There was no war, death, spies, or dry historic details about war, death, or spies. Just romance.”

  “Perfect.” He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. But before he could stand again, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight.

  “I’m glad you’re home, Uncle Éibhear. It’s been so very long.”

  “I know. But I’ll be back more, I think.” He hugged her, making sure not to squeeze her too tightly. She was such a little thing and he worried that he’d break her. “Are you all right, Rhi?”

  She sighed. Heavily. One of those sighs he remembered her making when she was still just a babe. At an age when one should never have those kind of deep, meaningful sighs. But, unlike his whiner brothers, she didn’t sigh simply because she was annoyed at Éibhear’s breathing or because the horse for their dinner had run away. When Rhi sighed, it was usually for a very good reason.

  She released him and stepped back, head down. “I’ll need your help with Mum and Izzy.”

  “Your mum, I can definitely help with. Izzy . . .”

  Her gaze snapped up and locked with his. That beautiful, earnest face. Éibhear couldn’t imagine what he’d do to the male who broke the heart that went with that face.

  “You don’t understand, Uncle Éibhear. You do have a great effect on Izzy.”

  “Rhi, I haven’t seen your sister in years. She says she’s forgiven me . . . but I’m not sure I believe her. I think she hates me.”

  “She’s never hated you. That’s the problem.”

  Surprised by her words, Éibhear said, “Well . . . I’ll, uh, keep that in mind. But this isn’t about that Pombray boy is it? Because your mother and Izzy will be the least of your worries—”

  “No, no.” She waved that away. “It’s something else.”

  “Perhaps you should tell me what it is so I can devise a plan to handle the two most stubborn women in the world.”

  Rhi sighed again. “I will, but later.” She started to walk away, stopped, and added, “But don’t leave.” Walked a few more steps, stopped. “I mean, don’t leave for a really long time. Like a month or so.” A few more steps, another stop. “I mean, if it’s terribly important, of course you should go. I’
ll completely understand. But I’d appreciate if you could hang around, at least somewhere in the vicinity. . . .” Rhi stopped. “Now I’m getting on my own nerves.”

  Chuckling, Éibhear walked up to his niece and held out his hand. “I know what will get your mind off such great worries, little niece.”

  Rhi’s smile grew, her nose crinkling as her small hand slipped into his. “Book shopping?” she asked hopefully.

  “Book shopping.”

  Izzy gawked at the table. “Really?” she asked the dragon next to her.

  He shrugged massive shoulders. “It got a little out of hand.”

  “A little?”

  He winced, gazing at the books that had been delivered by three carriages. “Well, you like to read, don’t you?” And she heard the begging in his voice.

  “Not really.” She patted his shoulder. “Have fun putting them all away in the library.”

  “You’re not going to help?”

  She headed toward the big doors. “I’d rather set myself on fire.”

  “I can manage that well enough,” he muttered.

  Izzy stopped, looked at him over her shoulder. “What was that?”

  He sighed. “Nothing.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  That’s when Izzy noticed the boy. He stood in the corner, probably hiding there, hoping Éibhear wouldn’t notice him. She could understand that. When he was focusing on something, Éibhear had a brutal frown. Made him look like the mass-murdering bastard she’d heard him called over the last few years.

  “Why don’t you help him with all those books . . . uh . . . ?”

  Eyes wide, the boy stuttered out, “Fred . . . Frederik. Reinholdt.”

  “Dagmar’s nephew.” Although it was somewhat easy to tell that just from the look of the boy. Pale, like he’d never seen the suns, and tall, like most of the Northland men. Not bad looking but a bit fearful to be around this brutish lot. “Can you read?”

  “A bit.” He glanced away. “It’s a bit of a struggle.”

  “No matter. You learn to read by doing and gods know, Éibhear needs the help.” She took the boy by his shoulder and led him to the table. “This has to be cleaned up by dinnertime.”

  Éibhear blew out a breath. “Damn. Dinner.”

  Laughing, Izzy left.

  Éibhear glared at the cute ass walking out of the Great Hall, then refocused on the boy. “Frederik?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Nice to meet you. Name’s Éibhear.”

  He frowned up at him. “You’re very . . . tall.”

  “So are you . . . for a human boy.”

  “You’re really a dragon?”

  “I am.”

  “And the lady?”

  “Lady?”

  “Who just left.”

  Éibhear laughed. “I wouldn’t call Izzy a lady. Might get you punched. That’s General Iseabail, Daughter of Talaith.”

  “You have women generals? She goes into combat? And you let her?”

  “What you’ll learn, lad, is that you don’t let the females of the Southlands do a damn thing. You simply get out of their way or pray they don’t run you down.” He motioned to the books. “Let’s just get these to the library. We’ll organize them later.”

  By the time Iseabail walked down the Great Hall stairs, Morfyd was coming around the corner. She wore the white robes of a healing cleric, her bag of herbs and spell paraphernalia over her shoulder.

  “Morfyd!” Izzy waved and Morfyd rushed over, the pair hugging each other tight.

  “Izzy! I heard you were back. I’m so glad to see you.” Morfyd stepped away, looked her over. “You’re too thin.”

  “Am I?” She glanced down at herself, frowned. “Really?”

  “To my eyes. Where are you off to?”

  “To my house. I’m exhausted.”

  “You’re not coming to dinner tonight?”

  “No, but Uncle Fearghus said there might be something in a day or two, and that I’ll be attending.” She grinned. “There will be dancing.”

  “Of course. Now, I’m glad you’re here. Your sister has plans to spend time with Lord Pombray’s son.”

  “Isn’t Brastias escorting them?”

  “He is, but I’ll need you to manage your father. He’s already burned the poor boy and . . . Iseabail! Stop laughing!”

  “You know how Daddy is. Remember Lord Crom? All he did was put his hand on my lower back and the next thing I knew he was flying over the tops of the trees and Daddy was dropping him from his talons. . . .” She thought a moment and asked, “How is he anyway?”

  “Dead. It wasn’t the fall that killed him. Or even the landing. It was Briec following up the whole thing with enough flame to wipe out a village.” She patted Izzy’s arm. “We didn’t tell you that part at the time. It would have just upset you.”

  Appalled, Izzy demanded, “But he barely touched me!”

  “And you were barely sixteen. It was completely inappropriate and Briec had warned him off. Twice. But he kept staring. The touching was the final straw. Now Lord Pombray’s son is your sister’s age, but that won’t matter much to your father.”

  Izzy folded her arms over her chest. “What else have you lot hidden from me over the years?”

  “Oh, lots of things. But it was always for the best.”

  Before Izzy could argue that point, Morfyd asked, “So what brings you here? I thought we’d see you closer to the fall harvests.”

  “I have no idea.”

  “You have no idea why you’re here?” Morfyd frowned. “So you just . . . wandered away from battle?”

  “You know how my mind wanders. . . .”

  “Izzy.”

  Izzy chuckled and replied, “Ragnar sent Éibhear to retrieve me, but Éibhear doesn’t know why. My mother doesn’t know why. No one seems to know why. But here I am.”

  “And that doesn’t concern you?”

  “Keita has always said I’m too pretty to be concerned with anything.”

  “Gods!” Morfyd exclaimed. “If you start taking advice from that small-brained idiot—”

  “I’m joking. Of course I’m concerned. But it’s not like I was summoned to a pit in one of the hells. At worst, I’m home for whatever problem may come up.” She patted her aunt’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. With me and Brannie here, I’m sure everything will be just fine.”

  She stepped around Morfyd and headed toward the kennels.

  “Good. And Izzy?”

  Izzy stopped and faced her aunt.

  “Have you heard from Rhydderch Hael?”

  Taking a breath, Izzy outright lied. “No.”

  Her aunt studied her. “You let me know if you do.”

  “Of course,” Izzy stated, again heading toward the kennels.

  She had no idea why she’d just lied to Morfyd, but her gut had told her that, at least for the moment, it was the best idea all around.

  Chapter 13

  Éibhear, as was his way, got lost in the books. Instead of merely piling them in the corner of the library and going to take a nap before evening meal, he ended up attempting not only to organize the new books he’d brought to the library but the ones that had been there before Annwyl’s father’s time.

  To be honest, he’d thought Dagmar’s nephew would have wandered away by now—he seemed a constantly dazed boy—but, like Éibhear, he seemed comfortable in the library, quickly and easily taking orders on where to place books or what shelves to clean off so they could start again.

  It was a nice, quiet time such as Éibhear realized he hadn’t enjoyed in quite a while. As one of the Mì-runach, spending more than a few hours reading, once or twice a week, was frowned upon. “Who has time for books when there’s drinking and whoring and killing to do?” Old Angor would demand before slapping some book Annwyl or Talaith had sent to Éibhear from Éibhear’s hands and shoving him toward the closest pub.

  Not that Éibhear minded drinking and whoring and killing. He didn’t. But
he’d always felt that reading and book buying fit easily into that list as well.

  Frederik handed over another book to Éibhear. “I wish I could read better.”

  “Spend time in here and you’ll be able to. Reading is learned by doing. It’s a skill almost all can have to some extent as long as they practice.” He leaned in and added low, “Besides, it’s a wonderful escape from your family when necessary.” He shrugged and stood tall, looking at the spine of the book. “Unless, of course, they track you down and—”

  “My dear sweet son!”

  Éibhear bit back a sigh and slowly faced the front of the library. He smiled. “Hello, Mum.”

  Izzy had just stirred the simmering stew once again when she heard the knock.

  Grinning, she dropped the ladle on the table and charged across the small room. She snatched the door open and grinned.

  Brannie held up two bottles of Bercelak’s ale, her smile wide. But it was what was behind Brannie—or, in this case, who—that had Izzy pushing past her friend and straight into the arms of the dragon standing there.

  “Celyn!”

  Big arms tightened around her waist, lifting Izzy from the ground and holding her tight. “My little Izzy.”

  “Pack it in, you two,” Brannie said, walking into the house. “There’s stew and bread and ale. . . . We can save the hugging for later.”

  Éibhear hugged his mother, smiling when she whispered in his ear, “Oh, how I’ve missed you, my son.”

  “I’ve missed you too, Mum. So much.”

  “Did you miss me too, boy?” Éibhear could hear the sneer in that voice, his own lip starting to curl in annoyance as he spotted his father in the doorway.

  His mother quickly pushed him back and asked, “And who is this young lad?”

  Father and son snarled at each other until his mother shoved Éibhear’s shoulder. “Introduce us, son.”

  “This is Frederik Reinholdt. Lady Dagmar’s nephew.”