How to Drive a Dragon Crazy

by G. A. Aiken

  When Izzy lowered the sword, the man watched her intently. His pleasant expression replaced by a deep frown.

  “I’m sorry.” Izzy quickly replaced the weapon, thinking she must have crossed some kind of cultural divide she hadn’t been aware of.

  “You’re not a trainee, are you?” he asked.

  “No, sir. Not anymore.”

  “You have true skill. And strength.” His eyes narrowed a bit. “Where are you from?”

  Izzy sighed. “That’s a bit complicated.”

  He put the weapon he’d been sharpening on the floor and stepped away from the table. “Do I know you?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Then why do I feel like I do?”

  “I have to go.”

  “Please don’t.”

  Izzy moved toward the door. “I do. Someone is waiting for me. He’ll be worried.” She got to the door, but a large hand pressed against it. She could remove that hand, but she wasn’t sure she could fight anyone at the moment.

  “Look at me. Please.”

  Izzy slowly turned to face the man. She realized she was crying again when tears fell on her chest.

  He lifted her chin and looked into her face.

  “By the holy suns,” he whispered, both hands now framing her face. “How did I not see it as soon as you walked in? How did I not know?”

  “I have to go,” Izzy begged, the sobs making it hard to get the words out. “I have to.”

  Big arms went around her, pulled her in close. “But you’ve come home, my beautiful child. Where are you planning to go when you’ve come home?”

  Chapter 34

  Éibhear sat in a chair, all the humans staring at him. He hadn’t felt this uncomfortable since he’d been captured by an Ice Land troop and strapped over a pointy stake. His Mì-runach brethren had saved him that day, but he wouldn’t be saved today. Unfortunately.

  Finally, one of the inquisitive children said, “Why are you so pale? Are you dying?”

  “No.”

  An older child then asked, “Did you know your hair was blue?”

  “I am aware.”

  “Why is your hair blue?”

  “Well . . . uh . . .” Gods, where had Izzy gone? How could she just desert him like this? He understood she was overwhelmed, but . . . but he needed her!

  One of the women dressed in armor leaned in close. So close he thought she might kiss him. At least she was pretty. “Are you a dragon?”

  Éibhear had to work hard not to jump at her question, but he was more than a little surprised.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because we get some here. They pretend to be human.” She leaned in even closer. “Their hair’s different from yours. Colored real bright. But they’re pale like you.”

  “Must be the scales.”

  “Is Iseabail safe around you?” Zarah asked, one of her grandsons helping her into a chair across from Éibhear.

  “Safer than even she realizes.”

  That answer seemed to satisfy everyone because they moved back a little, giving him a bit of space, so that he could finally breathe.

  “So, dragon,” one of the males asked, “who are your people then? Or do you have people? Do you have lizards?”

  “I am not a lizard. Nor can I communicate with them. But I do have people.”

  “How can you have people when you’re not human?”

  “Having one’s own people is not limited to humans. It’s a common term used not only by dragons but by centaurs and Minotaurs and those jackal-headed men that you Desert Landers have running around. So yes, I’m a dragon and I have people.”

  “Then who are they exactly?”

  “I’m Éibhear the Contemptible. Youngest born son in the House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar, fifth in line to the throne of the White Dragon Queen, Scourge of the Northland territories, Most Reviled Enemy Dragon of the Ice Lands, Honored Member of the Mì-runach, and bare-fisted champion of the Mì-runach Yearly Pit Fights three winters in a row.”

  The entire clan was silent, all of them staring at him until Zarah finally asked, “You’re a prince?”

  “Aye. Izzy’s a princess, too.”

  “How is she a princess?”

  “Talaith is with my brother, Briec the Mighty.”

  Everyone started talking at once and Éibhear couldn’t really understand anyone. But then Zarah snapped, “Quiet!” And they all were.

  She leaned forward and asked, “Talaith is with a dragon?”

  “Aye.”

  “How did this happen? Was she handed over in sacrifice?”

  “No one really does that anymore in Dark Plains. And no one’s forced Talaith to be with Briec. She’s with him because she loves him. She wouldn’t be with him otherwise. My brother’s too irritating for anyone who doesn’t love him.”

  “Talaith loves a dragon?”

  “We’re very loveable. Most of us.”

  “And how does your dragon brother feel about Iseabail?”

  “He adores her. Briec calls her his perfect, perfect daughter.”

  Another of Zarah’s grandson’s folded his arms across his chest and asked, “And are you her perfect, perfect uncle?”

  “Not by blood.”

  “Did your brother adopt her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’re her uncle.”

  “Yes, but not by blood.”

  “And that point matters?”

  “Trust me,” Éibhear insisted. “It matters.”

  “I should have realized you were my grandchild immediately,” Zachariah said as he poured Iseabail a cup of coffee. “You look so much like my boy.” And your mother.

  He placed the cup in front of Iseabail and sat down across from her at his work table.

  “I’m sorry I got so upset,” she said, her eyes downcast. “I just didn’t—”

  “You were overwhelmed. It’s understandable.”

  “I should get back to Éibhear.”

  “No. You should stay here. Drink your coffee. He’ll be fine. The family will take care of him.”

  She picked up the cup and held it in her hands. Zachariah studied her while she studied the cup. Mighty suns, his boy would be proud of her. She was strong, healthy, and beautiful. But there were questions Zachariah had. Ones he simply couldn’t wait to ask, even though he knew he should.

  “Iseabail—”

  “Izzy. You can call me Izzy.”

  “Izzy, why . . .” He cleared his throat, tried again. “You may not know the answer to this, but why did your mother not come to us? When your grandmother threw her out? We would have taken her in. I thought she understood that.”

  “It’s very complicated, I’m afraid,” Izzy sighed out.

  “Complicated?”

  “Well, anytime you deal with gods, it gets complicated.”

  “Gods? Oh, of course, your mother is a Nolwenn.”

  “I think being a Nolwenn had little to do with it. She just wanted to make sure she had someone strong enough and smart enough to do the task and that turned out to be Talaith.”

  “Wait. Who is ‘she’ then?”

  “Arzhela.”

  “The goddess?”

  “Right. She needed someone to kill Annwyl and just used me to keep my mother in line while Mum became an assassin.”

  “Your mother’s an assassin? How the hells did that . . .” Zachariah stopped talking, thinking of everything the girl had just told him. “Did you say Ann . . . Annwyl? The Mad Queen of Garbhán Isle?”

  “Aye. She hates when people call her that, though, so I wouldn’t. Besides, she’s not nearly as crazy as everyone accuses her of being. True, she’ll cut your head off as soon as look at you, but only if you’re an enemy. She’d never do it to family.”

  “All right.”

  “Mum tried to kill her, too, and Annwyl forgave her, then took us in. So my aunt is extremely misunderstood.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  �
�I’ll be honest, though.” She rested her arms on the table, her hands still around the cup. “I’m quite torn. If Mum had stayed here, I’d just be another Nolwenn, casting spells and making appointments with royals. But because of what happened to Mum, I’ve seen the world, led legions into battle, and I have a little sister I can’t imagine not having in my life. But I feel so guilty when I think like that. It’s like being glad all those horrible things happened to Mum and my birth father.”

  “That’s ridiculous, and as a soldier you should know that. Making the best of what you have, of what you’ve been left with, does not make you anything more than human.” Zachariah studied her a moment, then asked, “Is that why you’re here, Izzy? To avenge your mother?”

  “No. I need Haldane’s help for my sister.”

  “And if Haldane doesn’t help you?”

  “She’d be foolish not to be of help to me. The last thing she wants is the wrath of my grandmother coming down on her head.” When Zachariah frowned, she added, “My adoptive grandmother. Queen Rhiannon.”

  “Rhiannon? Why do I know that name?”

  “She’s the Dragon Queen of the Southlands and a powerful Dragonwitch.”

  Zachariah stared at his son’s child. “That Rhiannon is your adoptive grandmother?”

  “Well, when Daddy took Mum as his mate, the entire House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar and the Cadwaladr Clan accepted both of us as their kin.”

  Sitting up straight, Zachariah said, “Are you telling me your adoptive father is a—”

  “Dragon? Aye. Briec the Mighty. Second oldest son of the Dragon Queen, second in line to the throne—”

  “I don’t give a damn about his titles, girl. Why is your mother trapped with a dragon?”

  “I wouldn’t say she’s trapped. Although she would, especially when Daddy hasn’t checked her fruit appropriately.”

  “Checked her fruit?”

  “You don’t want to know. But no. She’s not trapped. She could leave, but she’d break his heart. He loves her. Loves me and, of course, there’s Rhi, which is why I’m here.”

  “And who’s Rhi again?”

  “My sister. Their daughter.”

  Appalled and confused at the same time, “Talaith had a child with that . . . that . . .”

  “That dragon. Aye. They had my beautiful sister, Rhianwen. Rhi for short.”

  “Izzy, how is that even possible?”

  “Gods.”

  “Gods?”

  “Aye. That’s how Annwyl had her twins with my uncle Fearghus. But, you see,” she went on without a breath, “I thought it was Rhydderch Hael again who made it so she could get pregnant by Daddy—Rhydderch Hael is the father god of all dragons—but he said he wouldn’t do that for my mum because she wasn’t talking to him so he wasn’t talking to her. I’m not talking to him either, but with me, he won’t shut up.”

  “The gods talk to you?”

  “Only one. Now, my Aunt Dagmar—you might have heard of her as the Northland Beast—”

  “I thought that was a man.”

  “A lot of people make that mistake. Anyway, she talks to gods all the time.”

  “A religious woman then?”

  She laughed. “Dagmar? No. She’s a follower of Aoibhell.” “The heretic?”

  “I wouldn’t call her that unless you have an hour or two to listen to why Aoibhell was not a heretic and why you should care about the distinction, which I’m assuming you really don’t want because that can be overwhelming and you seem like a man who has little time for what Daddy calls Dagmar the Beast’s Unholy and Nonsensical Ramblings.”

  Zachariah stared at his son’s child for a long time, then finally said, “You are so like your mother.”

  Izzy’s smile was wide and just like her father’s. “Awww, that’s so sweet. Thank you.”

  A knock at the door helped Zachariah extract himself from the non-direction this conversation was taking.

  “Enter.”

  At first Zachariah thought a bear that had lost his fur in some sort of tragic accident had wandered into his forge. What other answer could explain the thing with long blue hair that took up his entire doorway?

  “What’s wrong?” Izzy asked it, and that’s when Zachariah realized that the thing she was talking to was the Éibhear she’d spoken of earlier.

  “Just checking on you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Having a nice chat then?”

  “Not having an unpleasant chat.”

  Zachariah heard a horrible, grinding noise, his gaze desperately searching the room in an attempt to find out where it might be coming from.

  “Don’t look at me that way, Izzy,” the giant ordered her. “I’m hungry.”

  “Go get something to eat then.”

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  “I’ll be perfectly fine. I don’t need your protection.”

  “I’m not leaving you anyway.”

  “Because you’re my uncle and you love me?”

  Zachariah watched the pair, the way the giant’s jaw clenched and unclenched. And the way Izzy smiled. Zachariah knew that damn smile. That mischievous, “I’m enjoying tormenting you” smile that his son had managed to perfect when he was still a boy.

  Yes, this woman, this powerful general and warrior was his granddaughter.

  And this giant . . . loved her.

  “Izzy—”

  “Say because you’re my uncle and you love me. It will make my grandfather feel more comfortable with you around his family. He wouldn’t want them to be unsafe just because of me.”

  “I will not say—”

  “You will or I’m telling Daddy!”

  “Is that what you say to your troops?” the giant shot back. “You’ll tell your daddy on them if they don’t follow your orders?”

  “If it’s necessary to get them to do what I want.”

  Zachariah looked up at the giant. “So you’re Izzy’s uncle?”

  “Not by blood.”

  “And that matters?”

  “It matters.”

  Another grinding sound came from the giant’s stomach.

  “Like two mountains shifting,” Izzy muttered.

  “Well, if you fed me!”

  “Should I feed you like a mother bird to a baby chick?”

  “All right.” Zachariah stood. “You’ll both eat with us.” He glared at the giant. “With us, foreigner. With us.”

  The giant scratched his big head. “As opposed to . . .”

  “Dining on my family!”

  Mouth open, the giant stepped back. “I would never do such a thing! I don’t eat humans.”

  Izzy looked up, all wide-eyed innocence. “Even during battle—ow! What was that pinch for?”

  “Nor do I believe in eating humans. Even though my parents did. And my brothers.” He shrugged, gazing off. “And Keita.” He looked back at them. “Well, they don’t do it now,” he sneered. “Not since Annwyl became part of the family. And when Talaith joined us, we stopped eating horses.” He gazed off again. “I think we’re beginning to run out of livestock, though.”

  Deciding he was done with this bizarre conversation, Zachariah headed toward the door. “Tomorrow we’ll take you to the Nolwenn sanctuary. Perhaps using my mother’s name can help you get in to meet Haldane. She was the city’s commander general for thirty years until she retired. And you’ll stay here for the night.” Zachariah stopped and glared at the giant. “In separate rooms, Uncle.”

  He looked back at his granddaughter, smiled, and walked out.

  Once the old man walked out, Éibhear closed the door and faced Iseabail. “Would you stop calling me uncle?” he spit out between clenched teeth.

  “But you are my uncle. An uncle who loves his dear, sweet, and much younger niece. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Have you noticed that everyone in this family of yours is a warrior? Or a soldier? Or a giant-armed blacksmith?”

  She clapped her hands together. “I can’t
wait for him to meet Rhona and Uncle Sulien!” she cheered, mentioning two of the family’s best blacksmiths. “Imagine the weapons we’ll get when they compare ideas.”

  “You may not have noticed this, but your entire Desert Land family of warriors and soldiers and blacksmiths hate dragons.”

  “Oh, no, no. I think they’re simply frightened of dragons because they don’t know them yet or understand them. I just think they hate you specifically, which is a completely different issue.” She jumped up. “Gods!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I forgot Macsen. I left him outside.”

  “He’s fine. I let him in while I was trying to track you down. I gave him some rocks to eat.”

  “He doesn’t eat rocks. He just chews on them until they break into pieces.”

  “And that doesn’t bother you?”

  “Should it?”

  “Yes!” Izzy chuckled, but it faded away, and he saw the worry on her face. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know if we should eat with them.”

  “Other than their hating me, why not?”

  She rubbed her hands against her leggings. “What if, after they talk to me, they don’t like me? What if they’re disappointed?”

  “You think these people will be disappointed? In you?”

  “What do you—”

  “They’re casually sitting around in their armor. The men and the women. The children have toy swords . . . and maces . . . and morning stars. Your great grandmother Zarah is missing three fingers from one hand and has an axe wound in her back. She pointed it out to me with great pride. That’s your great grandmother. While you are a revered and feared general in Annwyl the Bloody’s army. A monarch they seem relatively terrified of. So I really don’t think you’re going to disappoint your father’s family, Izzy. In fact, the way they’ve all been glaring at me—as if I’m running around wagging my cock at everyone—proves, to me at least, that they at the very least feel protective of you if they don’t already adore you. Now”—he pushed her toward the door—“can we eat before I’m forced to gnaw my own arm off?”

  She pulled the door open. “Can I call you Uncle Éibhear at the dinner table?”

  “No, you may not, evil viper.”

  Chapter 35