Talaith had her hand on Annwyl’s shoulder as her gaze locked with Morfyd’s. “It’s time, sister.”
Morfyd nodded and snapped her fingers at Éibhear, yanking him out of the panic attack he was about to have, if the expression on his face was any indication. “Éibhear, go to the servants and tell them it’s time. They already know what to do. Then go down to the lake and tell the family. Everyone, and I mean everyone, is to be battle ready, just in case.”
Éibhear nodded and ran off.
Bercelak walked over to Fearghus. “You’d best take her. I think her desire to slit my throat is growing.”
“I’d have already tried,” Annwyl whispered, “but I feared you’d drop me.”
Grinning, Bercelak placed Annwyl in Fearghus’s arms.
“Take her up, Fearghus,” Morfyd ordered, Talaith already running up the stairs as Izzy charged back down and out the door to fetch Brastias.
Fearghus pulled his mate tight against his chest and nodded at his father. “Thank you.”
Bercelak grunted and watched until his son had disappeared up the stairs and down the hall. Once he was gone, he silently turned and headed back toward the doors.
“Where are you going?” Morfyd asked.
“To get your mother.” He stopped long enough to look at them over his shoulder. “I think we all know she needs to be here.”
Morfyd swallowed, her eyes intent on their father’s face. “Aye. We do.”
Without another word, their father left, and Morfyd headed toward the stairs.
Briec stood. “Morfyd?”
She stopped on the first step, her hand gripping the railing. “You’ll both need to be ready.”
“Ready?” Briec asked.
The breath she took was shaky, and Gwenvael knew his sister was fighting for strength. “You’ll need to watch out for Éibhear.” She looked at both of them, her blue eyes clear as was her meaning. “You know how close he is to her.”
With that, she lifted her witches’ robes so she wouldn’t trip and jogged up the steps.
Briec and Gwenvael stared at each other for a long time until Briec said, “I’ll go work with Brastias to make sure everything is locked down.”
Dagmar laid her hand on Briec’s arm. “I can handle the defenses while the rest of you handle this. I’ll need someone from Annwyl’s army to work with and a few laborers. I’ll take care of everything else. You won’t need to worry.”
Briec nodded. “I’ll arrange it.” Then he was gone.
Gwenvael sat down hard on the table, his eyes focused on the floor. He didn’t see the worn stone where everyone stomped day after day. He saw nothing. Felt nothing. Except lost. For the first time in his life, he felt hopelessly lost.
He didn’t realize Dagmar sat beside him until he felt her take his hand, interlacing their fingers.
“You wouldn’t lie to me—even if I begged you to, would you?” he asked.
Dagmar shook her head. “No, Gwenvael. Not about something like this.”
“I understand.”
“But I will be here. As long as you need me. If that helps.”
“It helps.”
She nodded and squeezed his hand.
And when the screaming started, she squeezed his hand tighter.
Chapter 24
Standing in the middle of the courtyard, the afternoon suns beginning their descent to nighttime, Dagmar gave the guard captain further instructions on what she wanted and sent him off. She pulled out her plans and studied them. Her overwhelming feeling of dread had made her choices confusing. Usually she knew what to do and when to do it almost immediately. Quick decision-making something she’d always prided herself on. But the gut instinct she often relied on was too clouded by the dread that had settled over Garbhán Isle. A dread that had magnified in the past hour. Because in the past hour, the screaming had stopped.
Dagmar had assisted on many births over the years. Not by choice but because it was expected of her. And in all those years the one thing she’d always known was that it was never a quiet affair. There was always screaming, crying, some laughing, and, in the case of many of her brothers’ wives, lots of cursing and promises of brutal retribution.
One look at Annwyl and Dagmar knew she was a curser. And yet now the queen lay quiet behind her closed door. Only Morfyd, Talaith, and several healers allowed inside. And outside that bedroom were Gwenvael’s kin—waiting.
Suddenly Dagmar heard screaming, but it was not Annwyl. It was the humans around her in the courtyard. They screamed and ran off. She only had a few seconds to wonder why when the wind stirred and lifted around her. She looked up and watched in fascination as a great white dragon touched her claws to the ground, her wings scraping against the nearby buildings. A black dragon landed behind her, and almost immediately they shifted to human.
Dagmar had to fight her urge to stare. The female was beautiful. Astonishingly beautiful with white hair that reached down to her toes and a long, strong body. But it was the markings that had Dagmar wanting to move closer to take a long look. The dragoness had been branded with the image of a dragon from the tip of one toe, across her foot, around her leg, swirling around her torso, back, chest, until it reached her neck. It was not a nasty brand she might have received while being held prisoner either. It was a beautiful brand of a dragon. Almost elegant in its execution with the darkest black markings against white skin. It should have marred her beauty, but it didn’t. And she clearly wore it with pride.