The silver dragon’s violet-colored eyes narrowed on his mate, and he asked, “You must be hungry, my love. Shouldn’t you have a big, steaming bowl of porridge? All big, thick, and gloppy yellow, coating your tongue and throat as it slides down—”
Talaith dropped her book, put one hand over her mouth, and held the other up to silence Briec. She choked, and Dagmar remembered how Talaith had taken quite a liking to the wine the previous eve.
“You are a bastard,” Talaith finally snapped before she stood and ran out of the room, her hand firmly back over her mouth.
“That was rude, Briec,” Morfyd chastised, although Briec’s grin clearly stated he didn’t care what his sister thought. Morfyd tapped the table and said to Dagmar, “We could use any and all help at this time. Between your maps and ours, we have to admit we’re a little lost.”
Dagmar simply wasn’t used to this straightforward approach. She was used to having to ease or extort her way into most important situations that were the domain of men. Walking in and taking over wasn’t in her nature because she’d been unable to get anything done with that approach.
Yet the dragons were leaving her little choice.
She stepped toward the table and Fearghus moved his chair over a bit, giving her space. She leaned down and focused on the maps.
Well, if they wanted help …
“These maps are useless,” she stated plainly. “Minotaurs travel underground. I need a map that shows any tunnels you may have built or underground entrances. Also possible accesses from caves, and any places you think it would be easy for them to dig through.”
“I think we have something,” Éibhear offered as he jumped up and quickly left the room, surprising her with how fast he moved considering his overwhelming size.
“Could they already be here?” Briec asked.
“Doubtful. Minotaurs attack as soon as they gain entrance. They do not give warnings; you will not see them coming. They will not bargain. Ever. If they have a task, they will complete it.”
“So if we capture one …”
She shook her head at Fearghus’s question. “You’ll get nothing from a Minotaur. Like most bovines, they are unbelievably stubborn and highly dangerous. Even though their kind hasn’t been seen in the Northlands in decades, most of the Northland warlords have defenses aimed solely at protecting themselves from the Minotaurs. I know of no warlord who has a dungeon, just for that reason. It makes it too easy for them to get in.”
The dragons all passed glances before Fearghus admitted, “We have six.”
Dagmar tilted her head to the side, studying them. “You have six dungeons here? Why?”
“They were all built by Annwyl’s father. We no longer use them.”
“Ever?”
“Annwyl’s a cut-off-your-head, ask-question-later kind of leader.”
“I see. And does that philosophy include someone who’s merely, say, a petty thief?”
Fearghus and Briec stared at each other, perhaps trying to figure out the correct answer to that question.
Morfyd sighed. “You’re all idiots.” She looked at Dagmar. “No. There’s a town jail for that. Annwyl chose a magistrate to handle simple crimes. Although anyone who feels they’ve been wrongly treated can, of course, request an audience with her. Although in my opinion she chose well with the current magistrate. But for anything political or involving more than one dead body, she gets involved, and those who are found guilty, don’t leave Garbhán Isle.”
Harsh, but surprisingly fair.
Éibhear returned with several rolled maps under his arm. He placed them on the table and unrolled them. “Did you mean something more like this?”
Placing her now-cold tea down on the table, Dagmar rested her hands on the worn wood and stared at the maps. “Yes. This will do very nicely. I think I’ll be able to match these to the tunnel maps I brought with me. Thank you, Éibhear.”
He grinned, quite pleased with himself. “You’re welcome.”
“Suck up,” Briec muttered.
She studied the maps closely. How the queen had lasted this long without an attack, Dagmar would never know. There were so many weak spots, so many easy points of entry, Dagmar was shocked no one had tried before now.
“We have much work to be done here.”
Briec nodded solemnly. “And I bet you work much better on your own, don’t you?”
Morfyd slammed her hand down on the table. “Gods dammit, Briec!”
“What? I’m merely trying to be helpful.”
“No,” Dagmar replied. “You’re trying to pass the hard work off on me.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps.”
“And although I find your lack of work ethic appalling”—Dagmar let out a sigh while ignoring Fearghus’s accompanying snort—“he does have a point.” She glanced at Morfyd before focusing back on the maps. “I actually do much better on my own. So if you can just give me a few hours to—”
The scraping sound of chairs hastily pushed back against a stone floor cut off her words and Dagmar swiveled on her heel, her gaze sweeping the room. In seconds, they’d all run off. She could still hear a door slamming somewhere off in the distance as they scurried away.
“Dragons,” she hissed. “No better than rats from a sinking—”
“Good morn, my family! I—” Gwenvael stopped at the bottom of the stairs, his overly cheery greeting cut off when he realized only Dagmar and the servants remained. “Where is everyone?”