What a Dragon Should Know Read Free Page A

jolted. “Good gods! That madman from the north?”
    “The very one.”
    “Honestly …” He glanced again at the letter. “I didn’t know anyone in the Reinholdt Clan could write.”
    Dagmar patiently waited while her father ranted. He must have had another sleepless night, because he lasted longer than usual. Although she was impressed by two things when her father got like this toward her. Not once had he ever touched her in anger or with violence and not once had he ever made his screaming fits personal. While more than one of her sisters-in-law had called her “plain bitch” or “ugly sow” when wittier words had failed them, her father always kept it about his issue. And his issue was usually that Dagmar had overstepped her bounds.
    Usually … she had.
    When her father finally stopped long enough for her to speak, she said, “I think you underestimate what Queen Annwyl can do for us.”
    “Besides bring her love of blood to our door?”
    “Father,” she soothed, “you can’t listen to rumor.” She smiled. “That’s my job.”
    “Ohhh, you have a job now?” Kikka asked sweetly, all smiles.
    And, all smiles herself, Dagmar asked her, “I didn’t know Eymund bought you a new dress. It’s beautiful!”
    Her brother Eymund, who’d been conspicuously absent upon their father’s return, walked back into the Main Hall. “What? What new dress?” He glared at his young wife. “New dress?”
    Kikka’s glare was almost worth every moment of having to deal with The Reinholdt.
    Dagmar turned back to her father and raised her voice to be heard over her brother’s yelling. “Now, Father, I do understand your concerns. But we cannot ignore the kind of ally Queen Annwyl would make. It is believed she has near a hundred legions at her disposal. All of them trained and ready.”
    Her father rested his big fists on the table, and Dagmar knew she was no longer talking to the frightening warlord feared throughout the Northlands, but Sigmar Reinholdt. The man who cared greatly for his people and his kinsmen. “It’s Jökull you’re worried about. Isn’t it?” he asked, not looking at her.
    “With good reason. We can no longer ignore your brother.”
    “I ain’t been ignoring him!”
    “He’s increasing his troops, buying them apparently. Your men are clearly preparing for a siege. I want to help and Queen Annwyl allows me that.”
    “I don’t need your help, little miss.”
    “No. You need hers. And I see no shame in it.”
    Her father cleared his throat, glanced around, and muttered, “You know this ain’t ya fault.”
    Unfortunately, she didn’t know that. But when she didn’t reply to his statement, her father took a large breath and slowly let it out. “What are we giving her?”
    “Information.” They could afford to give her little else.
    “You and that bloody information.”
    “It’s what I barter in.” She leaned forward, looking him right in the eyes—one of the few unafraid to do so. “I need you to trust me on this.”
    He snorted and stared down at the table, Dagmar patiently waiting.
    When he finally grabbed hold of his ax handle, yanking the weapon from the table, she knew she’d won—or at least gotten a short-term reprieve.
    “Don’t push your luck with me, little miss,” he grumbled.
    Of course she would. She was so good at it.
    As her father walked out, a servant rushed in. “My lady, Brother Ragnar approaches.”
    She nodded and stood, her appetite long having left.
    “Look all”—Kikka sneered, her husband still ranting about “all the bloody coin you spend!”—“another male who won’t be bedding our little Dagmar.”
    “And then there’s you, sister.” Dagmar leaned down and finished on a whisper, “Who will apparently fuck anything.”
    Heading toward the doors and her respite from idiocy, Dagmar heard her brother snap, “What did she say? What are you doing?”
    Gwenvael skimmed the note quickly. “The Reinholdt wants
you
—they’re very