Together, the most reasonable beings Dagmar knew stood and studied the territory they had all committed to protecting.

They’d been doing this every morning and every night. Coming out here, staring, and wondering if they’d missed anything.

“The tunnels,” Var prompted.

The tunnels that the minotaurs had used to invade their territory from the Ice Lands. An attempt to end Annwyl’s life before she gave birth to the twins.

Turned out those minotaurs had been unnecessary. Annwyl’s twins eventually killed her themselves. Their births had been too much for the queen’s human body. But a god had brought Annwyl back and the queen had made it her business to fight anyone who had a problem with the presence of her babies. Then the presence of Talaith and Briec’s child, Rhi. Then all the others. The children of humans and dragons, which included Dagmar’s own offspring. Unnvar. Her eldest daughter Arlais. And the five younger ones that everyone called “Gwenvael’s Five.”

Offspring who’d had no choice in the games of gods. And that’s what all this was.

The games of gods.

But unlike the witches and priests who worshipped the gods, Dagmar didn’t. She believed in them. Knew they existed. But she did not make sacrifices or call on them in times of trouble. Especially since she believed that most often the cause of the “trouble” was the gods themselves.

Instead, Dagmar relied on reason to guide her decisions and life. Nice, sound, logical reason.

“Eh,” she heard from behind her. “Reason is overrated.”

Dagmar let out a sigh, not bothering to turn around and look at the god standing at her back.

Eirianwen. Goddess of war and death. The one who had given Annwyl her life back all those years ago, but not the one who had given humans the ability to mate with dragons. That had been her longtime mate, Rhydderch Hael, father of all dragons.

Frederick, oblivious to the god’s presence, continued to stare out over the courtyard, looking for any signs of weakness. Var, however, glanced back at the god, eyed her once, before ignoring her completely.

“Just like your mother,” Eir laughed. “He has more contempt than you, though.”

“Perhaps he has more reason.”

Frederick looked at Dagmar, frowned, but then his expression cleared. “Ah. Visitors.”

Then he too ignored the ongoing conversation. Frederick still had a god or two he insisted on worshipping. Otherwise reason would make the gods easy to see. Although Dagmar had begun to believe that her nephew continued to worship those gods only because he had no desire to see any in the flesh. He had no desire to talk to them when they were bored. No desire to find them sitting on his bed late at night, wanting “a bit of a chat.”

The boy had always been smart.