“I don’t know. To be blunt, Izzy, whether Talwyn stays here or goes off and becomes a Kyvich means very little to me. I love her, but I have no illusions about my niece.”
“But . . . ?”
“It’s Annwyl.”
Of course it was Annwyl. A brilliant warrior, a benevolent queen, but get on the wrong side of her and she’d been known to decimate entire battalions with nothing more than her sword and rage.
“You’re worried about what she’ll do.”
“We don’t want the Kyvich seeing us as enemies. That I do know. I’ve been trying to read up on all their past dealings with other monarchs to ensure we don’t cross any lines we’re unaware of, but it’s not like there’s much out there about the Kyvich. They mostly keep to themselves.”
“Well, let me see what I can find out. Knowing Talwyn, she’s simply using them to learn new fighting skills.”
Dagmar sighed. “I truly hope that’s all it is.”
Éibhear lifted his niece so she could reach the book high on a shelf.
“Got it?”
“Yes!”
Smiling, he lowered Rhi.
“Here.” She handed the book to him. “I think you’ll like this.”
“Did Annwyl like it?”
“Of course not. There was no war, death, spies, or dry historic details about war, death, or spies. Just romance.”
“Perfect.” He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. But before he could stand again, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight.
“I’m glad you’re home, Uncle Éibhear. It’s been so very long.”
“I know. But I’ll be back more, I think.” He hugged her, making sure not to squeeze her too tightly. She was such a little thing and he worried that he’d break her. “Are you all right, Rhi?”
She sighed. Heavily. One of those sighs he remembered her making when she was still just a babe. At an age when one should never have those kind of deep, meaningful sighs. But, unlike his whiner brothers, she didn’t sigh simply because she was annoyed at Éibhear’s breathing or because the horse for their dinner had run away. When Rhi sighed, it was usually for a very good reason.
She released him and stepped back, head down. “I’ll need your help with Mum and Izzy.”
“Your mum, I can definitely help with. Izzy . . .”
Her gaze snapped up and locked with his. That beautiful, earnest face. Éibhear couldn’t imagine what he’d do to the male who broke the heart that went with that face.
“You don’t understand, Uncle Éibhear. You do have a great effect on Izzy.”
“Rhi, I haven’t seen your sister in years. She says she’s forgiven me . . . but I’m not sure I believe her. I think she hates me.”
“She’s never hated you. That’s the problem.”
Surprised by her words, Éibhear said, “Well . . . I’ll, uh, keep that in mind. But this isn’t about that Pombray boy is it? Because your mother and Izzy will be the least of your worries—”
“No, no.” She waved that away. “It’s something else.”
“Perhaps you should tell me what it is so I can devise a plan to handle the two most stubborn women in the world.”
Rhi sighed again. “I will, but later.” She started to walk away, stopped, and added, “But don’t leave.” Walked a few more steps, stopped. “I mean, don’t leave for a really long time. Like a month or so.” A few more steps, another stop. “I mean, if it’s terribly important, of course you should go. I’ll completely understand. But I’d appreciate if you could hang around, at least somewhere in the vicinity. . . .” Rhi stopped. “Now I’m getting on my own nerves.”
Chuckling, Éibhear walked up to his niece and held out his hand. “I know what will get your mind off such great worries, little niece.”
Rhi’s smile grew, her nose crinkling as her small hand slipped into his. “Book shopping?” she asked hopefully.
“Book shopping.”
Izzy gawked at the table. “Really?” she asked the dragon next to her.
He shrugged massive shoulders. “It got a little out of hand.”
“A
little
?”
He winced, gazing at the books that had been delivered by three carriages. “Well, you like to read, don’t you?” And she heard the begging in his voice.
“Not really.” She patted his shoulder. “Have fun putting them all away in the library.”
“You’re not going to help?”
She headed toward the big doors. “I’d rather set myself on fire.”
“I can manage that well enough,” he muttered.
Izzy stopped, looked at him over her shoulder. “What was that?”
He sighed. “Nothing.”
“That’s what I thought.”
That’s when Izzy noticed the boy. He stood in the corner, probably hiding there, hoping Éibhear wouldn’t notice him. She could understand that. When he was focusing on something, Éibhear had a brutal frown. Made him look like the mass-murdering bastard she’d heard him called over the last few years.
“Why don’t you help him with all those books . . . uh . . . ?”
Eyes wide, the boy stuttered out, “Fred . . . Frederik. Reinholdt.”
“Dagmar’s nephew.” Although it was somewhat easy to tell that just from the look of the boy. Pale, like he’d never seen the suns, and tall, like most of the Northland men. Not bad looking but a bit fearful to be around this brutish lot. “Can you read?”
“A bit.” He glanced away. “It’s a bit of a struggle.”
“No matter. You learn to read by doing and gods know, Éibhear needs the help.” She took the boy by his shoulder and led him to the table. “This has to be cleaned up by dinnertime.”
Éibhear blew out a breath. “Damn. Dinner.”
Laughing, Izzy left.
Éibhear glared at the cute ass walking out of the Great Hall, then refocused on the boy. “Frederik?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Nice to meet you. Name’s Éibhear.”
He frowned up at him. “You’re very . . . tall.”
“So are you . . . for a human boy.”
“You’re really a dragon?”
“I am.”
“And the lady?”
“Lady?”
“Who just left.”
Éibhear laughed. “I wouldn’t call Izzy a lady. Might get you punched. That’s General Iseabail, Daughter of Talaith.”
“You have women generals? She goes into combat? And you let her?”
“What you’ll learn, lad, is that you don’t
let
the females of the Southlands do a damn thing. You simply get out of their way or pray they don’t run you down.” He motioned to the books. “Let’s just get these to the library. We’ll organize them later.”
By the time Iseabail walked down the Great Hall stairs, Morfyd was coming around the corner. She wore the white robes of a healing cleric, her bag of herbs and spell paraphernalia over her shoulder.
“Morfyd!” Izzy waved and Morfyd rushed over, the pair hugging each other tight.
“Izzy! I heard you were back. I’m so glad to see you.” Morfyd stepped away, looked her over. “You’re too thin.”
“Am I?” She glanced down at herself, frowned. “Really?”
“To my eyes. Where are you off to?”
“To my house. I’m exhausted.”
“You’re not coming to dinner tonight?”
“No, but Uncle Fearghus said there might be something in a day or two, and that I’ll be attending.” She grinned. “There will be dancing.”
“Of course. Now, I’m glad you’re here. Your sister has plans to spend time with Lord Pombray’s son.”
“Isn’t Brastias escorting them?”
“He is, but I’ll need you to manage your father. He’s already burned the poor boy and . . . Iseabail! Stop laughing!”
“You know how Daddy is. Remember Lord Crom? All he did was put his hand on my lower back and the next thing I knew he was flying over the tops of the trees and Daddy was dropping him from his talons. . . .” She thought a moment and asked, “How is he anyway?”
“Dead. It wasn’t the fall that killed him. Or even the landing. It was Briec following up the whole thing with enough flame to wipe out a village.” She patted Izzy’s arm. “We didn’t tell you that part at the time. It would have just upset you.”
Appalled, Izzy demanded, “But he barely touched me!”
“And you were barely sixteen. It was completely inappropriate and Briec had warned him off. Twice. But he kept staring. The touching was the final straw. Now Lord Pombray’s son is your sister’s age, but that won’t matter much to your father.”
Izzy folded her arms over her chest. “What else have you lot hidden from me over the years?”
“Oh, lots of things. But it was always for the best.”
Before Izzy could argue that point, Morfyd asked, “So what brings you here? I thought we’d see you closer to the fall harvests.”
“I have no idea.”
“You have no idea why you’re here?” Morfyd frowned. “So you just . . . wandered away from battle?”
“You know how my mind wanders. . . .”
“Izzy.”
Izzy chuckled and replied, “Ragnar sent Éibhear to retrieve me, but Éibhear doesn’t know why. My mother doesn’t know why. No one seems to know why. But here I am.”
“And that doesn’t concern you?”
“Keita has always said I’m too pretty to be concerned with anything.”
“Gods!” Morfyd exclaimed. “If you start taking advice from that small-brained idiot—”
“I’m joking. Of course I’m concerned. But it’s not like I was summoned to a pit in one of the hells. At worst, I’m home for whatever problem may come up.” She patted her aunt’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. With me and Brannie here, I’m sure everything will be just fine.”
She stepped around Morfyd and headed toward the kennels.
“Good. And Izzy?”
Izzy stopped and faced her aunt.
“Have you heard from Rhydderch Hael?”
Taking a breath, Izzy outright lied. “No.”
Her aunt studied her. “You let me know if you do.”
“Of course,” Izzy stated, again heading toward the kennels.
She had no idea why she’d just lied to Morfyd, but her gut had told her that, at least for the moment, it was the best idea all around.
Chapter 13
Éibhear, as was his way, got lost in the books. Instead of merely piling them in the corner of the library and going to take a nap before evening meal, he ended up attempting not only to organize the new books he’d brought to the library but the ones that had been there before Annwyl’s father’s time.
To be honest, he’d thought Dagmar’s nephew would have wandered away by now—he seemed a constantly dazed boy—but, like Éibhear, he seemed comfortable in the library, quickly and easily taking orders on where to place books or what shelves to clean off so they could start again.
It was a nice, quiet time such as Éibhear realized he hadn’t enjoyed in quite a while. As one of the Mì-runach, spending more than a few hours reading, once or twice a week, was frowned upon. “Who has time for books when there’s drinking and whoring and killing to do?” Old Angor would demand before slapping some book Annwyl or Talaith had sent to Éibhear from Éibhear’s hands and shoving him toward the closest pub.
Not that Éibhear minded drinking and whoring and killing. He didn’t. But he’d always felt that reading and book buying fit easily into that list as well.
Frederik handed over another book to Éibhear. “I wish I could read better.”
“Spend time in here and you’ll be able to. Reading is learned by doing. It’s a skill almost all can have to some extent as long as they practice.” He leaned in and added low, “Besides, it’s a wonderful escape from your family when necessary.” He shrugged and stood tall, looking at the spine of the book. “Unless, of course, they track you down and—”
“My dear sweet son!”
Éibhear bit back a sigh and slowly faced the front of the library. He smiled. “Hello, Mum.”
Izzy had just stirred the simmering stew once again when she heard the knock.
Grinning, she dropped the ladle on the table and charged across the small room. She snatched the door open and grinned.
Brannie held up two bottles of Bercelak’s ale, her smile wide. But it was what was behind Brannie—or, in this case,
who
—that had Izzy pushing past her friend and straight into the arms of the dragon standing there.
“Celyn!”
Big arms tightened around her waist, lifting Izzy from the ground and holding her tight. “My little Izzy.”
“Pack it in, you two,” Brannie said, walking into the house. “There’s stew and bread and ale. . . . We can save the hugging for later.”
Éibhear hugged his mother, smiling when she whispered in his ear, “Oh, how I’ve missed you, my son.”
“I’ve missed you too, Mum. So much.”
“Did you miss me too,
boy
?” Éibhear could hear the sneer in that voice, his own lip starting to curl in annoyance as he spotted his father in the doorway.
His mother quickly pushed him back and asked, “And who is this young lad?”
Father and son snarled at each other until his mother shoved Éibhear’s shoulder. “Introduce us, son.”
“This is Frederik Reinholdt. Lady Dagmar’s nephew.”
“Ohhh, well aren’t you a strapping lad!” his mother exclaimed. She motioned Frederik closer. “I’m Queen Rhiannon, but you can call me Queen Rhiannon.”
Gazing at Rhiannon, his mouth slightly open, Frederik took the hand Rhiannon offered and bowed low from the waist. “My . . . my lady.”
Rhiannon’s smile was wide as she leaned in and said, “Aren’t you just adorable! I could just eat you right up!”
“
Mum!
”
“Well, I don’t mean literally!”
Izzy took the stew off the fire and placed it in the middle of the table, while Brannie put bowls and spoons out and Celyn poured the ale. It was an old routine that they’d started a few years back.
Hard to believe, though, considering all that had happened.
Although Izzy knew many didn’t believe her, she’d never planned for things to end up as they had among her, Éibhear, and Celyn. She’d been young and she’d been . . . curious. There had been a few among her fellow soldiers who’d offered to satisfy that curiosity for her. Some politely and some with an outright, “I’ll fuck ya proper,” which did nothing but cause Izzy to reach for the closest weapon or simply throw a punch. But it was Celyn who’d kept her interest merely by being sweet, funny, and confident. He didn’t offer anything because he didn’t need to. And, one night, alone in the woods, they took the next logical—at least to her—step.
But it had never occurred to Izzy that things would turn out so badly. Then again, she’d never thought Éibhear would find out. And if he did find out, she hadn’t thought he’d really ever care. And although the sixteen-year-old Izzy, who’d fallen hard for the dragon from the first time she’d seen him and his blue hair, had wanted to believe that he’d cared about her, that he’d been jealous, the more jaded, realistic nineteen-year-old she’d been at the time knew better. Knew it was more about ego and competing with his cousin than it was about Izzy.
Thankfully, though, that was a long time ago and much had changed. At least for Izzy it had.
“So have you seen my cousin?” Celyn asked, after he’d finished his stew, pushing his now empty bowl away and leaning back in his chair, long legs stretched out, hand around a cup of ale.
“He escorted us home.”
“And how did that go?”
Izzy tried to drag her fingers through the tangled, dirty mess of Macsen’s fur. It wasn’t that she didn’t groom him. She actually groomed him often, but by the time she was done combing through the back end, the front end was already a tangled, dirty mess again. But since the dog didn’t seem to mind . . .
“Why do you ask?”
“Because I’m pathetically curious.”
Izzy laughed. “At least you’re honest.”
“As one of the chosen Dragon Queen Personal Guard, I am bound in blood to be honest.” He glanced off and added, “Unless the queen tells me to lie . . . which she has.”
“Shocking,” Brannie muttered, reaching for the bottle of ale to refill her cup.
“Ahhh, the jealousy of a sibling. So bitter about my assignment, dear Brannie?”
“No. Just tired of hearing Mum go on and on about it.”
“Oh, little sister, you shouldn’t be so sensitive. You know Mum just loves me more than she loves you—ow! That’s my shin, human female!”
“I know!” Izzy snapped, sorry she’d gone barefoot for the evening because Celyn’s shins were like granite.
“You may not realize this, brother, but Izzy is loyal to
me.
So don’t make me unleash her on you.”
“And now you’re making fun of me,” Izzy complained.
“No. It’s a serious threat,” Celyn admitted. “Used by many in the family. Especially Briec. He loves threatening those who annoy him—”
“Which is everyone,” Brannie stated while grabbing the last loaf of bread and tearing it into three pieces.
“—with his beautiful eldest daughter who will rip the scales from your back and tear the still-beating heart from your chest before spitting on your corpse.”
Izzy put her hand to her chest, her voice trembling as she fought tears. “That is the
sweetest
thing I’ve ever heard.”
“He adores both his girls.”
“I needed to hear that.” She took the chunk of bread from Brannie. “I’ve been feeling a little . . . bad today.”
“Bad?” Celyn’s teasing expression changed to one of concern. “About what?”
“Éibhear told me that the family has been keeping him away because they didn’t want him around when I was. And Daddy and Fearghus say that’s mostly true. But they also said that Granddad forced Éibhear to join the Mì-runach and for the last ten years he’s been stuck in the Ice Lands. No one should be stuck in the Ice Lands. No one.”
Celyn and Brannie stared at her for a long moment, looked at each other, then back at her, both saying together, “
No
.”
“No? What do you mean no?”
“No one tells the Mì-runach anything,” Celyn explained. “Except for the queen. She tells them what she wants and the Mì-runach make it happen.”
“Make it happen? How?”
Celyn shrugged. “Any way they want to. The Mì-runach end up in the Mì-runach because they won’t follow orders. At least not any orders that come from anyone but the queen.”
“If they can’t follow orders then why—”
“No. I said they
won’t
follow orders, not that they can’t.”
“That’s even worse then.”
“As warriors, they’re often too good to not be used.”
“That was our grandfather,” Brannie added. “He was a mighty warrior but the worst among the rank and file. Before our grandmother—”
“He loved fucking and eating and drinking. And he loved a good battle. But he hated taking orders.”
“Hated generals and commanders.”
“Hated being up in the morning.”
“Especially after a good night of fucking and drinking.”
Izzy, laughing, asked, “So he joined the Mì-runach?”
“One doesn’t join the Mì-runach.”
“Not willingly,” Brannie noted.
“So they’re forced,” Izzy surmised, again feeling bad about Éibhear’s situation.
“More like given little option,” Celyn replied. “It’s usually a choice between the Mì-runach or the salt mines.”
“Many take the salt mines.”
“But if you survive the first two years of training . . . you become Mì-runach.”
“Survive the training?”
“Which is hard enough, but when you’re full Mì-runach, you still go into battle without armor—”
“—without colors.”
“—without anyone really leading.”
Shocked, hands pressed to her cheeks, Izzy asked, “Do they at least have weapons?”
“Sometimes, I guess.” Celyn shook his head. “I’ll be honest, Iz. It’s not something I’d do.”
“But . . .” And Izzy couldn’t help but cringe in disbelief. “
Éibhear
?”
“After what happened to Austell the Red . . .” The young Dragonwarrior recruit had been killed during the final battle of the war against the Iron dragons. It was something that Izzy had heard Éibhear had taken very badly, for some reason blaming himself, but no one would ever tell Izzy exactly why. After a while she’d stopped asking because she had the feeling she didn’t really want to know why Éibhear would blame himself.
“Well,” Celyn finally went on, “my cousin was never quite the same.”
“He was impossible to train. Refused to listen.”
“Fought everyone. Éibhear was just angry.”
“So Grandfather sent him to the Mì-runach?” Izzy said, motioning for the bottle of ale from Brannie.
“I wasn’t surprised that Uncle Bercelak would send him,” Celyn noted. “But I was surprised the queen let him go.”
“Because it was Éibhear?”
“Because no dragon prince has ever been in the Mì-runach in any of its forms.”
“Its forms?”
Brannie shrugged. “The Mì-runach have been around nearly as long as dragon armies have. But they didn’t have an official name until Grandfather Ailean joined. Before that they were just, ‘Those crazy bastards that’ll kill for a pint and a whore.’”
“Lovely.”
Celyn laughed. “They’re a bit more organized now, but they’re still those crazy bastards. And I have to say that from what I’ve heard, Éibhear fits in perfectly.”
“The rumor is that the entire Ice Land sighed in relief when Éibhear the Contemptible finally left their territories.”
Izzy, deciding she didn’t want to drink anymore, pushed her half-filled mug away. “So then you don’t think the Mì-runach were forced to keep him away—”
“The Mì-runach kept him in the Ice Lands because that’s where they were needed these last few years. And I’m sure with his reputation and his skills in battle, no one in the Mì-runach would have been fine with Éibhear just flittin’ off to a family feast or for your sister’s birthday celebrations.”
“When you’re Mì-runach, they
are
your family. Only your mate matters more.” Brannie thought a moment. “If any of them actually ever have one.”
“So, his brothers ordering the Mì-runach to keep him in the Ice Lands for the last ten years . . . ?”
“It never happened.”
Izzy dropped back into her chair. “Then why the hells would they let him believe that they did?”
Celyn reached over and patted her hand. “Because your father and uncles are cruel bastards, luv. How could you not have figured that out by now?”
Izzy snatched her hand back. “Oh, shut up.”
Queen Rhiannon sat down beside her youngest offspring on the hill that overlooked the castle of Garbhán Isle and the surrounding grounds. The last time she’d sat here with her son, he’d been making the very nasty transition from child to adult. Now, as she looked up at the profile of that face, she saw what that change had cost him. There were no longer any soft lines there. No longer any perfect, smooth human skin. Instead, his jaw was strong and she could see that it had been broken at least once. His cheekbones were now sharp, and he had scars on his neck and face, which meant steel blades had cut past hard scales to the flesh underneath.