“That was just brotherly—”
“Abuse?”
“Some might say. But I prefer good-natured—”
“Brawling? Battery? Assault? Destruction?”
Éibhear shrugged. “Depends who you talk to.”
“So no one knows why I’m here?” Izzy asked while she dried off her body.
“You weren’t summoned by any of us, that I know of,” Dagmar said, “but I am glad you’re here.”
“Why?”
“I have concerns.”
Uh-oh. Dagmar didn’t mention “concerns” unless she was terribly worried.
“Concerns about what?”
Dagmar sighed, looked off. “Oh, where to begin . . .”
Uh-oh.
They invaded quietly, like the Mì-runach. Slipping into his room while he talked to the boy. First, there was Talan’s twin, Talwyn. A beauty that one, but dangerous. Unbelievably dangerous. Like her mother. But in those green eyes there was none of the love combined with insanity that Éibhear had always seen in Annwyl’s. What kind of leaders would these twins make? Both seemed surprisingly cold, but curious. Like jungle cats that toy with the wounded deer found lying by a tree. They poke with their paws, bite down with their fangs. They test, taste, and wonder . . . is it worth tormenting anymore? Or is it already dead?
But then he met his youngest niece, Rhianwen. She was now called Rhi by everyone and just sixteen winters. She was, in a word, beautiful. Stunning. And he could see why his brothers were so protective of her. Not only because of her beauty—beauty could be found anywhere. It was that wonderful, bright smile; that inherent innocence; and that intense goodness. Her warmth. While her cousins sized Éibhear up like a very large bug they’d found under their beds, Rhi came to him, arms opened wide, tears in her eyes.
“I’m so glad to see you again after all these years, Uncle Éibhear.” She hugged him tight, arms around his waist, head resting against his chest. “You’ve been greatly missed.” She sniffed and leaned her head back to look up at him. “Although no one but my mother and aunts will ever admit that to you.”
He kissed her forehead and hugged her back. “Don’t worry. I already know that.”
“He’ll train us,” Talan told his sister.
“Good. Something new to learn.”
“Later,” Rhi chastised. “At least let him get comfortable before you come at him with your stupid requests.”
“Fine.”
“Whatever.”
Then the twins were gone, quickly, quietly. It was a little more than frightening.
“Don’t let them worry you,” Rhi said, although he hadn’t spoken a word. “They’re not nearly as horrible as everyone thinks they are . . . but they are annoying.”
“Good to know.”
She stepped back, took his hands into hers. “I’ve heard you’re a bit of a reader.”
“More than a bit.”
Rhi grinned. “So am I! Although I love to draw as well. I bet we’re just alike, you and I!”
Uh . . . all right.
Dagmar blew out a breath, smoothed down the front of her unadorned dress. She no longer wore a kerchief over her long hair as she had when she’d first arrived, even though it was custom among the Northland women. Instead she wore her hair in a simple, single braid that reached down her back—something, Izzy was sure, Gwenvael delighted in unbraiding every night. But other than that, she looked no different from the Northlander who’d first arrived with Gwenvael all those years ago. She still wore her simple gray gowns, with fur boots in the winter and leather boots in the summer. And her spectacles. Gods, who could forget those spectacles that Gwenvael spoke of as if they were breathing human beings? As always, they were perched primly on her nose, while those sparkling gray eyes watched Izzy. Calculating. Dagmar always calculated.
“I’m . . . concerned.”
“About Lord Pombray’s son?”
“Oh, gods no.” She rolled her eyes. “That boy and your sister are the least of my worries.”
Izzy dropped to the ground and pulled on socks and her boots. “So it’s the twins then.”
“It’s Talwyn. She’s become . . . close. To the Kyvich. Especially Commander Ásta.”
Izzy shrugged, tugging her boots on and wondering if she should get another pair now that she was home for a bit.
“Well, she’s young. And Ásta is an attractive woman.” She stood and stomped her feet to get the boots perfectly fitted. “I’m sure it’s nothing to be worried about. Some women are just more comfortable with other women. It doesn’t mean she can’t breed with a male when she’s ready to have a child and then she and the other woman can raise the child togeth—”
“No, no.” Dagmar eyed Izzy. “That is not what I meant, Iseabail.”
“Oh.” Izzy shrugged. “Then what’s your concern? They were her protectors. Of course Talwyn’s close to them, just as I was close to my protectors.” When Dagmar only stared at her, Izzy said, “You think they want something more?”
“She’s a powerful girl. Her fighting skills . . . and I’ve been told she has untapped Magick about her. Not at the same level as Rhi does, of course, at least she hasn’t shown it in front of any of us. But that Magick is something the Kyvich would be drawn to.” True. The Kyvich were warrior witches who pulled their number mostly from outsiders. But . . . “They only take children, Dagmar. That’s what I was told.”
“And that’s true.” Dagmar adjusted her spectacles. “In the Northlands there are stories of the Kyvich coming in from the Ice Lands and snatching female newborn babes from their mothers’ arms. But, like most, power is what draws them.”
“And Talwyn has power.”
“Much of it.”
“And my sister?”
“She is a Nolwenn witch by blood. The Kyvich barely speak to her.”
“And Talan is male.”
Dagmar smirked. “Very.”
“I see. Like uncle, like nephew?”
“He hasn’t quite racked up the same body count with women as Gwenvael the Handsome, but he’s clearly working on it.”
Izzy picked up her bag, shoving her dirty clothes and weapons into it. Then she hooked her arm with Dagmar’s and the pair headed back to the castle.
“Do you want me to talk to Talwyn?”
“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?”