“Well”—Talaith shrugged—“she’s right, but that’s not the point.”
Izzy would have to say that going through Bram the Merciful’s desk was quite fascinating. The dragon seemed to have some connection to everyone. He had correspondence from the hills and valleys to the west that went far past the territorial lines of the Sovereigns. He also had ongoing correspondence with the people of the east, who lived far across the dangerous seas. He’d also been in communication with warlords from the Northlands and Ice Lands, attempting to broker peace between different tribes and hordes. There were other documents that she assumed were from dragons. She couldn’t read them since they were written in the old language of the dragons, but based on the size of the documents . . . yeah, probably dragons.
“Find what you need?” Éibhear asked her from the doorway.
“I think so.” She held up a document. “Does this look right?”
He took the parchment from her and studied it. “Based on what you told me, it does. But Annwyl will never agree to this.”
“If anyone can talk her into it, it’s Bram.” Izzy dropped back into the chair. “But you’re probably right. She hates the Western Horsemen and their horse gods.” The nomadic tribes in the west had been the bane of Annwyl’s existence for many years. They were mostly slavers, raiding weak, poorly defended towns and kidnapping children and the weaker men and women to sell to the Sovereigns. Annwyl hated slavery of any kind, which made her an enemy of the Horsemen. A much hated enemy.
“They tried to kill the twins and Rhi when we were all away at war against the Iron dragons and Sovereigns,” Éibhear reminded her.
“True. And all those involved were wiped from this world by Annwyl’s sword and rage when she returned to Garbhán Isle.”
“I believe your axe was involved also.”
“Well, I was her squire. I couldn’t leave her to fight alone.”
“When do you ever?” He handed the parchment back to her. “Food’s ready.”
“Yeah, all right.” She looked at the other papers she’d set aside. “I think I’ll bring these as well.” She scooped them up and put them into her travel bag. “Just in case.”
Izzy followed Éibhear back to the hall, but she stopped and closed her eyes. “Gods . . . that smells wonderful.”
“I had to go with boar. There was no lamb.”
“I’m so hungry I don’t care.”
“No wine either. I looked everywhere.”
“Oh, I know where that is. He hides it.”
“Hides it? From who?”
When she stared at him, mouth open, he nodded. “Right, right. His own offspring.”
Izzy went to the closet buried deep in Bram’s library where he kept cases of wine and ale and pulled what looked the most interesting. When she returned, the food was on the table and a fire was going in the nearby pit. Éibhear had also put out plates and utensils, their chairs cattycorner from each other.
“Will this do?” she asked, figuring the royal would have a better understanding of wine and ale than she.
Éibhear took the two bottles from her and blew the dust off them. Then his eyes grew wide when he looked at the seal. “Gods, Izzy. This is my grandfather’s.”
“Ailean?”
“We can’t take these. It’s probably all Bram has.”
“You mean except for all those cases he has in the library closet?”
“He has cases of my grandfather’s ale?”
“Aye.”
“That stingy bastard. It never occurred to him to share?”
Izzy took the bottles back and placed them on the table. “Apparently not with you.”
“This isn’t to be wasted on the meal,” he said, moving the bottles away from the plates and moving a carafe of water closer.
“If it’s not for the meal, then what’s it for?”
Éibhear grinned. “Dessert.”
“Have you talked to Talwyn?”
Talaith watched her friend. Annwyl had been so quiet lately. Not like her. It wasn’t so much that she was a boisterous monarch. She wasn’t. But she wasn’t so quiet either. So removed. It was like she was waiting for the other boot to drop.
And maybe she was right to be feeling that way. Although Talaith had her own concerns with her child, the Kyvich weren’t one of them. As mortal enemies of her Nolwenn sisters since the beginning of time—at least that’s what she’d been told from birth—the Kyvich tolerated the presence of her daughter but didn’t engage her.
Although the last couple of years, the leader of the Kyvich squad would sometimes watch Rhi. Not as she watched Talwyn, with pure calculation. Instead, Talaith saw concern on the commander’s hard face. Which worsened as Rhi’s power became more and more obvious.
Ásta saw Rhi as a threat, of that Talaith was sure. Another reason why Talaith was beginning to think that sending her young daughter to the south might be the best answer for all.
“Talk to her about what?”
“About her relationship with that Kyvich bitch?”
“What is there to discuss? Ásta and the others are her protectors. Of course she’ll feel close to them. They were here when I wasn’t.”
“Don’t,” Talaith said, pointing a finger. “Don’t you dare go down that winding road, my friend. Sacrifices were made those years by us all—and for damn good reasons. So I won’t hear you put yourself down or elevate those cunts because of what you had to do to protect your children. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, yes, you do,” the Southland Queen said quickly, her lips twitching as she tried not to smile.
“Good, good. Now if you want, when Izzy gets back we can talk to them both together.”
“Gets back from where?”
“She went to Bram’s home to get some documents he forgot. That dragon would forget his head if it wasn’t attached.”
“She went to . . .” Annwyl snorted a little, looked off.
“What?”
The queen rubbed her nose, shook her head. “Nothing.”
“What?” Talaith pushed, her butt wiggling in her chair. “Tell me!”
“I, uh, asked that boy, Dagmar’s nephew, if Éibhear was coming to evening meal tonight and he said he was going to Bram’s castle for some reason. He didn’t know why. I just assumed Bram forgot something again.”
“Does . . . Izzy know that?”
“Doubt it.”
Talaith stared at her friend until they both began laughing, so hard and loud that Talaith began to cough and Annwyl cry. It was so bad, Briec walked in, watched them for a few moments, then walked out again, slamming the door behind him.
Chapter 16
Izzy pushed her empty plate away and, realizing she couldn’t avoid it anymore, lifted her gaze to the dragon sitting quietly to her left.
“All right, fine,” she finally admitted. “It was amazing.”
Éibhear patted her hand. “I know that hurt to admit.”
Swatting at him, Izzy pushed her chair back, stood, and turned so that she could sit on the table, her legs hanging over.
“Do you have something against chairs?”
“They’re confining.”
“So’s the army.”
“That’s a confinement I’ve never minded.” She pulled one leg up, tucking the heel against her inside thigh, her body turned enough to look at Éibhear. “Truly, though, that was delicious.”
His smile full of pride, Éibhear nodded. “Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed it. Now, maybe you can tell me what the battle-fuck is going on.”
Éibhear watched Izzy’s defenses immediately come up. Like giant brick walls. “Going on about what?”
“I’ll admit, I’ve not been part of the day-to-day of my kin in quite some time. But I know when something is going on, Izzy. That, I’m afraid, has not changed. And something is going on. And I think you know it.”
“Is that why you followed me here? Because you think you can bully me into telling you that which my father and uncles will not?”
“I would never try to bully you to do anything. I would, however, try to cajole and lure. Perhaps lull . . .” He thought a moment. “Is that wrong?”
She stared at him, but did not answer.
“I promise,” he went on, feeling a sense of hope from the small smile he saw, “the last thing I’m trying to do is bully you or anyone else. But I want to know what’s going on. It’s clearly upsetting you and worrying my brothers. My brothers don’t worry about anything. They’re soulless bastards. I love them,” he added, “but they’re soulless bastards.”
“They are not soulless bastards and you know it.”
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Why?”
“Because this is my kin and no matter what my brothers think, I do care about what happens to them.”
Izzy’s anger eased away, but her defenses were still up. Still ready. “Why would they think you don’t care?”
“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “It just seems the decision to make me part of the Mì-runach has disappointed them.”
“Who told you that lie?” When he frowned, she added, “Anytime they talk about you and your barbarian friends—”
“They’re not barbarians.”
“—all I hear is awe mixed with a bit of fear and a good dose of concern.”
“Concern?”
“For your safety. For your life.” She leaned in a bit, hands clasped in front of her. “Is it true you go into battle without armor . . . without weapons?”
Éibhear leaned back. “What?”
“Naked? Just your claws?”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Éibhear rubbed his face. “We’re warriors, Izzy. Not insane.” Gods, what had his brothers been telling her? “We wear light armor and, depending on what our assignment is, sometimes no armor. But we’re always armed. More armed than anyone else I know.”
“And do you drink the blood of your enemies? And wear their heads as totems?”
“No! What did my brothers tell you?”
“Actually, that last bit was Celyn.”
Éibhear rolled his eyes. “Figures.”
“It’s not true?”
“The Mì-runach have come a long way over the centuries.”
“Which means . . . what?”
“We don’t drink the blood of our enemies or wear their heads as totems . . . anymore. And I’ve never done any of that.”
Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. “Do you smear the blood of your enemies on you?”
“Sometimes,” he snapped, frustrated, “but I don’t want to get into it. I can’t get into it. There are some sacred rites we still perform that are none of your business. Or the business of my brothers.”
“Hhhm.” She thought a moment. “Fair enough.”