Yawning, Brannie stomped up beside Fal and Izzy.
“Fal.” She nodded at her brother. “You got fat.”
Izzy gasped. “Brannie!”
“He is. Dragons can get fat, you know, Iz. The Cadwaladrs just choose not to.” She cut her brother a hard look. “Or should I say most of the Cadwaladrs choose not to.”
Fal gripped his sister’s forearm. “I need to talk to you.”
“What? You need some diet tips—hey!”
Izzy watched Fal drag his sister off; then she noticed that everyone was staring at Éibhear and the others. A few leaned over to nearby comrades and whispered, rather loudly, “Mì-runach.” But there was a tone of disgust and fear. A tone she didn’t much appreciate.
They were all still part of the same army, still there to protect the Dragon Queen and her subjects. So the Mì-runach did it a little differently? What did that matter?
“Oy!” Izzy yelled out, as she did with her own troops. “Don’t you lot have work to get done? Now?”
“And who the hells are you?” some upstart demanded.
“I am Iseabail the Dangerous,” she called up to the rude bastard. “Daughter of Talaith and Briec the Mighty. General to Annwyl the Bloody’s Eighth, Fourteenth, and Twenty-sixth Legions.” She threw down the horn-handled dagger her father had had made for her many years ago. “And killer of the dragon whose horn that used to be, Olgeir the Wastrel.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Who are you?”
Aidan leaned in and whispered low into Éibhear’s ear, “I’d initially found her large shoulders a tad off-putting. But I must say that at this moment . . . completely understand the attraction.”
Éibhear didn’t answer him, but instead watched the troops go back to their work. Izzy swiped up her dagger, tucked it back into the holster attached to her sword belt, and marched over to Éibhear’s side. She motioned him down with a wave of her hand. He lowered himself a bit. “Aye?”
“Why does everyone hate you? Other than the obvious reasons, of course.”
Smart-ass. “Because we’re Mì-runach.”
“You’d think they’d appreciate what you do for your queen.”
“You’d think.”
She looked so annoyed by how the others had treated him and his comrades. Whether she realized she was upset for him, Éibhear didn’t know, but he was enjoying it. Enjoying her. He wouldn’t mention that, though. He knew it would only piss her off.
“I’m not discussing it!” Brannie roared as she came stomping around a corner, her idiot brother Fal following behind her.
“You can’t just bring bloody Mì-runach here, Branwen! Not without permission of—”
Brannie spun around and faced her brother, her sharpened tail pointing in his face, dangerously close to his eye. “The Mì-runach are part of this army, you idiot. They need no one’s permission to go anywhere on Her Majesty’s territory. And Éibhear is your cousin. He’s kin. A Cadwaladr by blood. Never forget that, Fal the Tepid.”
Éibhear leaned down a bit more and whispered, “That name will stick.”
“Aye. I’m afraid you may be right.” Izzy cringed a bit, but added, “Tragic really, but from what I understand . . . deserved.”
“You two going to start braiding each other’s hair next?” Uther grumbled. And, when they all turned to look at him: “I’m hungry!”
“We’d best get him fed,” Aidan warned. “You know how he gets.”
Éibhear glanced around. “There’s got to be something to eat around here until we can get a proper meal.” He pointed across the cavern. “There. Cow’s legs.”
Izzy looked over. “Good gods, those are cow’s legs. They just have cow’s legs lying around? Like treats?”
“What would you expect a dragon to eat?” Éibhear asked her. “Chicken legs?”
“I guess you have a point, but . . .”
Uther now stood in front of them with a cow’s leg, using his fangs to rip meat off the bone. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he sighed loudly. “That’s good.”
Izzy gazed up at Éibhear. “Eww.”
Izzy put her hand to her mouth to hide her laugh and keep food from flying out. When it was decided that the Mì-runach were staying—dealing with Izzy was one thing for these dragons, but dealing with Captain Branwen the Awful was definitely another—a small feast was thrown together in one of the caverns with a long dining table, plates, and utensils. And, in honor of Iseabail, everyone came as human. At least they said it was in honor of Iseabail. Izzy really thought it was more about getting a chance to hang around the human prostitutes in their less intimidating forms.
“Stop, Brannie,” Izzy got out around the food she still hadn’t swallowed.
“Look at him. All puffed up. I can’t believe that’s my brother.”
They both looked over at Fal. The brown dragon was keeping human prostitutes enthralled with tales of wartime heroism that managed to leave out how many times Brannie and Celyn had been forced to save his rather useless ass.
“What’s really tragic is he’s not even smart enough to help Daddy with all his peacemaking, politics, and book . . . stuff. He’s bloody stupid!”
“Would you stop?” Izzy begged, her voice barely a whisper, her attempts to stop her laughter getting weaker by the second.
“And look at ’em,” she coaxed Izzy, gesturing to the women. “Look at ’em all. ‘Ohhh, Fal,’” she mimicked in a high-pitched voice. “‘You’re so handsome and brave.’”
Izzy pushed her nearly empty plate away. It was rare for her not to finish a meal but what could she do? Brannie would have her choke to death!
“But,” Izzy whispered, “they are prostitutes, yes?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Then is romance really required?”
“It is when you’re cheap.”
“Ahhh. I see.”
Brannie leaned in closer, her voice dropping even more. “Now you see why me mum sent him here. He’s hopeless.”
“But he seems quite happy.”
“Because there’s no safer or more boring an assignment then the salt mines.”
“It’s a very important job, though, Bran. Guarding salt.” Izzy cringed, unable to imagine spending her life guarding a seasoning for meat. “Look, as long as he’s happy . . .”
“As long as there’s fresh p**sy and ale within flying distance, my brother will always be happy.” Brannie sneered in disgust, dismissed it all with a wave of her hand, and asked, “So, you getting nervous about meeting your grandmum?”
“First off, that woman is not my grandmum. Rhiannon is my grandmum. That other bitch is just the body that carried my mum.”
“You’re not one for forgiving, are you, Iz?”
“I forgive. When you’re not an outright cunt to me mum.” She looked intently at her cousin. “Family’s all, Brannie. Family’s all.”
Brannie started laughing hysterically. “I still can’t believe you used that one on him!”
“All right,” Aidan admitted. “I like her. I like Izzy.”
A fist slammed into his face, snapping his head to the side.
Aidan cracked his neck, moved his jaw around to make sure he still could, then looked back at his friend. “I mean, I like her as a fellow being and I like her for you. I didn’t mean I like her so let me get her into a corner so I can f**k her blind.”
“Oh.” Éibhear gave a small shrug. “Sorry then.”
“No, no. I like getting punched in the face for no bloody reason.”
“It’s a habit. What can I say?”
“Thought you only did that with family.”
“ ‘Thought you only did that with family,’” Éibhear imitated-sneered back at him.
Aidan looked around the table, remembered why he’d never fit in with the regular army in the first place. Gods, what a miserable life to lead. “On the way back, let’s stay in a town when we need a break. Or even a bloody barn.”
“Aye.” Éibhear sat up, his elbows on the table, his hands rubbing his tired face. “We should have stayed where we left the horses. We’d have had to stay human, but at least we’d have a bed and I wouldn’t have to deal with—”
“Cousin? Oy. Cousin!”
Éibhear let out a long breath. “What, Fal?”
His cousin leaned in, his arm around one of the prostitutes, and whispered, “So did you get her yet?”
The Mì-runach, who sat on the other side of Éibhear and could hear Fal, stopped eating. They might have stopped breathing.
“Don’t know what you mean,” Éibhear tried, really hoping his cousin would let this go. Although Fal believed himself as charming as Gwenvael the Handsome, he didn’t realize he lacked the one thing Éibhear’s brother had in abundance: intelligence. For it was intelligence that was the thin line between endearing rapscallion and idiot bastard.
“Izzy,” the idiot bastard pushed. “You finally get her or has my brother still got you beat there?”
Éibhear clenched his jaw, the back of his neck began to itch, and his hands curled into fists, but he said nothing.
“Have you even tried, cousin?” He leaned in closer and Éibhear realized Fal was well into his cups. “From what I’ve heard over the years, it’s really not that hard to get in there.”
Still, Éibhear said nothing. Not yet.
He focused across the table, his gaze on Izzy. She was chatting and laughing with Brannie, oblivious to what was going on.
“Look,” the idiot pushed, “if you don’t want her for yourself, you should give her to your Mì-runach friends there. Or maybe when you’re done with her. That’s what you do for friends. Not that you have friends anymore. Not since you got poor Austell killed. But I’m sure you know what I mean. They’ll appreciate the gesture.”
Aidan pushed his plate away, fell back in his chair. Caswyn had his face buried in his hands, and Uther was hunched over the table, his entire body tensing so hard that it seemed he was shaking. He wasn’t. He was tense. Tense was never good when dealing with the Mì-runach.
Brannie glanced over at him. She kept up her conversation with Izzy, but she was a Cadwaladr, too. If there was one thing every Cadwaladr learned to do at an early age, it was to be painfully aware of when their kin was doing something incredibly stupid. Brannie studied Éibhear’s face before turning back to Izzy. She laughed at something her friend said and then watched Izzy get up from her chair, thank the commander of the outpost, and excuse herself from the table. She walked off and Brannie watched her until she’d left the cavern.
Then Brannie’s smile faded and she relaxed back in her chair, her gaze moving back to Éibhear’s.