“What’s going on?” Izzy asked when she reached his side.
“The salt mines are near here. We can get fresh food and drink and a nice place to sleep with my mum’s troops.”
Izzy gazed at him a moment; then she looked at the rest of their travel party, who now waited expectantly, before she focused on him again.
“You do know I’m human, don’t you?”
He was surprised by her question. “I’m aware.”
“And you want me to be the lone human with an entire troop of dragons? And aren’t the salt mines a sort of prison for your kind?”
“I’m sure the salt mines have whores,” Caswyn added while looking around what was becoming more and more barren territory the farther they traveled.
Éibhear gawked at him, eyes wide, wondering what the hell the dragon had been thinking.
When Caswyn looked back at them all—and realized they were all staring at him—he clarified, “Not that you’re a whore. Just that dragons usually have whores around and they’re usually human. So you should feel quite comfortable.”
When everyone’s mouth opened a little wider, Caswyn sighed and said, “What I mean is—”
“Please stop talking,” Brannie desperately cut in. “For the love of all the gods in all the worlds, please stop talking!”
“I was just trying to put her at ease.”
“They’ll have ale?” Izzy asked Éibhear.
“Lots of ale.”
She walked her horse around him. “Thank the gods for something,” she muttered, and spurred her horse off the road and toward the salt mines.
After stabling their horses in town not far from the salt mines—yes, for the horses’ own safety—the traveling party arrived at the main mountain that overlooked the entire borderline between the Southlands and the Desert Lands.
Izzy rode Brannie to the entrance but dismounted once they’d landed. Without waiting for the others, she headed toward the caverns.
“Izzy,” Éibhear called out. “Wait.”
But Izzy wouldn’t wait. If she didn’t want to become an immediate target of some pushy dragon, she needed to show no fear from the beginning. And entering while riding on Brannie’s back, or with Éibhear at her side, only ensured that none of the troops would take her seriously.
Izzy walked into the large cavern. It was, she’d admit, a bit overwhelming to be amongst all these dragons who weren’t kin or friend. She’d never felt like a tiny woman before . . . until now.
Standing in the middle of the cavern, Izzy kept her hand on the sword at her side. After a few moments, one of the dragons lifted his head and sniffed the air. He looked around the cavern until his gaze moved down to her.“Who are you?” he asked.
“Iseabail the Dangerous,” she said loudly so that everyone would hear. “General of Annwyl the Bloody’s Eighth, Fourteenth, and Twenty-sixth Legions.”
The dragon studied her for several long moments before he finally nodded and said, “Nice to meet ya, lass. Let us know if you need anything.”
“Thank you,” she replied, feeling a little disappointed. She’d expected more of a reaction. A little something. Did humans just wander into their caverns all the time?
“Izzy?”
She looked up, forced a smile. “Fal. Hello.”
Brannie and Celyn’s older brother, Fal. Although Izzy considered him family like all Cadwaladrs, she didn’t always like him very much.
“What are you doing here?” He grinned. “Had to see me, eh?”
And that was why Izzy didn’t like him very much. Ever since he’d found out Izzy and Celyn had been together, he’d been on a quest to get between her legs. It wasn’t that he wasn’t attractive. He was. But he was also a bit of an annoying prat, too. Not a charming prat like Gwenvael. Just annoying.
“I’m on a trip with—”
“Brannie?” Fal asked, his gaze behind Izzy. He smiled, but it quickly faded and the busy activity around Izzy abruptly stopped. She turned, afraid of what she’d find . . . but it was just Brannie, Éibhear, Aidan, Uther, and Caswyn.
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?”