The horses trotted close to Bram, showing no fear. The same way the women on their backs showed no fear.
“How do you live like this, Bram the Merciful?” Kachka asked. “So much unmovable stone. Do you not feel trapped?”
“Dragons normally live in caves. Castles aren’t much different.”
“I do not like,” Kachka sniffed. “I would feel like I could not breathe.”
“Do not complain so, sister. It’s not like you will be trapped by walls of stone.” Elina pointed at Bram. “Just the dragon. So if walls fall on him and crush his sad head, we will be outside under the stars . . . safe.”
Bram nodded. “Thank you both for that.”
“You are welcome,” they said together.
“Uncle Bram,” Var said, “I’m hungry.”
“Come, little Abomination,” Kachka ordered. “We will hunt your food down.”
Var, his face twisted in disgust, pointed at Bram’s castle. “I’m sure Uncle Bram has food. He always has food. Food I don’t need to hunt down and kill.”
“Horse gods of death, what have these dragons been teaching you, boy? How to live off others when you are perfectly healthy to go and hunt for yourself?”
“That’s exactly what they’ve taught me, and I find it perfectly acceptable.”
“No.” Elina rode over to the boy, reaching down and hauling him onto the back of her horse. “You will not turn into lazy Southlander. Not when you have potential to be a perfectly acceptable husband one day.”
“I don’t want to be an acceptable husband one day.”
“You all say that, but then on knees you beg. ‘Pleeeeease make me husband. I will do anything to be your husband.’ But you are too pretty to beg. The warriors will come to you and offer so much to have someone so pretty raise their children.”
“Uncle Bram?” the boy begged in a whiney voice Bram had never heard before, making Bram choke back a laugh. It was always nice when his nephews’ dragon-human offspring actually acted like children for once.
“Learn to hunt, Var. It’ll be good for you.”
“We won’t be long,” Elina told him.
Wondering if he’d remembered to bring those scrolls that Dagmar had given him last night, Bram began to dig into his travel bag. They had to be in here somewhere.
“Bram!”
Bram looked up, quickly realizing the two Riders and Var were staring at him. “Yes?”
“Close gate after us,” Elina said. And based on her tone . . . she’d said it more than once.
“Right. Close gate. I will.”“Good.”
The sisters rode out with young Var, and Bram walked toward his gate. But by the time he reached it, he was headfirst into his bag, trying to find those damn . . .
“Here they are!” he called out triumphantly.
Bram glanced around, quickly realizing he was talking to the air again. That was always awkward.
He turned and walked toward the castle steps, shifting to human as he did so. And the whole time he walked, he sensed he’d forgotten to do something . . . but damned if he could remember what it was.
Izzy finally made it downstairs and into the Great Hall by early afternoon. Éibhear was already at the dining table, but he had his head resting on his folded arms and she might have heard snoring.
Gratefully taking the tea one of the servants handed her—they’d been through enough Cadwaladr family feasts to know how to treat any lingering morning-after effects—Izzy pushed at her mate’s shoulder until he sat up and she could settle on his lap.
“We are never drinking like that again,” Éibhear promised as all the Cadwaladrs promised.
A promise they never kept.
She leaned in, kissed him. “Drink some of this tea.”
“What will tea do?”
“It is Morfyd’s recipe. It’ll help.”
“Morning!” Brannie announced before dropping into a chair next to Izzy and Éibhear. Both of them growled at her, but she only smiled wider.
“I was smart,” Brannie noted. “I didn’t drink nearly as much as you two.”
“Only because you were running around, gossiping, all night,” Izzy noted. “I had no idea you could be as bad as Morfyd.”
“This is about my brother. How could I not gossip? Our older sisters will definitely want to know what’s going on. I have to have all the information.”
“Oh, yes, I’m sure that’s it.”
“Your sarcasm bites, old friend.” Brannie reached over and took the tea out of Izzy’s hand before Éibhear could take a sip, eliciting another growl from the dragon. But if Brannie noticed . . .
“Do you think Celyn will really take Elina as his mate?”
“Yes,” Izzy and Éibhear answered together.
Their quick and confident response surprised Brannie. “Why? Because he feels sorry about what happened to her eye? Because that was her mother’s doing. My brother—”
“Brannie, Brannie,” Éibhear said in a tone that suggested he was talking to a small child. “This has nothing to do with the loss of her eye. Your brother will choose Elina Shestakova as his mate because she fucks him stupider than he already is.”
Izzy laughed at that, but Brannie didn’t.
“You’re talking about my brother, worthless Mì-runach.”