How to Drive a Dragon Crazy (Dragon Kin #6)(54)

“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-f*ck 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.”

“Look, Izzy, we’re what you would call a . . . strike unit. We come in, usually under the cover of darkness, and kill either someone specific or as many enemy soldiers as we can. As you can imagine, full dragon armor or human armor for that fact, would not be in our best interest. So we protect our most important bits, arm ourselves to the fangs, and do what we do best.”