What a Dragon Should Know (Dragon Kin #3)(78)

She’d rather eat bark, but she didn’t have a moment to come up with an excuse before Gwenvael came up behind them and grabbed Fal by the hair. With one good yank, the youngster went flying and Gwenvael took her hand. “Beast.”

“Defiler.”

He grinned and placed her hand in the crook of his arm. “Come along. There’s much to observe and mock.”

She laughed. “Sounds delightful.”

Gwenvael led her to the queen’s table, but they stopped when a large wall stepped in front of them.

“Lady Dagmar, this is my baby brother, Éibhear.”

Dagmar looked up into a handsome but fierce face … until he smiled. That adorable smile took up his entire face and Dagmar was helpless to do anything but smile back.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello.” By all reason … His hair was blue. Not so black it appeared blue, but blue! She briefly wondered if Gwenvael would mind if she ran her hands through it.

“Is it true you went to the Great Library of Spikenhammer?”

“Very true.”

“I’ve always wanted to go. I’ve heard their collection of books is phenomenal.”

“It is. And your brother was thrown out for lewd behavior.”

Éibhear’s enchanting smile faded, replaced by a rather frightening frown. “Can’t take you anywhere,” he accused his brother.

“It wasn’t me,” Gwenvael lied. “She molested me in the stacks. She treats me like a whore.”

“He’s right,” she agreed, surprising the brothers. “Sold him for five copper pieces in the market, too. Thinking about buying myself a new dress with my earnings.”

“I’ll have you know,” Gwenvael said over his brother’s laugh, “I’m worth more than five copper pieces. If you’re going to sell my ass on the street, at least get my true worth!”

Izzy and Branwen quickly stepped apart as Branwen’s older brother Fal crashed past them, then stepped back together as they continued down the stairs.

“Who’s that?” Branwen asked, watching as Gwenvael led a woman toward the queen’s table with all of Gwenvael’s siblings—and Izzy’s mum. Who Izzy still wasn’t talking to!

“Must be the Northlander.”

“Cousin Gwenvael seems quite taken with her.”

“She must be smart then. He only truly likes the smart ones.”

Once off the stairs, Izzy glanced toward the main table. She knew they had a seat for her—right next to her mother.

Branwen grabbed her arm. “Come, cousin. You’ll sit with us.” The young dragoness pulled Izzy to a table. There were several seats open, but Bran still took hold of the hair of one of her sisters, and yanked her from the chair.

“Ack! You crazed cow!”

Yelling ensued, and Izzy tried to avoid the swinging arms.

“Sit, Izzy.” Ghleanna waved her into a seat. “Sit. Ignore them two. Never know how to act right.” She sucked the marrow from a chicken bone and tossed it over her shoulder, hitting a servant in the head. “It’s embarrassing.”

Izzy had just dumped several delicious-smelling ribs onto her plate from a passing platter, when Celyn walked up and shoved his sisters aside. He’d barely sat down in the seat beside Izzy when Branwen started yelling at him while her sister was still yelling at her. A solid blast of flame from their mother put a halt to it all.

“Branwen. Here. Dera. Here. Now both of you shut up!”

Wiping soot from their faces, the sisters sat down, and Izzy turned to Celyn.

“By the gods!” she gasped when she saw him. “What happened to your face? Are you all right? I’ll see if Morfyd has something for you.”

She went to stand, but his hand on her arm kept her right where she was.

“I don’t need anything, Iz. And this”—he pointed at his swollen nose and black eyes—“was just a warning off from Gwenvael.”

“A warning off? For what?”

He grinned. Even with his face swollen, Celyn was extremely handsome—and he knew it. But Izzy still liked him. He made her laugh and showed her all the interesting weapons the dragons used. “He tried to warn me off you.”

“Me?” She couldn’t help but giggle. “Really?”

“Really. Your uncles and father are very protective of you. Briec threw me into a tree. One of those really old ones that never move. Your uncle Fearghus bit me.”

Izzy placed her hand on Celyn’s. “He … bit you?”

“Aye. He was on the floor and—”

“Why was he on the floor?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you think to ask?”

“No.” He pointed at his leg. “Bastard nearly tore out me calf muscle.”

Using the tips of her fingers, she toyed with one of the ribs on her plate. “And Éibhear?”

“What about him?”

“He’s an uncle. Has he violently attacked you for no good reason?”

“No. A cousin I was quite close to hasn’t said a word to me in three days.” Celyn took one of the ribs off her plate. “Not since he saw me flying you around.”

Celyn leaned in closer, his shoulder pressing into hers. “And if I may be so bold—if you want to call Éibhear your uncle that’s on you, but that would make him a very dirty, naughty uncle, because I’ve seen how he looks at you.”