“But to involve the boy—”
“We didn’t involve the boy. You did. You sent him.”
“To drag you lot off the floor of a pub. Not get you from the jail.”
“Still don’t see how that’s our fault,” Cas complained.
“And he didn’t have enough money for all three of us.”
Éibhear stopped walking, faced the dragons behind him. “What do you mean he didn’t have enough?” he asked Uther, who’d made the statement.
“He didn’t.”
“Then how did he get all three of you . . .” Éibhear briefly closed his eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t”—and he covered the boy’s ears with his hands, although it was more like he wrapped his hands around the boy’s entire head because the area was so small—“kill the jailer!”
“Of course we didn’t. Wait.” Uther thought a moment. “Could we have? I thought that wasn’t okay here.”
“If you didn’t kill the jailer, how did you get out?”
“The boy convinced him,” Cas admitted.
“And he was good, too.” Aidan smiled at the boy. “Could talk his way out of anything, I think.”
Now impressed, Éibhear patted the boy on the back, the slight youth stumbling a bit. “Excellent job.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The boy walked on and that’s when Aidan added, “Didn’t have to pay a gold farthing.” The boy stopped walking. “Got us out for nothing.”
Before Éibhear could not ask where the money he’d given Frederik was—he didn’t really care—the boy faced him, light grey eyes wide as he said sadly, “I just wanted to help you, my lord. You and your friends. It’s so hard,” he added sadly, his eyes now downcast, “to find out you’re not wanted. But maybe I can make myself useful here. Perhaps.”
Then, with a sad sigh, he turned and walked off.
“Oh,” Éibhear reasoned, “he’ll do well here.”
“Gods, that was brilliant,” Aidan laughed. “I couldn’t have done better myself.”
“Isn’t that your Iseabail?”
“She’s not my any—” Éibhear cut himself off, watching as Izzy slipped out of the forest from farther down the well-traveled road and joined the mass of people walking toward the nearby town. “Where’s she off to then?”
“Crazy thought . . . into town?”
Éibhear glared at Aidan before refocusing on Izzy. “With her horse and that damn, disgusting dog? And dressed for travel?”
“There’s Branwen.” Aidan pointed at Éibhear’s cousin, who was on the road back to Garbhán Isle. “I’m sure if you ask her nicely she might—”
“Oy! Branwen!”
Aidan sighed. “That doesn’t sound nice, idiot.”
Éibhear caught up to his cousin.
“What?” she snapped.
“Where’s Izzy off to?”
“No idea,” she lied. And he knew she was lying. So he handled it like he used to when they were still hatchlings. He grabbed his cousin by her legs and flipped her upside down, shaking her.
“You going to answer me now?”
“Piss off!”
“Still not nice,” Aidan complained.
“Quiet,” he snapped at his friend. “Tell me where she’s going,” he ordered his cousin.
“I’ll tell you nothing, bastard! Now let me up!”
“I’ll let you up when you tell me what I want to know.”
“Do you know who I am?” Brannie demanded. “I’m a captain of the Dragon Queen’s army! You’ll do as I say, Mì-runach scum, or face my—”
Éibhear slammed his cousin into the ground head first, holding on to her leg so he could yank her up again. “What was that?” he asked . . . nicely.
Aidan sighed, shook his head. “Branwen, dear, you had to know that was not the best way to come at a Mì-runach . . . I mean, really.”
She was on the road for about an hour when Macsen suddenly stopped in his tracks, his gaze moving up, his long tail sticking out straight, hackles up.
Izzy quickly dismounted Dai and pulled her sword.
It was a mistake made by many warriors who’d never fought with or against dragons before. But staying mounted on your horse when fighting dragons—the idea being the warrior could ride away quickly if necessary—was a foolish thing because for a dragon, catching horses was like catching chickens for a fox. They did it for a meal or sometimes just a treat. So when facing dragons she didn’t know, she always dismounted and pulled her weapon—and waited.
The air around her stirred, trees beginning to sway, and she knew large wings were flapping her way.
Izzy lowered her body, readying herself to strike.
Claws dropped to the ground and blue wings and hair temporarily blinded her as she heard Éibhear bellow, “It’s me! It’s me! Don’t do anything!”
When Izzy was able to finally see again, she saw that Éibhear had one claw over his eyes, his head turned. She almost laughed, realizing he was expecting her to strike. Although that was a good expectation.
She re-sheathed her sword. “What are you doing here, Éibhear?”
Spreading his talons, he peeked at her through the clear space.