“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.”
“That’s a good job for you then,” she said after a moment of quiet.“Why do you say that?”
“Because you’re a chameleon. You can move around without being detected in the dark or during the day, yeah? But all that armor makes quite a bit of noise, which would defeat the purpose of being able to blend into your surroundings.”
Shocked, Éibhear stuttered, “Wait . . . what are you . . . I don’t know what you . . .”
She waved his attempted lie away. “I know, Éibhear. I’ve always known.”
“How could you know? Who told you?”
“No one told me. I can see you.”
“Wait.” Éibhear took a breath, confused. “What do you mean, you can see me?”
“I can see you. I’ve always been able to see you.” She chuckled. “The first time, I thought you were mad. You were creeping around, stepping around everyone. You looked absolutely insane. But then I realized it wasn’t that the others were ignoring you. . . . They couldn’t see you. But I could. Don’t worry, though,” she added. “I’ve never told anyone. About you or Gwenvael.”
“Gwen—Gwenvael’s a . . .”
“Oh, shit. You didn’t know?”
“Does he know you know?”
“No. And please don’t tell him I know.”
“Why?”
“It’ll just embarrass Dagmar.”
“Why would it embarrass . . . ohhh.” He didn’t bother to hide his disgust. “He does things to her when no one can see him, doesn’t he?”
“They’ve got a whole thing going. You don’t want to know.”
“I really don’t.”
“But,” she said, suddenly smiling, “he does love her. It’s so sweet!”
“Ech.”
“Ech? Is that even a word?”
“It’s not. But I think it encapsulates my disgust quite nicely.” He pointed at the still unopened bottles of ale. “Dessert?”
“Is this the next step in your grand plan to get me to talk? Getting me drunk?”
“It’s worked before with other humans.”
“Éibhear,” she said, taking the mug from him. “I drank Aunt Ghleanna under the table.” She held up two fingers. “Twice.”
“Oh.” Éibhear put the bottle down, sighed. “Uncle Addolgar?”
She shook her head. “Can’t keep up with me. Still hasn’t forgiven me since I wrote ‘I love humans’ on his forehead after he passed out once.”
Éibhear laughed, a sound Izzy hadn’t heard in ages. “I don’t blame him!”
She laughed with him. “It was Ghleanna’s fault. She told me to! Gods, I was functional, but I don’t know how many bottles of your father’s ale we went through that night.”