"How could you not know?"

"Don't bark at her." Fearghus went to his sister, pulled her into his arms. "I'm sure we'd all know if Gwenvael was ..." He closed his eyes, kissed the top of his sister's head. "I'm sure he'll be fine."

"The pain, Fearghus. He was in so much pain."

"I know. I felt it too." He scowled at Briec in warning, and his younger brother walked over and patted his sister's shoulder.

"Don't worry. He's Gwenvael. He gets into trouble, he gets out of it."

"All right?" Fearghus asked softly.

"Aye." She stepped back, rubbed her forehead. "And now I've got Mother screeching in my head. I need some wine." She walked past her brothers and down the stairs.

Leaving Brastias there alone, forgotten ... and naked.

Fearghus noticed him first. Brastias had only seen that glower on the dragon's face once before. When Annwyl had gone off to Devenallt Mountain for the first time and had told the dragon nothing. Brastias didn't like the glower then, and he hated it more now.

Briec's frown was much more threatening, somehow. Maybe because he looked so astounded as well as angry. Not a good combination. Startling anything that breathes fire was always a bad idea in Brastias's estimation.

"Our ... sister?" Fearghus growled.

"Our baby sister?" Briec snarled.

"She's two-hundred-and-fifty-two-years old."

"Our innocent baby sister?" Briec went on, ignoring him.

Innocent? No. Probably best not to dispute them on that point.

Brastias shrugged. "I love her."

Briec shrugged back. "Then we're just going to have to kill you."

Talaith walked up the stairs, stopping in the same place Briec had. She studied the three of them before asking, "What's going on?"

"He's defiling our sister," both brothers said.

"Of course he is. And from what I understand, she's enjoying every second of it, so leave him be."

Briec glared at his mate. "You knew?"

Understanding he only had one chance, Brastias quickly cut in, "Did Briec mention he's ready to release Izzy for combat duty?"

The brothers went rigid. Fearghus's eyes wide, while Briec closed his own and cringed.

Talaith gaped at the three of them as her mind tried to understand his words. "They ... you ... uh ..." She shook her head. "I' m sorry. What did you say?"

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d," Briec whispered.

"You drove me to it."

"Briec?"

He let out a breath and faced Talaith. "I know you're not ready to hear this, Talaith, but-well, don't walk away!"

After Briec disappeared in pursuit of Talaith, Fearghus said, "Nicely played, human." He headed back to the rooms he shared with Annwyl. "But once Talaith is done giving Briec a brand new a.n.u.s with her fist and we know whether Gwenvael is dead or not ... we'll be back."

Brastias didn't doubt that for a moment.

It was his strange and invasive tail that had saved her life, holding Dagmar up and away as they crashed into the ground.

Even now with the two dragons nothing more than a big ball of bright purple and gold scales, Gwenvael's tail still held her tightly around the waist and she struggled to get it off. When she finally did, she fell a few inches, her rear slamming hard into the thick root of a tree.

She winced in pain but still managed to crawl over to Gwenvael. Up close, she could see his face and brushed the hair from his eyes. "Gwenvael?"

He didn't move and she wasn't even sure he was breathing. She gripped his claw with both hands, careful of his razor-sharp talons. "Gwenvael, please answer me."

Dagmar had no idea how long she stood there, holding on to Gwenvael. She knew she needed to do something, but for once she was at a loss. She couldn't move him, afraid to leave him alone for even a moment. She had no idea where they were and knew more dragons could be lying in wait anywhere.

There was a part of Dagmar that wished she hadn't left her home, still living safely under her father's protection, blissfully ignorant of the truth around her.

"There you are."

Startled, Dagmar dropped Gwenvael's claw and reached for her eating dagger. She whirled around to face the threat, prepared to protect Gwenvael with her life, when the dagger slipped from her hand and skipped depressingly along the ground, landing at the intruder's feet.

"Hhhm. Not much of a fighter then?" The woman in witches' robes picked the blade up and trudged over to Dagmar. "Shouldn't bring this out unless you really know what you're doing." She handed Dagmar the blade. "Because nothing could be worse than getting killed with your own weapon."

Dagmar gawked at the woman. "Who are you?"

"Esyld."

"Esyld who?"

She didn't answer Dagmar's question, but leaned over Gwenvael. "Poor thing. I was afraid he wouldn't make it this far, but he has much strength in him." She glanced at Dagmar. "And much pa.s.sion to protect you."

"I'll ask you again. Who are you?"

"A friend. I'm only here to help. But we need to get both of you inside where it's safe."

She motioned Dagmar back, and raised her hands over Gwenvael.

"What are you doing?"

Again there was no answer, but the woman began to chant.

Flames rose over Gwenvael's body and then receded, leaving him human.

"Much easier to handle this way for me."

"How did you ... ?"

The witch grabbed hold of Gwenvael's arm and leg and lifted his body onto her shoulder. "Come on then."

Even in his human form, Gwenvael was a mighty weight. No human witch her size could pick him up.

"You're a dragon."

"That I am."

"Your kind is everywhere," Dagmar couldn't help but sneer. "I never seem to know when I'm dealing with one."

"But you're learning," the female said with a laugh. "I can tell."

Chapter 15.

Dagmar followed Esyld to a small house deep in a copse of trees. To be honest, it was a charming little place. Smoke puffed from a chimney, with an herb garden right out front and a stone walkway that led to the door. Large trees surrounded the house, the branches and leaves providing cover.

The dragoness had left the front door open and walked right in, Dagmar behind her.

The inside of the house was as comfortable and charming as the outside, although it had only one room. Dagmar could see herself happily living here alone. In truth, she knew she'd enjoy it and had hoped when she reached her fortieth winter or so she'd get a small place like this near her father's fortress. She knew her sisters-in-law would happily push that situation on their spouses.

Esyld carried Gwenvael to the long bed pressed against the wall. She lifted him off her shoulder and placed him down carefully. With a soft smile, she brushed his hair from his face. "He's grown up so handsome."

Dagmar's eyes narrowed. Who the h.e.l.l was this? And why did she feel it was acceptable to touch him in such a way? "Are you going to tell me who you are or not?"

"I already did. Name's Esyld." And before Dagmar could argue, she pointed at Gwenvael. "See these?"

Dagmar crouched beside the bed, pushing her spectacles on top of her head so she could closely study how his skin puckered in several places.

Many places, in fact. All over his body.

"What is this?"

"A brutal torture."

Esyld pulled off her robes. She wore a simple blue gown beneath. It set off her red hair perfectly. "You're not one of the Horde."

"No, I'm not." She knelt on the floor beside Dagmar. Her finger slightly hovered over one of the raised welts. "This is the old way of doing damage to a dragon. When in dragon form, your scales are forcibly pulled away from the flesh and small, jagged pieces of steel are slipped beneath. That process alone is quite painful. It's not easy to pry scale from flesh. You usually have to use a knife in between the seams."

"I never noticed ... what I mean to say is ..." Dagmar, tired of crouching, went on her knees and rubbed her eyes with her fists. Was she actually about to ask for more information on blasted dragon seams? "Forget I was trying to say anything."

"You'd have to look very closely to notice the seams. Now once the scale is released back into place, it heals shut, locking in the jagged piece of metal. The pain is quite excruciating," she said easily, almost cheerfully. "Even worse, the flesh underneath heals over it, intensifying the pain."

Dagmar's balled fists landed in her lap. "All that for vengeance?"

"They wanted him to suffer." She rested her arm on the bed. "It's doubtful they'd hoped to get any information from him. A royal he may be, but also a descendent of the Cadwaladr Clan. You can never get them to talk."

"He's ..." Dagmar straightened her spine. "He's a royal?"

"Son of the Dragon Queen herself." Esyld regarded her intensely. "He never told you, did he?"

"He was quick to tell me about that time he woke up in a sewer in Kerezik. But his royal lineage ... That never came up in conversation." And reason knew, he never acted like a royal.

The dragoness chuckled. "That's my Gwenvael."

And Dagmar felt it again. That strange feeling in the pit of her stomach any time Esyld a.s.serted some kind of hold on Gwenvael. "Who are you?"

And yet again Dagmar received no answer with Esyld too busy clucking her tongue. "I see what's wrong," she said. "Those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds added poison to the tips of the metal."

"They what?" Dagmar immediately placed her hand to Gwenvael's forehead. He felt cold. Not good when he was made of fire. "You have to do something."

"I will. I'll have to cut the pieces out. One by one. I made him human because it'll be easier that way. No scales to tear open again."

Annoyed the dragoness was just sitting there, Dagmar snapped, "Shouldn't you be moving with some purpose?"

"Why? He's not going anywhere."

"The poison?"

"Too late for that. It's already in his bloodstream."

Dagmar lifted her shaking hands and placed them against her eyes. The calm, merciless sound of the woman's voice was driving her past reason. Past logic.

"Now, now, dear. No need to cry. I'm sure-ack!"

She didn't even let the female finish before she grabbed her by the back of the neck and slammed her head into the metal frame of the bed. For the first time in Dagmar's life, she knew what it felt like to be one of her brothers-and it was quite a heady sensation.

Esyld gripped her forehead. "Ow! Are you mad?"

Dagmar stood. "Now listen well to me, Esyld. You do what you must to make him better. Mix whatever potions necessary, call on whatever useless G.o.ds you're loyal to, sacrifice whatever animals those useless G.o.ds require-I don't care. But you make him well. Or I swear by all reason-"

"What?" The dragoness towered over Dagmar now. "You'll what, reason-lover? What does an obvious follower of Aoibh.e.l.l think she can possibly do to me?"

"I can make sure this will be your last quiet night in these woods. I'll make sure that every male-man, dragon, or otherwise-knows you live here. Alone. I'll make sure that hunting you becomes a sport they can't resist."

"And perhaps I'll just turn you into ash where you stand."

"Do you really think that'll stop me?" Dagmar smirked. "Really?"

After a moment of mutual glaring, the dragoness shook her head, her brow furrowed. "No. I believe it won't." She stepped away from Dagmar. "Who are you?"