Before Aidan could even finish that question, his sister’s face was curling into an expression of utter disgust at even the suggestion.

“That’s fine,” he said quickly. “You don’t have to come.”

“Good.” She had her legs pulled close. Her arms around her calves, her chin resting on her knees. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

“Me too.”

“Still . . . something’s wrong. What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

“I am.”

“Aidan?”

“Hmm?”

“With the war over . . . will we have to go back?”

“You mean to Stone Castle?”

Stone Castle was the home of the House of Foulkes de chuid Fennah, where Aidan’s kin had lived for centuries. The castle itself was built from the mountain face. But then the Zealots had launched an attack and Aidan’s mother, sisters, and one brother had fled to Garbhán Isle. His father, as far as Aidan knew, was still living among the dwarves deep inside the Western Mountains. And his brother Ainmire, who’d joined with the Zealots, even going so far as to remove his eyes . . .

Well, Aidan wasn’t exactly sure, but chances were great he was long dead.

“Don’t worry, little sister,” Aidan promised, “the queen currently owes me a great debt. So even if our mother wants you to go back with her, I’ll make sure you don’t leave Garbhán Isle unless you absolutely want to.”

His sister’s smile was small but brilliant because she used it so rarely.

“Thank you, Aidan.”

Aidan reached out and grabbed his sister’s hand. “Anything for you.”

* * *

Gwenvael walked up the castle stairs with his five youngest offspring hanging from him like monkeys. They’d met him out in the courtyard and he knew that no one had told them he’d arrived. They had simply known.

Laughing, the six of them made their way into the hall but stopped when a loaf of bread flew past Gwenvael’s head. Although, for once, it hadn’t been directed at him.

“Daddy!” Arlais called out when she spotted him. “Thank the gods!” She rushed over to him and said, “Now that you’re back, you can get control of this woman.”

“You mean your mother?”

“It’s not like I had a choice in the matter.”

“I did,” Dagmar said, still sitting at the dining table, working on a stack of papers and attempting to enjoy her breakfast. “And yet I foolishly allowed you to live.”

“Oh!” Arlais snarled. “You are a horrid mother!”

“You’re right. I am a horrid mother. But now that your aunt Keita is back, you can feel free to head off to the Northlands with her and forget you ever knew me.”

“What? You don’t think I will?”

“I’m hoping you will.”

“Fine! That’s what I’ll do!”

“Well,” Dagmar suddenly bellowed back, “there’s the door! Don’t let it hit you in your snobby ass!”

Lifting her skirts, Arlais stormed out the double doors. Grabbing her stack of papers, Dagmar stormed from the Main Hall.

“I am so glad to be home!” Gwenvael announced to his giggling daughters.

A few seconds later, Var walked into the Main Hall from the back hallway. But as soon as he saw his father, he stopped, sighed, and stared.

Gwenvael threw his arms wide, a daughter still attached to each one, and cheered, “Son!”

Cringing, Var turned around and followed after his mother.

Gwenvael looked down at his grinning daughters. “So glad.”

* * *

Talaith was looking at a bolt of cloth for new dresses for her daughters. Dagmar was planning a party and she knew both her girls would want to dance and look beautiful.

Although the thought that Dagmar was planning a party shocked Talaith. That Northlander was usually the last one to enjoy a party. But then she’d found out the Eastlander royals were still in town and it suddenly made sense. Dagmar was nothing if not a politician.

“You weren’t even around to greet me, little witch!” Talaith heard from behind her.

She turned and gazed up into the violet eyes of the dragon she would love until she was called home to her ancestors. And with complete love and adoration she barked back, “When did I become the royal greeter of Garbhán Isle?”

“You’re my mate, woman! You should have been waiting for me with bated breath.”

“I have more important things to do than tend to your needs.”

“Such as?”

“Anything is more important than your needs!”

“Peasant!”

“Arrogant bastard!”

He smiled at her. “I’m glad I’m home.”

Talaith ran into his arms.

“I’m glad you’re home, too,” she whispered against his neck.

* * *

Rhiannon was sitting on her throne, bored out of her mind because she was being forced—literally forced—to be a gods-damn royal when her Mì-runach suddenly swarmed around her.

“Oooooh!” she giggled. “Activity!”

She watched royal dragons rush out of the chamber or attempt to hide in small caverns. Everyone seemed to be panicking and she had to admit, she was enjoying it all immensely.

Then Bercelak stomped into the chamber. His scales were damaged and his glower was so bad that it would terrorize the bravest dragon.

He came right to her, and even her Mì-runach moved out of the way once they realized it was Bercelak the Great and not some assassin.

Without a word, he put a metal cuff around her neck, took hold of the chain, and dragged Rhiannon from her throne and to their bedchamber.

* * *

After watching a laughing Rhiannon the White dragged from her own throne by a half-mad dragon, Xinyi looked at her son and asked, “Why are we here again?”

“Shhhh,” Ren said, leaning in close. “Ma. Be nice.”

“It was a valid question. I mean, what did I just see?”

“Love.”

Xinyi curled her lip in disgust. “Gods, these peasants.”

“Rhiannon is a queen.”

“Fine. Barbarians then. When are we leaving?”

“After the party.”

“Must we go?”

“Yes. Now be nice.”

Trying not to act disgusted by dragons who insisted on living in caves when they had gold to buy very nice palaces, Xinyi forced a smile at some Southland lord or other nodding at her in greeting and glanced around the chamber until she saw who was sitting behind her.

Blinking in surprise, Xinyi asked, “What are you lot doing here?”

Her eldest daughter frowned, and her siblings walked away, making obvious sounds of annoyance.

“We’ve been here,” Fang reminded her.

“Have you? Doing what?”

“Fighting in the battle with your army. Helping to save the world from a mad god. Remember?”

“No. But that was very nice of you.” She reached back and patted her daughter’s paw with her own. “Aren’t you a good . . . uhhhh . . .”

“Daughter?” Fang asked with a sneer.

“I know you’re my daughter. I remember! Usually.”

After Fang stalked off, Ren whispered to his mother, “You know you’re going to hell, don’t you, Ma?”

Giggling, Xinyi admitted, “From what I’ve heard about Annwyl’s time there, it’s not that bad.”

* * *

Arlais spun once. “What do you think?”

“Perfect!” Keita crowed about the dress she’d picked out for Arlais. “Gods, I’m good. I don’t know why anyone in the universe bothers to question my decision-making.”

“Because they’re all idiots.”

“You are so my favorite. Now”—Keita grabbed a few things off her dresser and headed toward the bedroom door—“come with me. The feast will be starting soon but there is someone you just have to meet.”

“Och! It’s not another simpering boy, is it?”

“As if I’d ever waste your or my time.”