“Annwyl. Annwyl. I do not know an Annwyl. So, are you my dinner?”

“No.” It took a step back. “No. I’m not dinner. Let’s never say that again. I am Annwyl of the Dark Plains.” The queen stared at it.

“Annwyl of Garbhán Isle?” Still nothing. It sighed.

“Annwyl the Bloody.”

“You are Annwyl the Bloody?”

It looked slightly defeated. “Yes.”

“You are awfully tiny to be Annwyl the Bloody.”

“I’m taller than most men.”

“That simply does not impress me.”

Morfyd should have warned her. She should have let her know that she would be facing a being this large and imposing. How could the dragon before her be anything but a queen?

She reminded Annwyl of Morfyd. Her scales a glossy white. Her mane the color of fresh snow. But she stood as tall and wide as Fearghus, if not a little bigger than that.

“Is Fearghus here? I smell him.”

Annwyl now wished she had bathed before leaving the campsite, but there hadn’t been time.

“Uh . . . no, he’s not here.” She cleared her throat.

“That’s me . . . you . . . uh . . . smell.”

Intense blue eyes shifted and the queen leaned in closer as if to get a good look at her.

“You? He’s been with you? A human? Whatever for?”

This was one of those times where Annwyl had a really crude remark at the ready. Something that would include the word “suck.” But she kept her tongue in check. Controlled her impulses. It wasn’t easy.

“He loves me.”

“Does he now?” The queen sat up and for the first time Annwyl noticed she wore a collar around her throat with a chain connected to it. The chain led to a stone wall, securely attached to a thick metal circle. She frowned but didn’t have much time to think about it as the queen moved closer to her.

“Whether he does or doesn’t, concerns me not. Why are you here?”

“I must fight Lorcan of Garbhán Isle in a few hours. . . .”

“I do not concern myself with the problems of humans.”

“But my problem isn’t human, lady. It is Hefaidd-Hen.”

“Ah, yes. Bercelak told me of his involvement with your brother.”

“Morfyd said you could give me some kind of protection. He will surely use Hefaidd-Hen against me.”

“Are you afraid you’ll die, human?”

Annwyl shook her head. “No, lady. That has never been my worry. I worry that I will not be able to kill my brother before I die. That has always been my greatest fear. I know what he can do. He’ll destroy all that oppose him and Hefaidd-Hen will help him do it. I only need protection from Hefaidd-Hen long enough to kill my brother. After that I don’t care what happens to me.”

“And what of Fearghus?”

“Fearghus said he will fight with me.”

“So you risk his life as well as your own?”

“My life is forfeit, lady. All I care about now is killing my brother. He must die this day so that my people can be free. And I truly believe I’m the only one who can do it. Fearghus can take care of himself.”

“But if you die, what of Fearghus?”

Annwyl shrugged, uncomfortable with these questions.

“He will find another, I guess. I don’t know.”

The queen snorted. “You don’t know dragons at all, do you?”

“I never said I did.”

“And if Fearghus dies, but you live. Then what?”

Annwyl’s face tightened. The thought of something—anything—happening to Fearghus caused her anger to vibrate right below her flesh. Her voice low, her rage barely contained, “You best pray that never happens, lady. For if he dies and I live, then I will tear this world apart with my rage. And no one will be safe. I promise you that.”

The queen watched Annwyl for several long moments. “You are an interesting . . . thing. I think I understand what my son sees in you.”

Annwyl swallowed. “Son?”

“You didn’t know?” Annwyl slowly shook her head. “Yes. I think all my children are quite unimpressed with their rank among dragons.”

“Yes. Apparently they are.”

The queen smiled at that, and Annwyl had to stop herself from running from the chamber. Her smile revealed a frightening display of what seemed to be hundreds of teeth. Mostly fangs. The dragon moved to the other side of the cave, reaching into a tiny cavern. She dug inside, then came out with a small but shiny object. She walked over to Annwyl and held the item out to her.

Annwyl took it from the queen’s white claw. She examined it carefully. A necklace. Made of a strong, but extremely thin, silver-colored metal, twisted into an intricate design, the thin lines swirling around and through each other.

“Remove your shirt and put it on. It needs to be right next to the flesh.”

Annwyl followed the queen’s direction, quickly pulling off her surcoat and shirt, and placing the necklace right at the base of her throat. It lay flat against her collar bone and the top part of her chest, while two thin bits laced around her neck and clasped at the back. She redressed quickly, eager to be away as dawn and the fight for her people drew near. She prayed there would be no more questions.

“How does that fit then?”

Annwyl nodded. “Fine. And this will protect me from Hefaidd-Hen?”

“No. That will not help you.” Annwyl sighed in exasperation. Then why waste her time putting on bits of jewelry? But before she could ask the question, the queen cocked her head to one side. “That will not help you with Hefaidd-Hen, but this will.”