“One doesn’t join the Mì-runach.”

“Not willingly,” Brannie noted.

“So they’re forced,” Izzy surmised, again feeling bad about Éibhear’s situation.

“More like given little option,” Celyn replied. “It’s usually a choice between the Mì-runach or the salt mines.”

“Many take the salt mines.”

“But if you survive the first two years of training . . . you become Mì-runach.”

“Survive the training?”

“Which is hard enough, but when you’re full Mì-runach, you still go into battle without armor—”

“—without colors.”

“—without anyone really leading.”

Shocked, hands pressed to her cheeks, Izzy asked, “Do they at least have weapons?”

“Sometimes, I guess.” Celyn shook his head. “I’ll be honest, Iz. It’s not something I’d do.”

“But . . .” And Izzy couldn’t help but cringe in disbelief. “Éibhear?”

“After what happened to Austell the Red . . .” The young Dragonwarrior recruit had been killed during the final battle of the war against the Iron dragons. It was something that Izzy had heard Éibhear had taken very badly, for some reason blaming himself, but no one would ever tell Izzy exactly why. After a while she’d stopped asking because she had the feeling she didn’t really want to know why Éibhear would blame himself.

“Well,” Celyn finally went on, “my cousin was never quite the same.”

“He was impossible to train. Refused to listen.”

“Fought everyone. Éibhear was just angry.”

“So Grandfather sent him to the Mì-runach?” Izzy said, motioning for the bottle of ale from Brannie.

“I wasn’t surprised that Uncle Bercelak would send him,” Celyn noted. “But I was surprised the queen let him go.”

“Because it was Éibhear?”

“Because no dragon prince has ever been in the Mì-runach in any of its forms.”

“Its forms?”

Brannie shrugged. “The Mì-runach have been around nearly as long as dragon armies have. But they didn’t have an official name until Grandfather Ailean joined. Before that they were just, ‘Those crazy bastards that’ll kill for a pint and a whore.’”

“Lovely.”

Celyn laughed. “They’re a bit more organized now, but they’re still those crazy bastards. And I have to say that from what I’ve heard, Éibhear fits in perfectly.”

“The rumor is that the entire Ice Land sighed in relief when Éibhear the Contemptible finally left their territories.”

Izzy, deciding she didn’t want to drink anymore, pushed her half-filled mug away. “So then you don’t think the Mì-runach were forced to keep him away—”

“The Mì-runach kept him in the Ice Lands because that’s where they were needed these last few years. And I’m sure with his reputation and his skills in battle, no one in the Mì-runach would have been fine with Éibhear just flittin’ off to a family feast or for your sister’s birthday celebrations.”

“When you’re Mì-runach, they are your family. Only your mate matters more.” Brannie thought a moment. “If any of them actually ever have one.”

“So, his brothers ordering the Mì-runach to keep him in the Ice Lands for the last ten years . . . ?”

“It never happened.”

Izzy dropped back into her chair. “Then why the hells would they let him believe that they did?”

Celyn reached over and patted her hand. “Because your father and uncles are cruel bastards, luv. How could you not have figured that out by now?”

Izzy snatched her hand back. “Oh, shut up.”

Queen Rhiannon sat down beside her youngest offspring on the hill that overlooked the castle of Garbhán Isle and the surrounding grounds. The last time she’d sat here with her son, he’d been making the very nasty transition from child to adult. Now, as she looked up at the profile of that face, she saw what that change had cost him. There were no longer any soft lines there. No longer any perfect, smooth human skin. Instead, his jaw was strong and she could see that it had been broken at least once. His cheekbones were now sharp, and he had scars on his neck and face, which meant steel blades had cut past hard scales to the flesh underneath.

When she’d sent tasks to the Mì-runach, she’d had to struggle not to think of her son possibly being part of the team they’d send in to accomplish them. The thought of him running, screaming, into enemy territory, wearing no armor, and destroying all in his way until he reached his goal was something that often kept her up at nights. Not only what might physically happen to him, but what could change him. What could turn him into a dragon she’d rather not speak to, or hear from, or ever admit was her offspring.

In other words, would being a Mì-runach make him into a bastard?

Of course it had been hard to tell at evening meal. What with her mate and elder male offspring picking on him so. Éibhear hadn’t said much. Just kept eating, until he’d finally gotten up and walked out. Then she’d been forced to hear all the arguing between her sons and their mates. Honestly, did that ever end? But at least those human females did what they could to protect Éibhear.