Rhian, after pushing her cousin again, stepped over and said, “Celyn, this is our aunt.”

Celyn thought of all his mother’s kin; the Cadwaladrs were a preposterously large clan of dragons. And although Celyn had met all of them at least once in his lifetime, there were so many, he wouldn’t be surprised to have forgotten one or two . . . or a thousand. Still . . . he did know his immediate family. All his mother’s siblings he knew as well as he knew his parents. So he was sure this female was no aunt of his.

“I know all my mother’s sisters.”

“No, no.” Rhian smiled. “She’s more our great-great, possibly great-aunt.”

“What?”

“She’s Brigida the Foul. I’m sure you’ve heard of her. Grandmum loves telling stories about her.”

Celyn glared down at Talan. “Did you do this?”

“Do what?”

“Bring Brigida the Foul back from the dead?”

“It wasn’t me. I haven’t worked up to humans yet, much less dragons.”

“The Cadwaladrs may want to believe I was dead,” the old witch said, her voice like metal over the roughest stone, “but that hasn’t happened yet.”

“But that’s not possible,” Celyn argued, even as he knew the truth of what she was saying. “You should be dead.”

“I should be lots of things, boy. But I ain’t.” The She-dragon eyed Elina and the Kyvich on his back. “What do we have here?”

“It’s my friend. She’s dying.”

The old witch snorted at that. “She ain’t dyin’.” She leaned over to get a better look. “Her face got cut up pretty bad. But, as you can see,” she noted, gesturing to her own, “nothing a body can’t survive.”

She moved around Celyn. “Come on then, lad. Let’s see what we can do for your human. And best part . . . if she don’t make it, we’ll have something to snack on.”

Then she cackled at her own joke while Talan quickly caught hold of Kachka before she could unleash several arrows to the back of Brigida’s head.

“Leave it,” Talan gently warned. “I think she’s just joking. Plus, she can kill you simply by looking in your direction.”

Sadly and from the stories Celyn had heard over the years from his kin . . . all that was very true.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Kachka watched as the strange-looking She-dragon shifted to a horrifying-looking human. She was called Brigida the Foul, and although Kachka could tell that Celyn did not know her personally, she sensed that he’d heard of her. And what he’d heard had not been good.

They both wanted to follow the old witch and the Kyvich Gisa into the alcove where they took Elina, but the She-dragon wouldn’t hear of it. And when Celyn tried to insist, the old She-dragon simply chanted a few words and drew a rune in the air with her old, crippled hand, and a rock wall appeared where there had been none.

A solid, immovable rock wall. Kachka was sure that even using this dragon’s hard head—something she was sorely tempted to do—would not get them through to the other side.

Keeping tight control of her anger and her fear for her sister’s safety, Kachka said, “May I speak to you, dragon? In private.”

Kachka walked away, glancing back when one of the humans called out Celyn’s name and tossed him some clothes. When she found an alcove with a long bench, she walked in. Books lined the walls, carefully placed on wood shelves, and scrolls were piled in the corners.

She walked to the books and stared at them, giving herself a moment to calm down. But she knew after a minute or two, nothing would calm her down. She was torn between being angry at Glebovicha for what she’d done to Elina and being angry at the world for what it had done to Elina.

Unfortunately, all that was available for Kachka to take her anger out on was the dragon. So she faced him, ready to unleash that rage . . . but she couldn’t.

Not once she saw that he’d already shifted to human, put on his chain-mail shirt, leggings, and leather boots, and sat down on the bench. His elbows rested on his knees, his head buried in both hands.

Kachka understood in that moment that the dragon was as worried about Elina as she was. Perhaps even a little more.

Did her sister have any idea how much this dragon cared for her? Probably not. Elina had listened to Glebovicha far too much, believed herself not worthy . . . of anything. Kachka already knew her sister would blame herself for what had happened today. That was her way. To take the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Foolish female!

Kachka placed her bow and quiver on the ground and sat down beside the dragon on the bench. It was strange to know that his true form was a large thing covered in scales. Especially when his human form was so damn pretty.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“How could I not have known?” he demanded of himself, making her think he’d been having this conversation in his head the entire time. “How could I not have seen this was too dangerous for her?”

“How would you know that? Elina would tell you nothing about Glebovicha. Not without you asking.”

“That’s just it.” He dropped his hands and lifted his head. “I asked her questions. Constantly. Until I thought her bloody head would explode. But my father would say I didn’t ask her the right questions. I never should have let her see Glebovicha alone. I should have stopped her.”

“Stopped her? How? How would any male stop a woman, any woman, from seeing her mother?”