Finally dressed in clothes that fit and weren’t made of rough animal hide, Éibhear sighed. He’d forgotten what it was like to put his human form in nicer clothes; to sleep in an actual bed, to eat food he hadn’t beaten into submission himself.
“So you’re the infamous Éibhear the Contemptible,” the boy said.
Éibhear faced his nephew. “I am?”
“That’s not your name?”
“That’s my name, didn’t know I was infamous.”
The boy studied him, arms crossed over his chest. For someone so young, he was amazingly confident.
“Would you train with me?” Talan asked.
“If you’d like.”
“I watched you kick the shit out of my uncles and father. That’s what I’d like to learn.”
“That was just brotherly—”
“Abuse?”
“Some might say. But I prefer good-natured—”
“Brawling? Battery? Assault? Destruction?”
Éibhear shrugged. “Depends who you talk to.”
“So no one knows why I’m here?” Izzy asked while she dried off her body.
“You weren’t summoned by any of us, that I know of,” Dagmar said, “but I am glad you’re here.”
“Why?”
“I have concerns.”
Uh-oh. Dagmar didn’t mention “concerns” unless she was terribly worried.
“Concerns about what?”
Dagmar sighed, looked off. “Oh, where to begin . . .”
Uh-oh.
They invaded quietly, like the Mì-runach. Slipping into his room while he talked to the boy. First, there was Talan’s twin, Talwyn. A beauty that one, but dangerous. Unbelievably dangerous. Like her mother. But in those green eyes there was none of the love combined with insanity that Éibhear had always seen in Annwyl’s. What kind of leaders would these twins make? Both seemed surprisingly cold, but curious. Like jungle cats that toy with the wounded deer found lying by a tree. They poke with their paws, bite down with their fangs. They test, taste, and wonder . . . is it worth tormenting anymore? Or is it already dead?
But then he met his youngest niece, Rhianwen. She was now called Rhi by everyone and just sixteen winters. She was, in a word, beautiful. Stunning. And he could see why his brothers were so protective of her. Not only because of her beauty—beauty could be found anywhere. It was that wonderful, bright smile; that inherent innocence; and that intense goodness. Her warmth. While her cousins sized Éibhear up like a very large bug they’d found under their beds, Rhi came to him, arms opened wide, tears in her eyes.
“I’m so glad to see you again after all these years, Uncle Éibhear.” She hugged him tight, arms around his waist, head resting against his chest. “You’ve been greatly missed.” She sniffed and leaned her head back to look up at him. “Although no one but my mother and aunts will ever admit that to you.”
He kissed her forehead and hugged her back. “Don’t worry. I already know that.”
“He’ll train us,” Talan told his sister.
“Good. Something new to learn.”
“Later,” Rhi chastised. “At least let him get comfortable before you come at him with your stupid requests.”
“Fine.”
“Whatever.”
Then the twins were gone, quickly, quietly. It was a little more than frightening.
“Don’t let them worry you,” Rhi said, although he hadn’t spoken a word. “They’re not nearly as horrible as everyone thinks they are . . . but they are annoying.”
“Good to know.”
She stepped back, took his hands into hers. “I’ve heard you’re a bit of a reader.”
“More than a bit.”
Rhi grinned. “So am I! Although I love to draw as well. I bet we’re just alike, you and I!”
Uh . . . all right.
Dagmar blew out a breath, smoothed down the front of her unadorned dress. She no longer wore a kerchief over her long hair as she had when she’d first arrived, even though it was custom among the Northland women. Instead she wore her hair in a simple, single braid that reached down her back—something, Izzy was sure, Gwenvael delighted in unbraiding every night. But other than that, she looked no different from the Northlander who’d first arrived with Gwenvael all those years ago. She still wore her simple gray gowns, with fur boots in the winter and leather boots in the summer. And her spectacles. Gods, who could forget those spectacles that Gwenvael spoke of as if they were breathing human beings? As always, they were perched primly on her nose, while those sparkling gray eyes watched Izzy. Calculating. Dagmar always calculated.
“I’m . . . concerned.”
“About Lord Pombray’s son?”
“Oh, gods no.” She rolled her eyes. “That boy and your sister are the least of my worries.”
Izzy dropped to the ground and pulled on socks and her boots. “So it’s the twins then.”
“It’s Talwyn. She’s become . . . close. To the Kyvich. Especially Commander Ásta.”
Izzy shrugged, tugging her boots on and wondering if she should get another pair now that she was home for a bit.
“Well, she’s young. And Ásta is an attractive woman.” She stood and stomped her feet to get the boots perfectly fitted. “I’m sure it’s nothing to be worried about. Some women are just more comfortable with other women. It doesn’t mean she can’t breed with a male when she’s ready to have a child and then she and the other woman can raise the child togeth—”