“What do you think sending you into the Southlands to kill the Dragon Queen was, you idiot? She was trying to kill you then, too! I thought you would run!”
“Well, I didn’t run!”
“And now you’re missing an eye!”
“Oy!” They both looked up to see a monk standing on the other side of the table. “Here.” He dropped plates heavy with food in front of them. “Perhaps,” he said, “you two can take time out from yelling at each other to eat.”
“I am no longer hungry,” Elina said. And now she heard it. She did sound sorry for herself, because that’s how she was feeling. But wasn’t that her right? At least for a little while?
Kachka dragged her plate in front of her and picked up a knife to cut pieces of meat while she yelled at Elina.
“Oh, poor you,” she said. “You lost an eye. How you suffer so.”
“Wow,” the monk said, wide eyes gazing at Kachka. “Just . . . wow.”
“Do not coddle her, priest!” Kachka snapped. “I am trying to help her!”
“There has to be a better way.”
“Do not get superior tone with me. I saw you raise dead, wicked priest.”
“I’m not a priest and, if I were to be honest, I’m no monk either. And so what if I raise the dead? It’s a skill. Like being a stonemason or blacksmith.”
“Is she dead?” Kachka asked him, gesturing at the tall Kyvich walking up behind him. “Is she your puppet, necromancer?”
“No. She’s just my sister.”
The Kyvich now stood beside him, placing freshly baked loaves of bread on the table. He bent down a bit and placed his face against hers. “Do we not look alike?” he asked.
“You look nothing alike,” Kachka replied, her mouth full of food.
“Why am I involved in this conversation?” the Kyvich asked. “Because I don’t want to be.” She slapped at her brother. “Get off me!”
No. They might not look alike, but they were clearly siblings.
“All I’m saying, sister,” Kachka went on, “is that you do not want to end up weak and useless like these Southlanders. Even with your missing eye, you are still worth a hundred of these two-eyed Southlanders.”
The Kyvich glowered at Kachka, her arms folded over her chest. “You do know,” she asked, “that we helped save this one’s life and we’re now feeding you both?”
Kachka nodded and reached for the bread. “I do. Thanks for that, imperialist scum.”
The Kyvich began to say something, but her brother yanked her back by the scruff of her neck.
“Leave it, Talwyn.”
Elina pushed her chair back.
“Where are you going?” Kachka demanded. “You need to eat.”
“I will. Later. I need to go outside for a bit.”
Elina walked around the table, but she rammed her thigh into it, completely misjudging the distance.
“Damn the horse gods!”
“Don’t blame them,” her sister chastised.
“You are right. I should blame myself.”
Kachka slammed her knife down. “No, you idiot!” she yelled after her. “I meant blame our mother!”
Celyn was still sitting on the bed when he saw the twins walk by.
“Oy,” he called out. “You two. Come here.”
The pair stopped, looked at each other.
“Stop pissing about and get in here,” he snapped.
The twins walked into the alcove. Talan slid onto the small table, the wood creaking ominously from his weight. Those monk robes hid his cousin’s true physical strength, but Celyn wasn’t fooled.
Talwyn stood by her brother, arms folded over her chest, legs braced apart, her expression typically sour. As if she found the entire world wanting. But she did have her mother’s glare.
“Why are you here?” Celyn asked them outright.
“It was time for our return,” Talan replied, his fingers drumming against the table. It was as if his natural energy were barely harnessed by his big body.
Celyn glanced down, and Talwyn demanded, “What’s so funny?”
With a shrug, Celyn dramatically lowered his voice, and said, “It was time for our return . . . for we are the chosen ones!” Then he laughed outright. “I adore your coming-of-doom tone.”
Talan grinned while his sister simply continued to glower.
“Look,” Celyn explained, “I have no in-depth understanding of magicks. I don’t follow premonitions. Nor do I care that the entire world insists on calling you and your cousin the Abominations. But what I do care about is that you’ve seemed to create some unholy bond with a She-dragon who should have been dead centuries ago.”
The twins glanced at each other, and Celyn rolled his eyes. “Please stop having your own little conversations in your heads while I’m sitting right here.”
“We weren’t—”
“It’s rude, Talan! And you both know it!”
Talwyn raised her hands. “Calm down. No need to get hysterical.”
“I don’t get hysterical. I’m a Cadwaladr. But I do have my mother’s temper when pushed.” He lowered his head a bit. “My mother’s temper.”
“She called to us,” Talan explained. “Brigida the Foul called to us and said it was time.”
“How long have you lot been in contact with her?”