Chapter 39
There were three weeks of official mourning in the Southlands. A time to remember those who’d died in order to protect the kingdoms and the reigning monarchs. At the request of Celyn, Austel ’s body was brought back to Garbhán Isle and a funeral pyre built to honor him. His kin attended, along with the Dragon Queen and her offspring, and the Cadwaladr Clan. The event was sorrowful but necessary.
When the mourning period final y ended, the Cadwaladrs had a feast at Garbhán Isle. It was to celebrate many things: the end of the war; that they’d won the war; those who’d earned promotions, including Branwen and Izzy to corporal; the oncoming end of winter; the upcoming return of spring; and anything else they could think of that would warrant a feast.
And as Garbhán Isle readied for the celebration it was obvious that some things had changed for longer than just the duration of the war.
The Kyvich did not leave simply because the war ended, much to Talaith’s annoyance. The barbarian witches planned to stay until the twins reached their eighteenth year, stil guarding the gates and surrounding territories even while everyone toasted to a new time of peace.
Ren of the Chosen would be heading back to the Eastlands at the request of his father. He had every intention of returning to the Southlands, but no one, not even Ren, knew when that would be.
Keita would be returning to the Northlands with Ragnar, although she stil refused to cal him her mate. Rhona also would be going back with Vigholf, but she seemed more than happy to cal him her mate.
Meinhard, probably because he feared being made to dance, had already headed back to the Northlands with his troops, escorting the Northland females who had no desire to stay for the feast, including Ragnar and Vigholf’s mother.
And now, as the hour grew late and the ale flowed more freely, Izzy stepped out the back door and away from the castle. The moon was ful and the air crisp and cold. She should have worn her fur cape over her dress, but she’d slipped away from the party, not wanting to be seen.
As she walked past the Kyvich on guard duty at the back gate, Izzy had to smile a bit. She loved hearing her family happy and together again.
Hearing the music, seeing them dance. Even her grandparents were dancing! Both of them ecstatic their offspring were home and safe, but neither wil ing to simply say the words out loud.
The music faded behind her as she trudged through the trees and, after about a mile, up Rose Hil . She reached the top and sat down on the ground, gazing out over the land she and so many others had fought hard to protect. The bonfires that went on for several days to dispose of the Tribesmen’s corpses were gone, and Dagmar had taken care to rid any signs of what had happened there. If Dagmar had her way, by springtime, there would be nothing but tal grass and flowers down there. Izzy wouldn’t be here to see that, though. In another week, she would be shipped out again. Her mother was not happy, but Izzy, to her own surprise, was. After the last five years, she thought she’d want to take the next year off before returning to the life of the troops—barely tolerable army food, sleeping on bedrol s, and taking orders. But gods, she longed for the army life. She loved it. Even after everything that happened, she absolutely loved it.
Izzy let out a sigh and asked the male she’d sat down next to, “Are you going to stay out here al night—looking maudlin?”
“I’m not in the mood for a feast,” Éibhear told her. He was polite, but she could hear from the way he clipped his words, he’d rather not be. “But don’t let me stop you from returning to the party, Izzy.”“You going to hate me forever?”
“I don’t hate you at al . Or Celyn,” he said before she could ask.
“So it’s just yourself you hate then?”
“I don’t hate myself. I’m a Southland dragon and a prince of the House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar—I don’t think I’m physical y capable of hating myself.” And Izzy had to look off so he couldn’t see her smile. “But if you’re asking me if I’m disappointed in myself and crushed at the loss of a good friend . . . then sure. Why not?”
Sure? Why not?
Frowning, Izzy said, “I’m so sorry about Austel .” She’d only met the red dragon once, but he’d been very sweet. Besides, no one should die on the end of a stake. “But it’s the risk we al take as soldiers. He knew that. You can’t blame yourself—”
“Please go.”
And she felt the coldly stated words like a knife to her chest, cutting through flesh and muscle and bone, right into her heart. But she didn’t argue, simply stood.
She brushed off the back of her dress. “I’m sorry, Éibhear.”
“For what?”
“That you lost a friend. That you feel such pain for it.” Izzy let out a breath. “And I’m sorry that you found out about me and Celyn.” His soft laugh was bitter, cold silver eyes looking up at her. “Real y?” he asked. “That’s what you feel sorry for?”
“Aye. I’d never intended to tel you or anyone because what happened between me and Celyn was between us.”
“Do you real y think he would have kept that quiet? Do you real y think he wouldn’t have eventual y told me on his own? That what you had between you was so desperately precious?”
“That’s between him and you and, to be honest, not my problem. But I never wanted you to be hurt by—”
“I’m not hurt,” Éibhear said, slowly getting to his feet. She was tal , but he absolutely towered over her when so few did. “In fact,” he shrugged. “I don’t feel anything. About you. About Celyn. Not even about Austel . Not anymore.”