“Where the hell is that idiot?”

“Gwenvael?”

“No.”

“Dad?”

“No. The big blue idiot.”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“The Mì-runach are outside.”

“So. They’re probably looking for the big blue idiot.”

“Not the three he brought with him. All of the Mì-runach. They’re standing in our courtyard . . . waiting.”

Fearghus nodded. “All right. We’ll kill all the females first and then kill ourselves.”

“What’s going on?” Brannie asked as she came down the stairs with Celyn behind her.

“The Mì-runach are outside.”

“They’re probably looking for Éibhear.”

“But we don’t know where he is,” Fearghus said.

“Have you checked Izzy’s house?” Celyn asked.

Briec looked at Fearghus, then back at Celyn.

“Why would we look at Izzy’s house?”

“No reason,” Brannie quickly said.

“Why do you think?” Celyn asked.

“Shut up, Celyn,” his sister told him.

“Brannie, they’re not children. Éibhear and Izzy can do as they like.”

Briec walked over to his young cousin, grabbed him by the throat, and yelled, “Are you saying that bastard is doing what he likes with my perfect, perfect daughter?”

Sighing, Brannie shook her head. “You are such an idiot, brother.”

Izzy turned over and stretched, but immediately regretted that particular decision. Groaning, she slipped out of bed and stood, going across the room to the full-length standing mirror she kept there. She turned to the side and lifted her arm, examining the brand Éibhear had placed on her the night before. She cringed a little. True. She loved it, but she knew when her mother saw it . . . she would not be happy. The brand stretched from the base of her right foot and up the right side of her body until the tail of the dragon brand wrapped around her right breast.

Aye, she adored it, but her mother . . . oy.

Deciding not to deal with it right now, Izzy pulled on leggings, a cotton shirt, leather boots, and her two favorite weapons, strapping them to her back, before stepping outside. She smiled at one of her older neighbors. “Good morn to you, Mistress Sally. Any problems with Macsen?”

“Oh, no. He’s asleep in my rosebushes.”

Izzy winced. “Sorry. I’ll make sure to have some new rosebushes sent to you to replace what he may have destroyed.”

“That’s fine, dear. Just fine.”

Looking around, Izzy asked, “Did you happen to see my friend from last night? He was gone when I woke up.”

“Oh, yes, dear. He was dragged out of here about half an hour ago by your father and his brothers. Kicking and fighting all the way,” she added cheerfully.

Izzy, in the middle of a yawn, nodded. “Great. Thanks so much.”

Heading back inside, Izzy decided to get the tea started. But as she held the kettle in her hand, she suddenly realized what the woman had just told her.

Izzy ran back outside, startling Mistress Sally. “You saw my father do what?”

“Pull that young man out of your house. Bit of a scary one that boy, so I don’t really blame your father. He’s always been so protective of you and your—”

“Which direction did they go?”

“Down toward the river but—”

Izzy didn’t wait for Mistress Sally to finish, she just ran, charging around her neighbors and some Garbhán Isle guards, Annwyl’s troops, and even a few relatives. She ran until she hit the road that would take her to the river.

She heard Brannie call out to her, but she ignored her as well and kept going. Kept going with visions of a bloody and limb-missing Éibhear dancing through her head. Gods! What if they cut off his wings? Or removed his scales? Oh, by the gods, what if they shaved his head? What if they shaved his head? Nooooo!

Izzy had known her father wouldn’t be happy about any of this, neither would Fearghus and Gwenvael, but she’d planned to put it all out in the open once they got Rhi squared away in the Desert Lands.

But for them to find out this way . . . oy!

Izzy cut off into the woods and ran down the hill. But as she neared the river, she stumbled to a stop. Standing there, lifting a battered Fearghus off the ground was some . . . well, she’d guess, Northland dragon scum. Ragnar and his kin might be welcome in the Southlands, but Lightnings who come to beat up Izzy’s family were not. Pulling her sword and axe, Izzy silently charged forward. She was no more than a few feet from the Lightning when he caught sight of her. He dropped Fearghus and reached for his weapon, but Izzy was already swinging at him with her axe. She didn’t make contact, though, because a heavy hammer slammed into her weapon, forcing it to the ground. The power of that hit radiated up her arm and she had to drop the axe. But she still had the sword. She spun and slashed the sword. The Lightning blocked it, but Izzy forced him back. Another Northlander came at her from behind, so Izzy went low, cutting the back of the hammer-wielder’s leg. He cried out and dropped to one knee. Izzy quickly stood and brought her knee up into the Lightning’s face. Her opponent fell back and she snatched the hammer off him. Now brandishing two weapons again, Izzy turned and . . . stopped dead. The Lightnings had multiplied rather quickly, going from about four to forty or so. They all stood watching her with the hoods of their fur capes covering their faces, their weapons out and ready to use.