“Still? How hard is it to drive barbarian cretins back to the mud huts from which they came?” He glanced at Dagmar. “No offense.” Cold grey eyes shielded by small circles of glass looked up from the map. “Since my mud-hut-living, barbarian, cretin people are not from the west…none taken.”

“We’re getting calls for assistance from the western kings,” Brastias explained.

Briec didn’t see the problem. “So send another legion.”

“I don’t like it,” Fearghus grumbled.

“You don’t like anything.”

“Not you, of course, but I lie and tell our mother I do.” Fearghus looked at Dagmar. “Have you heard anything?”

“What makes you think that I—” A room filled with males snorting in disbelief cut the Northlander off. “I wanted to get more information,” she admitted.

“More information on what?”

“Possible problems coming from beyond the Aricia Mountains.”

“Beyond?” Frowning, Briec studied the map. “The only thing beyond the Aricia Mountains is…”

The room grew silent, and Dagmar raised her hands, palms out. “Let me get more information before we jump to any conclusions.”

“A problem coming from that far west,” Brastias murmured, “cannot be ignored by Annwyl.”

“She’s not ignoring anything.” And Briec could hear the snap in Fearghus’s voice. “Far from it.”

“What part of ‘Let me get more information before we jump to any conclusions’ were all of you not clear on?” Dagmar asked.

“Fine. Get the information. Then Annwyl can decide what she wants to do.”

It wasn’t that the human warriors said anything, they didn’t. It was their silence that spoke volumes.

“What?” Fearghus asked. “What is it?”

“If Annwyl plans to hole up here for the next sixteen years, Fearghus, you’re going to have to find another to lead our men into war. If,” Brastias added, glancing at Dagmar, “war is coming.”

“Isn’t that your job, general?”

“My job is to lead the troops into battle. But Annwyl’s our queen. She has to lead us into war.”

Fearghus let out a great sigh. “And she can only do that by leaving her children?”

“No. But she can’t keep avoiding war either. Trying to patch up problems with a troop here, a legion there isn’t doing anyone any favors. It’s just pulling her army apart.”

Briec watched his brother. Fearghus knew the general was right, but that didn’t make the situation easier for him.

Catching Brastias’s attention, Briec suggested, “You may want to warn Morfyd that Keita’s coming home.”

“Warn her?”

“Trust me, general. Warn her.” Then Briec gave a small jerk of his head toward the door. Brastias nodded and left with his men.

Once the door closed behind them, Briec dropped into a chair across from his brother, propping his feet up on the table. “All right, what don’t I know?”

Fearghus muttered something, but rather than get the dragon to repeat himself—always a chore since Fearghus was a born mutterer—Briec focused on Dagmar.

“Annwyl has become reluctant to make decisions that might thrust us into war,” Dagmar said.

“I’ve seen your female, brother. She looks ready for war to me.”

“She’s torn,” Fearghus admitted. “She’s ready to stomp out whatever is terrorizing the territories past the Western Mountains, but she’s terrified to leave the children.”

“Why? They won’t be alone. They’ll have us. The Cadwaladr Clan.

She couldn’t ask for better or stronger protection than that.”

“I can’t explain it, Briec. She’s not talking to me. I just know that to get her any farther than my cave these days has become near impossible.”

“And,” Dagmar added, “to discuss problems that might be occurring outside Garbhán Isle is also a challenge.” Dagmar walked around the table and leaned against it, her arms crossing over her chest. “It’s hard to convince her the children will be safe without her for a little while when we can’t even keep a nanny for longer than a moon or two.”

“Wait. What happened to the last one?” Briec asked.

Dagmar shook her head, and Fearghus let out a long sigh before facing the wall behind him.

Briec grimaced. “Oh.” Thankfully, Briec had no problems like this with his younger daughter. His girl was sweet beyond imagining—something she must have gotten from him, since there was no way she could have inherited that trait from her mother. So he had no worries when he left her alone with anyone. All that worried him was what weight she possibly carried on those tiny shoulders. He’d never seen someone so young look so serious—all the time. She never smiled. Ever. She simply gazed at all around her with those eyes that anyone could get lost in. He had heard a few say that when she stared at them, it was as if she were staring into their souls.

To be honest, Briec thought she was.

But none of that helped his brother now. Because a paranoid, well-trained, ready-for-anything Annwyl with no war or battle to head off to was nothing but a volcano waiting to explode. Everyone at Garbhán Isle knew it—and that’s what had everyone so on edge.

“I’m sure we’ll figure out something. Maybe Keita can help. When she gets here.”