“I am always ready to die. At any time.”

He stopped. “Why?”

“Why what?”

A female who had dark hair and eyes like the fool before her stepped in. “I’ll let them know you’re bringing her.” Then she ran off laughing.

The dragon gave a short snarl before facing Elina. “Why do you want to die?”

“I have no desire to die.”

“Then why do you seem so ready for it?”

“To die with honor. If you cannot avoid death, then you must die with honor. Do you not plan to die with honor, dragon?”

“No,” he said plainly, dark eyes staring at her. “I plan to fight death all the way, dragging those trying to kill me along for the ride.”

“I would agree with you, dragon . . . except I am guilty of trying to kill your queen.”

“But you didn’t do a very good job. Perhaps if you were better at it, I’d feel more inclined to take your head myself. But at this point, it would feel like stepping on a squirrel. Annoying. Sad. And a little messy.”

Elina assumed that to a dragon she must seem like a small animal, but still . . . she didn’t appreciate being called one.

Pulling her arm away, Elina glanced around the town and nodded east. “Isn’t there a gallows that way?” she asked, walking off in that direction.

The dragon cut in front of her and, after a very long sigh, he leaned down and lifted Elina up, placing her on his shoulder.

As he stalked away from the gallows, he muttered something under his breath, but Elina couldn’t quite make it out.

Strong, cool fingers pressed against his temples, making soft circles before slipping into his hair.

Éibhear the Contemptible relaxed into his mate, enjoying how Izzy’s chain mail pressed against his back while she stood there rubbing his head.

They were all waiting. Still in the war room, everyone quietly chatted amongst themselves.

“You know,” Izzy said softly, her words for him alone, “you no longer have to be so bitchy to your cousin.”

“I didn’t say a word to him.”

“You don’t realize, but your silence speaks volumes. You don’t think Celyn notices that? And when you do deign to say something to him, you’re definitely bitchy.”

Éibhear smirked. “I wouldn’t call it bitchy. I just call it terse and unpleasant.”

“It’s been years, Éibhear. Years. It’s time to let it go.”

“We buried our issues ages ago.”

“But you still do not speak to one another.”

“Not true. When he sees me, he says, ‘Hello.’ And I always reply, ‘Cousin.’”

Izzy returned to his lap, her arms slipping around his neck. “I want you two to be friends again.”

“Izzy . . . we were never that close. He, like everyone else in the family, always thought I was an idiot.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because they said . . . ‘Éibhear . . . you’re an idiot.’”

“I don’t see how you can be so close to Brannie but so cold to her brother.”

“Brannie and I are close because of you. And she stopped calling me idiot after I threw her into that jungle pit with the hungry crocodile.”

Izzy laughed, but stopped abruptly when the war room door opened and Brannie walked in. “Celyn will be here in a minute,” she announced to the room before rushing over to Izzy’s side and pulling up a chair next to her.

She sat and stared at Izzy, her lips a thin line because she clearly had something to tell her.

“What?” Izzy whispered.

“You have to experience it for yourself, cousin.”

“Tell me,” she ordered, leaning forward and wiggling her bum around on Éibhear’s lap . . . something that he greatly enjoyed. “I must know, you cow!”

Éibhear often had to remind himself that in battle these two were an unbelievable team, bringing blood, death, and pain to all who challenged them. But when not in battle . . . they were absolutely ridiculous.

The door opened again, this time kicked in by a stern-faced Celyn. He stalked into the room with a pert-assed bundle tossed over his shoulder.

Without a word, he lifted the woman off and placed her on the floor in front of the big wooden table with all the maps.

Izzy glanced at Éibhear, both of them—he guessed—sharing the same thought. She looks awfully healthy for a woman who has been trapped in the city jails for the last eight months.

“There you are!” Rhiannon said, getting to her feet and towering over the woman. “Oh, hello, my dear.”

The woman, so very pale, dropped to one knee in front of Éibhear’s mother.

“My lady. I regret what I have tried to do,” she said, her accent as strange as her eyes. But Éibhear hadn’t met any Riders from the Steppes of the Outerplains before. He knew they had their own languages and laws, but what those languages and laws were, he had no idea. “But I implore you to take my head quickly and with no remorse. It is the least I deserve.”

Rhiannon studied the woman for a long moment before looking at her nephew-by-mating. “What the bloody hells did you tell this female, Celyn?”

“I haven’t told her anything,” Celyn growled as he walked toward the back of the room and an empty seat. “But apparently she lives for death . . . or something.”