With a smirk, Bram nodded. “Understood.”

“Thank you, Uncle Bram. Lady Rider.” Sidling around Gwenvael to avoid another hug attempt, Elina guessed, the boy walked out.

Gwenvael focused on Bram. “You going to tell me what’s going on?” he asked.

“No.”

The golden one raised his arms as if he were about to argue the point, but they fell limply at his sides.

“I know I should care more but . . . eh.” Then he walked off, leaving the Great Hall.

The other male, who wore those pieces of glass, dropped several books onto the table before sitting across from Elina and Bram. He was a very handsome boy. A Northlander by the look of him. Broad of shoulder, thick of neck, pale of skin; but he appeared smarter than most Northlanders. Much smarter.

“What do you think, Frederik?” Bram asked him.

“About?”

“About whether your aunt will allow me to take over Var’s education?”

“I don’t know. Var is her saving grace. But he wasn’t blessed with her patience. Especially where Gwenvael is concerned.”

“And my nephew takes so much patience,” Bram sighed.

Elina pointed at the younger man. “Are you dragon, too?”

“No.”

“Your aunt? Is she dragon?”

“No.”

“But the golden one . . . ?”

“Very dragon.”

Elina took a breath. “So the rumors are true. Dragons and humans . . . they can create the baby.”

“As my aunt has shown in true Northlander style . . . they can create many of the baby.”

“The Abominations grow in number then?”

Panicked, the two males looked around desperately, eyes wide. When they saw no one, they focused back on Elina and leaned in.

“You shouldn’t use that word,” Bram quickly, but quietly, explained. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Both queens take it personally,” the younger male added.

“Do not see why. There is no shame to being scourge of gods.”

Bram waved his hands. “No, no, no. No scourge. No abominations. These are not good words to use when discussing the offspring of dragons and humans.”

“Words. You Southlanders worry so much about words.”

“You don’t worry about words?”

“I love words, but I know they are just . . . noise. To ignore truth that sits in our face. Like angry cat about to claw.”

Bram glanced at Frederik. “Well . . . I have nothing pressing to run to at this moment. So please, Elina Shestakova . . . tell us about this truth.”

Shrugging . . . that’s exactly what Elina did.

Chapter Nine

Gisa held the flower bud in her hand and focused all her inner magicks toward getting the flower to bloom. It had taken her teacher five minutes to make the bloom happen. . . . Gisa had been staring at this bloom for near on an hour.

She hated this. She’d rather be in battle training. She was good at battle training. Good at battle, which was important for the Kyvich witches. They were warrior witches. They didn’t do one or the other, but both.

Sadly, even though Gisa had the warrior part down, she was still struggling with the witch part.

Then again, as she glanced around at the other students, she discovered she wasn’t the only one struggling.

“You got it yet?” Fia whispered.

“Nah. You?”

“Nope. Think we’ll really need to make flowers bloom during a battle?” she asked.

“Doubt it,” Gisa whispered back.

“And yet,” their teacher suddenly announced, “once you learn to control nature, you can use it to your advantage during a battle with sword-wielding soldiers.”

Gisa and Fia glanced at each other. Their teacher had her back to them and was a good fifty feet away. How had she heard them?

She looked at them over her shoulder. “So even if it bores you, work on it.”

Gisa went back to the flower she held, again trying her best to get it to bloom when Fia tapped her ribs with her elbow. When Gisa looked at her, Fia gestured with her chin.

She saw Princess Talwyn of the Southland kingdoms standing a few feet away from the group of Kyvich, her arms crossed over her ample chest, her long hair in warrior braids, her powerful legs braced apart, her attention seemingly far from what was going on right in front of her.

Princess Talwyn was an anomaly among the Kyvich. First off, she was a royal. The Ice Lands had warlords, but not a lot of princes. None that lived long anyway. She had also not been taken from her family at birth. All Gisa knew was the Kyvich. She’d been taken from her mother’s home near the Western Mountains when she was barely three months old. Some of her Kyvich sisters had been taken earlier than that, others no later than five or six years old. But the royal hadn’t come to the Kyvich until she was ten winters and eight. She involved herself in all training, battle and magicks, and yet she never seemed part of the Kyvich. She never seemed like one of them.

Their teacher turned, suddenly noticing that Talwyn wasn’t paying her the least bit of attention.

“Princess Talwyn . . . care to join us?”

Without turning around, Talwyn replied, “No.”

Gritting her teeth, the teacher picked up a flower bud and held it out to the princess. “Perhaps you can at least attempt the spell and—”

Before their teacher could finish her sentence, Talwyn—her back still turned—waved her hand once in the air and the bud in the teacher’s hand bloomed into a beautiful, healthy flower.