Before Bram could respond, Elina pointed at Bram and snapped, “Brilliant.” Pointed at Celyn. “Dolt. Do math!”

With what some might call a cordial smile—of course, Celyn wasn’t one of those beings—Elina walked down the road.

“I love her,” Brannie sighed. “Like the suns and good ale.”

“Do you have no concern for your own brother?” Celyn demanded of his sister.

“Because you are a pathetic puppy, sheltered by our parents in a sad job that makes you feel like you’re in charge when you’re not?”

“No. Because I’ve got to put up with”—he gestured at Elina’s retreating form with a weak wave of his hand—“that until I can dump her on her people.”

“Don’t be so hard on her,” Bram warned around his own laughter. “Life on the Steppes is not for the faint of heart. I’m sure she’s been through much more than any of us can imagine.”

“And you did forget about her,” Brannie needlessly reminded him. “Females of all species take that sort of thing quite badly. I’d have cut your head off meself if you’d done that to me. And I’m your sister.”

“Thank you for that.”

“Travel safe,” his father told him. “And remember that you do this for our queen and for Annwyl. So be your most charming.”

“That should be easy for you since it is your name,” his sister teased sweetly, which was why he shoved the rest of her cream-filled treat, and not his fist, into her face.

While Brannie cursed the day Celyn was hatched, Celyn walked quickly to catch up with Elina, bringing his mother’s horse with him.

Elina had turned off the road and was now cutting through the woods. She stopped a few times, her blue-eyed gaze looking far off before she started walking again. He had no idea where she was going, so he asked.

“Where are we going?”

“Are you not aware of our travel plans?”

“This is not the road to take. In fact, we’re going in the opposite direction. Are you planning to take a roundabout way to your people? One I’m not aware of?”

“Can you not be patient? Wait until things unfold?”

“I could. But I’d be more patient if I knew where we were going right now. Can’t you give me a hint? A tiny idea? Just a—”

Elina stopped and spun on him so fast, Celyn immediately closed his mouth.

“Why do you keep talking?” she asked.

“I’m just asking questions.”

“Do not.”

“But if you gave me complete answers to my first questions, I wouldn’t need to ask follow-ups.”

“You are still talking.”

“You still haven’t answered my questions.”

Growling a little, she stalked off and Celyn followed. He went along for about five minutes in silence until he asked, “Is there a reason I need to be quiet?”

“Yes.”

“Well, if you told me that reason I could easily be quiet. But when you don’t tell me anything, then all I can do is—”

“Quiet, Dolt.”

“There’s no need to get that nasty tone. I’m merely trying to—”

The female abruptly stopped again, faced Celyn, went up on her toes, and stretched her arm out so she could silence Celyn by slapping her hand over his mouth. “Quiet,” she whispered.

When she seemed sure that he wouldn’t speak again, she slowly lowered her hand. With her eyes fixed on a spot somewhere in the forest, she silently walked backward until she reached an old tree. There she crouched down and began digging through a mass of dead leaves. That’s when she pulled out a curved composite bow and a quiver of arrows.

She had her bow nocked and was getting to her full height when Celyn heard a roar and turned in time to see a flash of fangs and claws coming right at him.

Elina loosed her arrow, her aim—as always—true. But when it hit the big jungle cat in the chest, right in the heart, both arrow and cat were engulfed in flames.

Rage moved through her veins as she faced the idiot dragon who’d nearly set the surrounding woods on fire.

He was grinning at her. Grinning like the dolt he was.

“Why,” she tried her best to ask calmly, “did you do that?”

“To protect you from one of the famous Southland cats. Trust me. They may not be incredibly big, but I’ve seen them tear the faces off humans before they can even pull their sword.”

“I was not using sword. I used bow.”

“Aye. You did. And you’re a surprisingly good shot. I don’t know why you didn’t have your bow with you when you came up Devenallt Mountain. That could have worked nicely on either queen.”

“Are you now telling me how to kill your queen?” Elina snapped.

He frowned. “Oh . . . I think I was. But logic-wise—”

“Shut up!”

“Why are you yelling at me? I just saved you from a disfigured face.”

“I’m yelling because that cat was mine!”

“They’re not good to eat. Trust me . . . I’ve tried. Not a delicacy.”

“Not for food, you fool! For Glebovicha. We do not have cats like these on the Steppes. I bring one with me, perhaps I can absolve shame of not killing your queen.”

“Oh.” He nodded. “Now I understand. And if you’d just told me that at the—”