The only difference was that Dagmar Reinholdt had no mystical powers built into her bones, ready to be called up whenever needed. But this boy . . . he didn’t need spells. He didn’t need rituals. He didn’t need gods. It was all inside him, held at bay because he felt like it.

But unleashed . . .

Brigida took two painful steps back, away from the boy and his hidden depths.

There went that smirk again and the boy said, “I’m glad to see we understand each other, dear aunt.”

“Boy.”

Brigida moved away from the royal as fast as she could, dragging her nearly dead leg behind her. Now she knew! Now she was sure.

She couldn’t count on any of them to do what needed to be done. To hold this Clan together. It was down to her. Like always.

Her plans immediately changed as she considered the research she’d have to do. The spells she’d have to locate. She knew she was short on time, but now she knew . . . she had no choice. No choice at all.

* * *

Var walked into the middle of a typical morning fight as his mother and Arlais squared off across the dining table. The servants, so used to it all, ignored the pair completely as they began to place food down so that everyone else could eat while the pair squabbled.

Even their dogs got in on it. His mother’s dogs barking at Arlais’s dog. Arlais’s dog snapping back.

It was . . . ridiculous. But, like the servants, Var had gotten used to it.

“What’s going on?” Frederick asked, coming from the back halls behind Var.

Var opened his mouth to explain but all he could do was roll his eyes and sigh. “I’ll fill you in later. Is Uncle Bram up?”

“I think the question is whether Bram got any sleep. Rhiannon sent for him. He’s been at Devenallt Mountain since last night. Final plans being locked in, I guess.”

“What do they expect from a peacemaker?”

Bram the Merciful was known for his truce-making skills as far north as the Ice Lands and as far south as the deserts. He’d even negotiated the original plans for the Empress’s favorite son to travel from the Eastlands to Devenallt Mountain, where he’d met and befriended a very young Keita.

Var adored his great-uncle, could spend hours talking to him about philosophy and reason and knowledge. But he held no delusions about the dragon. His mate, Ghleanna, handled the battles and the wars that destroyed many a nation and Bram handled the clean-up and the eventual truces when the destroyed nations begged for mercy. Made sense because that was what he loved to do.

What didn’t Bram the Merciful love doing? Dealing with Var’s grandfather and grandmother, if he could help it. Bercelak the Great seemed to take great pleasure in tormenting his brother-by-mating.