“I’m coming into the room,” Aidan called out seconds before he did just as he said.

Brannie frowned at him. “What was that?”

“When I don’t announce, you yell at me that I snuck up on you.”

Brannie was going to argue that point until she realized Aidan was right.

Shrugging, she turned back to a small box filled with axes, most likely used for chopping wood rather than anything war-related. She grabbed one, figuring it was, again, better than nothing.

“It’s not my fault all of you move like jungle cats. Perhaps if you stomped a bit.”

“Unlike my brothers, I don’t know how. I learned to be stealthy very early in life. It helped me survive my kins’ form of familial kindness.”

He grabbed one of the surcoats and put it on. It pulled tight over his chain mail–covered chest but there was nothing they could do about that. There were only a few other surcoats that were bigger and those would have to go to Uther and Caswyn since they were much larger than Aidan.

Good thing Éibhear wasn’t here. They had enough trouble finding leggings to fit that body. And his chain mail shirts took twice as long to make as everyone else’s.

“He’s so ridiculously big!” she exclaimed to the air.

Aidan looked around. “What are you talking about? And to whom?”

“I’m talking about Éibhear and his chain mail shirts.”

Aidan gave a small smile. “Your mind just . . . wanders away, doesn’t it?”

“All the time. Got me in so much trouble during my training.” She picked up the rest of the surcoats and started walking back to the castle. “The Warrior Trials were a nightmare. For a whole year I at least had to pretend that I was listening . . . when I really wasn’t.”

Aidan stopped, gazed at her a moment. “It took you a year to become a Dragonwarrior? A year?” He threw up his hands. “I never heard less than a decade. Minimum.”

Brannie rolled her eyes. “Me mum took six months, and to this day I haven’t heard the end of that shit.”

Aidan nodded and admitted, “Your mother frightens me.”

Brannie patted his shoulder before she walked on. “She should.”

By the time they reached the castle doors, Uther and Caswyn were awake. Uther’s arm was still in a sling made of cloth but his fingers could now move a bit. And Caswyn was grinning ear to ear, his human color back to normal.

“What a great healer!” he announced loudly, taking the surcoat from Brannie. “I haven’t felt this wonderful in years! I could take on a . . . take on a . . .” Words faded away as he struggled to pull the surcoat down over his chest.

He stopped when it wouldn’t go past where his nipples would be under the chain mail.

Cringing, Brannie dropped the surcoats to the ground and sorted through them, tossing the obviously too-small ones aside until she found a few that looked—hopefully—big enough.