“Your son has grown, I see. Looks more like his father every day.” Eir’s grin was wide. “Gwenvael’s going to loathe him.”

“Why are you here?” Dagmar asked, facing her.

“Can’t a girl come see her friend for a bit of a—”

“If you say ‘bit of a chat,’ I’m going to scream.”

Eir laughed. “Sorry. Sorry.”

“Where is she?”

The god gave a very convincing frown. “Where is who?”

“You know who. Annwyl. Rhiannon knows she’s disappeared. Where did you take her? Or was it Chramnesind? Maybe his Zealots.”

“None of us have Annwyl.”

“And you’d know?”

“Of course I’d know. I’ve been connected to that woman since our bargain was paid in full. And right now, she is no longer in my sight.”

“And Chramnesind—”

“He can hide nothing from me. So, no. I don’t think he has her.”

“But you’re not sure.”

“Nothing in this world is sure. You should have figured that out by now.”

“Then why are you here?” Var abruptly asked, facing the god. He showed no fear, gazing directly into Eir’s brown eyes. “Why are you bothering my mother?”

“I didn’t see it as bothering, but if you—”

With an annoyed sigh, her son turned his back on the god. Dagmar had to fight hard not to react to the look of shock on the god’s face.

“Did . . . did he just dismiss me?” she asked.

“He did. Wouldn’t take it personally, though,” Dagmar explained. “He does that to everyone who bores him or can’t give him what he wants.”

“Can’t? Don’t you mean won’t?”

“No. I meant can’t.”

The god raised a finger. Not to strike Dagmar and her precious son down, but to argue, as she always seemed to enjoy doing. But before Eir could speak a word . . .

“Good evening, small Northland female and the males she will not give us for our strong daughters!”

Dagmar rolled her eyes and gritted her teeth. Eir cringed and disappeared. Not even a god wanted to face the Kolesova sisters. They were Daughters of the Steppes and, as Var had pointed out more than once, “pains in our collective asses.”

“Talking to yourself again, tiny Northlander?”

Dagmar slowly turned to face the two females that Annwyl had sent to “protect such a weak, insignificant woman.”

She wanted to think that Annwyl really had been worried about Dagmar and her nieces and nephew by mating. But Dagmar knew better. The treacherous heifer had simply been tired of dealing with the three sisters. They’d committed themselves to fighting by Annwyl’s side in the hopes of a glorious death so they could go to their horse gods with honor. It seemed like a good idea at the time.