I glanced up quickly, but she had a dreamy look in her eyes, not one that hinted of jealousy. ‘‘That’s one way of putting it.’’

‘‘I think it’s because they’re so . . . oh, I don’t know . . . exotic. You know what I mean? There’s a sense of danger about them, as if they are barely just holding back the beast that dwells within them.’’

I couldn’t deny her assessment, although I was more than a little reluctant to have this discussion. ‘‘I suppose so, although Gabriel seems much more even tempered than Drake or his obnoxious brother.’’

‘‘Obnoxious!’’ Cyrene gaped at me. ‘‘How can you possibly say that about Kostya? He’s not obnoxious! He’s just . . . intense. Very, very intense. And so handsome, don’t you think?’’

Relief mingled with disbelief as she continued to sing Kostya’s praises. I recognized the signs all too well, having lived through a good hundred or so of Cyrene’s relationships. ‘‘He doesn’t seem terribly stable, emotionally speaking,’’ I said slowly.

‘‘Who doesn’t? Kostya?’’ She wandered over to a palm, absently stroking its leaves in a manner I knew would have the plant sprouting new branches (plants love naiads). ‘‘There’s a reason for that, you know. I had a long talk with Aisling earlier, and she told me all about how Kostya had to go into hiding after he killed his wyvern, and then how he was kidnapped by someone unknown, and left to starve in a horrible prison until Drake and Aisling rescued him. So you see, he’s been through a lot in the last couple of hundred years. Allowances should be made for his rather brusque manner.’’

I stifled a little smile at the word ‘‘brusque’’ being applied to Kostya, but kept silent, feeling it was better for her blossoming infatuation to burn itself out without help from me.

‘‘I wonder if he’s going to be wyvern of his sept,’’ she said, looking out of the floor-to-ceiling window to a darkened garden.

‘‘I was under the impression there was no sept to be wyvern of.’’

‘‘Aisling said she thought there were a few black dragons still left, but they are in hiding.’’ Cyrene turned back toward me, making a contrite face. ‘‘I’m sorry, here I am chatting on and you’re obviously tired and should get some rest. Bath for me, and then the master room is all yours.’’

She hurried off to take her restorative bath, leaving me to my murky thoughts.