“I am so glad Jim is not present to hear that, because it would no doubt make all sorts of inappropriate comments that would force me to smack it with a rolled-up magazine, and then we’d be back to Gabriel groping my stomach and Drake having a hissy fit,” Aisling said, helping herself to a glass of orange juice. “Please do have some breakfast, you two. Without any ribald intent to the following comment, you both look like you could use a little food. Did you tell May about the sárkány yet?”

“The what?” I asked, distracted when Gabriel, in the act of seating me next to Aisling, trailed his fingers across the back of my bare neck.

“Sárkány. It’s Hungarian, isn’t it, sweetie?” she asked Drake.

“Sárkányok is the term for Hungarian dragons. A sárkány is traditionally a dragon in the form of a multiheaded giant,” he answered.

Gabriel took a seat across the table. “The term has been adopted to represent a weyr meeting called to discuss issues pertaining to a specific wyvern or sept.”

“Ah. Something about the troublesome Kostya? Is he still petitioning to take over your sept?” I wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that Kostya had continued his unauthorized war against the silver dragons. His sept had been wiped out by their own wyvern in a tragic attempt to bring the silver dragons—at one time black dragons, but long since autonomous—back into the fold. “Don’t tell me he’s been trying to steal the phylactery again.”

“No, the phylactery is safe,” Drake answered. He frowned and looked over to Gabriel. “It is safe?”

“Very,” Gabriel answered, his voice once again rich and velvety smooth.

Drake continued to study him. “You don’t have it with you?”

“I don’t believe I said that,” Gabriel said, making a gesture of nonchalance as he buttered a piece of cold toast.

“Where is it?” Drake asked.

“It’s safe. Does it matter where it is kept so long as Kostya will not find it?”

Drake’s slight frown turned even blacker as he narrowed his eyes at Gabriel. “It matters because it is the Lindorm Phylactery. It is a priceless piece of the dragon heart. To treat it in a cavalier manner—”

“You do not need to lecture me as if I was a young dragon learning his history,” Gabriel interrupted, a slight frown of his own pulling his brows together. “I may not have been wyvern as long as you have, but I am not untried, nor am I a fool. I would never treat the phylactery in any manner other than what is it due . . . unlike some dragons.”

Drake rose slowly from his chair, a nasty light in his eyes. “Are you implying that I would—”

Aisling’s voice cut through the suddenly tense atmosphere. “Don’t make me fake a labor pain in order to get you two guys out of what is shaping up to be a really world-class pissing contest.”

Drake shot her a glare. She blew him a kiss and motioned him back to his seat. I eyed Gabriel. A muscle that I was coming to view as a barometer of his feelings twitched in his jaw, but he made an effort to relax the grip he held on his knife, and managed to continue buttering his toast.