That relief was short-lived, as Cyrene bounded through the door next.

“I have come!” Kostya yelled in a dramatic manner, tossing his head so the sweep of dark auburn hair that had come down over his forehead was flipped back.

“Hello, everyone! Mayling! Isn’t this exciting?” Cyrene called, ruining Kostya’s big moment.

He glared at her.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Go right ahead, punkanoodle. I know you want to make a good impression on everyone.”

Even the sigh that Kostya heaved was filled with drama. “I told you not to call me that! It’s not fitting.”

“Sorry,” Cyrene said, looking remorseful. “Forgot. Go ahead, Kostie.”

Even at the distance we were from the door, I could see Kostya cast a glance upward as he obviously sought patience. Gabriel made an odd snorting noise, as if he was trying to hold back laughter. Normally I would have had a hard time keeping my own face straight, but I was more concerned about what Cyrene was doing here than the fact that her personality and Kostya’s were so obviously unsuited to each other.

“I have come,” the latter repeated in a loud voice. “The black dragons—”

“Greetings, fellow members of the weyr,” another voice bellowed, the doors at the far end once again being slammed open. A blond man who was so handsome it almost hurt to look at him marched in, two incredibly handsome men behind him. “The blue wyvern has arrived. Let the sárkány begin!”

Kostya spun around to glare at the man who had interrupted his grand entrance. “Sfiatatoio del Fuoco Blu,” he hissed, lifting his chin and glaring at the slightly shorter man as he approached.

“So that’s Fiat Blu,” I mused under my breath as I slid a glance toward Gabriel. All amusement had drained out of his eyes, leaving his face impassive as he watched Kostya and Fiat meet, but I knew he was not terribly happy to see Fiat. “Are you sure the phylactery—”

“I am sure. No one will sense it on you.”

“Konstantin Fekete,” Fiat said with a sneer, stopping in front of the man in question. “Come to beg the weyr for a few crumbs?”

“The black dragons do not beg!” Kostya said, and obviously would have gone off on one of the diatribes to which he was prone, dealing with the grand and glorious (if tragic) history of his doomed dragons, but Fiat caught sight of Cyrene at that moment and gave her a dazzling smile.

“And who do we have here? A water sprite?”

“Naiad,” Cyrene said with a startled glance at Kostya as she allowed Fiat to kiss her hand.

“Most charming,” Fiat cooed.

“I’m Cyrene. I’m with him,” she added, taking Kostya’s arm.

“Ah, but I can make amends for such a terrible tragedy,” Fiat answered, kissing the knuckles of her free hand again. “I have not had a naiad in my entourage. Why don’t you cast off the barbaric Kostya and allow me to show you how a dragon should treat a lady?”