Jim, pushing Gary’s box in front of him, entered the house at the same time a red-haired man appeared to block the door, giving us each an exaggerated examination. “Constantine Norka,” the redhead finally said. He had a Slavic accent, pronounced but not unintelligible.

“Istvan…” Constantine said, then stopped and made an irritated face. “I do not know your surname. I cannot call you by your full name.”

Istvan smiled. It was a smug sort of smile, the kind that makes your palm itch. “That is so.”

“You will tell me your surname so that I might use it, and then we will be even.”

Istvan glanced upward in thought for a few seconds. “No, I don’t think I will.”

“I will remember this,” Constantine warned, his eyes narrowing. I could feel by how high his fire was that he was irritated, but had to admit I found the posturing more than a little amusing.

“As will I.”

“I find it rather ironic,” I interjected, unable to keep quiet any longer, “that for two and a half years, you guys have been unable to talk to each other, and when you finally can, you start a verbal pissing contest. Honestly, what happened to saying hi, how are you, nice to be able to chat again?”

Both men stared at me in disbelief.

I sighed and made a conciliatory gesture. “Right. Silly me, expecting dragons to act reasonable. Proceed with your posturing.”

Constantine’s lips thinned, while Istvan, with a pinched look about the nostrils, said, “You wish to enter the domicile of the green wyvern?”

“A sarkany has been called, has it not?” Constantine took my arm and hustled me inside, pushing Istvan aside as we passed through the door. I thought for a moment the latter wasn’t going to give way, but evidently he thought better of antagonizing Constantine any further.

We entered the same sitting room that we’d been in the day before, only to discover the room had been rearranged. Where before there were couches and loveseats and chairs, now a large circular table dominated the room, around which sat three chairs. Against the walls sat more dining chairs, arranged in a row clearly intended for an audience to the meeting.

Kostya was there with my sister. Aoife shot a quick glance at us, her gaze skittering away as soon as I tried to catch her eye. My heart grew heavy at that, and I wondered if there would come a day when Aoife would forgive me for the extreme lengths I’d gone to in order to keep her safe two years ago.

I set aside that worry, and went to help Jim unpack Gary from the box, setting the head up on his shiny yellow motorized dump truck, and making sure that the new pink-and-purple bicycle helmet—the only one we could find at a moment’s notice—was strapped on securely.

“The truck is fully charged and has backup batteries installed,” I told Gary, who was trying out the new remote with its tiny joystick. “Don’t run into anyone, and don’t damage any of the furniture here. It looks like it’s all antique.”

“Thanks, Bee, I’ll be extra careful. Jim, do you want to see me do a wheelie? I was practicing this morning, but kept rolling off the back of the truck bed and smashing myself into the wall, which is why Bee insists I wear a helmet, but really, I think I have the hang of the joystick now. The truck is quite quick, too.”

“Cool story, bro,” Jim said, a slight look of envy crossing his furry face. “I wonder if I could get Aisling to get me a car?”

“She might if you asked her.”

“Yeah, but Drake wouldn’t like it. He thinks I’m a bad influence on the spawn. Which, of course, I am, because hello! Demon sixth class here. But still, a car would be cool.”

“Connie got me this truck without me even having to ask,” Gary boasted.

“You have better parents than me,” Jim said, nodding.

“We’re a good team, that’s for sure. Hey, if you got a car, we could have races!” Gary’s voice was filled with enthusiasm.

I left them discussing the various routes such a race would take if Jim was able to possess himself of a vehicle.

“Bee! How nice to see you again.” Aisling, with the other dragons at the far end of the room, bustled toward us, Drake on her heels. “You must excuse me for being so slow to welcome you, but it’s been forever since we’ve been able to speak to anyone outside of the sept, and there’s a lot to catch up on. Have we thanked you for breaking the curse? If not, consider us profoundly grateful. We’re thrilled that the curse is finally gone, all of us. Ysolde and Baltic were telling us what horrible events happened last night. Everyone is talking about what Bael did, and how he tried to kill you four, and the fact that he has claimed the role of the Venediger.”

“You’re kidding.” I glanced at Constantine, who was making a stiff bow to his godson. “Why would he do that?”

“Power.” Aisling’s expression turned dark. “The bastard tried to take the job of Venediger once before, but I ended up with it. I didn’t want it, naturally, and gave the job to Jovana—poor woman—but clearly he hasn’t forgotten.”

“Nor will he,” Constantine said, glaring for a moment at the table with its three chairs. He turned on his heel, marched over to the line of chairs against the wall, and hauled one over to the table, giving the other three wyverns a hard look as if he was daring them to make a comment.

“What’s all that about?” I asked Aisling. Ysolde joined us just as she answered. I couldn’t help but notice that Aoife stayed next to Kostya.

“Only wyverns are supposed to sit at the sarkany table.”

I thought about that for a few seconds. “But Constantine was a wyvern.”

“You know it, and I know it, but the other men don’t consider him one anymore. I mean, he did give up his life for Ysolde, but still, I gather once you’re dead, you’re no longer considered a wyvern.”

I may have gawked at Ysolde for a few seconds before I realized that I was doing far too much gawking of late for my peace of mind. “He died to save you? When was this? He never said anything about that to me—” I stopped before I gave away too many of the emotions that even now I didn’t want to examine.

“He didn’t really. Well, he might have. I’m still a bit unclear about that, because all the First Dragon said was that someone had given up his life for mine, but he never said it was Constantine. And now that we know Constantine was his grandson, well, that makes it seem so much more unlikely, doesn’t it?”