‘‘Drake, let him down. It’s just a twinge, nothing more!’’ Aisling said, waving me toward them. ‘‘Stop him, May. Although don’t hurt him; I’m rather fond of him as he is, overprotective tendencies and all.’’

I tapped Drake politely on the shoulder. ‘‘Would you mind letting Gabriel down? I promise I won’t let him hold Aisling’s hand anymore. Or touch her stomach.’’

Drake eyed Gabriel for a moment. I have to admit that Gabriel surprised me by not fighting back. Having seen him go at it with Drake’s black-dragon brother, Kostya, I knew he was not one to remain passive when attacked. But he stayed still, not struggling at all despite the fact that his face was gaining a dull red tint due to lack of oxygen.

‘‘All right,’’ Drake said at last, removing his hold on Gabriel. ‘‘But I will hold you responsible for his actions.’’

Gabriel’s eyes flashed in warning, but Aisling bursting into laughter defused the situation enough that he could see the ridiculousness of such a comment.

I touched a faintly swollen spot on Gabriel’s neck. ‘‘Would you like me to kiss what hurts and make it better?’’ I asked softly.

He’d been looking at Aisling, obviously about to make some observation about her health, but at my words a new look of interest filled his eyes. ‘‘Only if I get to pick what needs kissing.’’

‘‘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.

‘‘I thought you two were friends,’’ I said to him, nodding at Drake. ‘‘Don’t you go back centuries?’’

‘‘Yes,’’ Gabriel said, and applied himself to a thick slab of ham.

Drake said nothing, but sipped an espresso. ‘‘Despite what you’re seeing here, they actually are friends,’’ Aisling told me. ‘‘It’s just that things were a little dicey for a while when Gabriel . . . err . . .’’

‘‘When he tried to poison you?’’ I asked, having heard something of Gabriel’s recent experiences with the Guardian.

‘‘I didn’t poison her. I saved her life,’’ Gabriel said without meeting my eye. I had a horrible feeling he could sense the unreasonable swell of jealousy that seemed to burst into being whenever I thought about Aisling and him having some sort of relationship that went beyond what was appropriate.

Gabriel’s eyes flashed silver at me for a moment before he returned his gaze to his plate, but I could see him fighting to keep his dimples from showing.

The rat.

‘‘You saved her after you betrayed us,’’ Drake said in a deceptively mild voice.

‘‘What matters is that it’s all over and done with, and everything is forgiven and forgotten,’’ Aisling said in a loud voice, shooting a meaningful glance at her wyvern. ‘‘We’re all friends here, no matter how prickly the boys may get now and again.’’

‘‘Prickly!’’ Gabriel objected.