‘‘History? What sort of history?’’

The doors at the back were flung open with a reverberation that echoed down the long room. We all turned to look. Kostya stood for a moment in a dramatic pose as he eyed everyone; then he strode down the aisle toward us, flanked by five men who I assumed were also black dragons. I touched the chain around my neck to make sure the phylactery was there, hidden away, relieved for a few seconds that Kostya was not accompanied by a blue-eyed brunette who just happened to have created me.

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?’’

‘‘You dare?’’ Kostya asked, bristling with indignation.

‘‘He’s just trying to rile you up,’’ Cyrene told him, retrieving her hand in order to pat him on the arm. ‘‘Just ignore it. You know full well I’m your mate and I’m not going to let any other dragon woo me away.’’

Kostya’s frown cleared slightly.

‘‘No matter how good-looking he is,’’ Cy added with a smile at Fiat.

The look Kostya shot her should have dropped her dead on the spot, but Cy is oblivious to that sort of thing.

‘‘Mate?’’ Fiat asked, narrowing his gaze at her.

‘‘Oh, no,’’ I murmured.

Gabriel leaned close to me. ‘‘She thinks she is a mate? Did we not disprove that point when we first met?’’

‘‘Yes, and yes. She swears she’s Kostya’s mate, and that the only reason she hasn’t exhibited any signs therein is because he’s not yet a wyvern.’’

Gabriel shook his head. ‘‘It doesn’t work that way.’’

‘‘I assumed not, but you know how she is—once she gets an idea, she runs with it.’’

Cyrene had been explaining her theory of mateness to Fiat while I was talking to Gabriel. Fiat shot Kostya a speculative glance, but neither said anything to burst her bubble. I had a horrible feeling that job would fall to me.

‘‘If you should change your mind, cara, I will be happy to oblige you,’’ he murmured. I think he would have gone into full seduction mode, but at that moment he caught sight of us.

‘‘Gabriel, my old friend,’’ Fiat said, the emphasis unmistakable as he approached us. ‘‘I have not heard from you these long months.’’

Gabriel made a little bow. ‘‘I have been busy, as I assume you have.’’

Fiat’s cold sapphire gaze slid over me, appearing startled for a brief instant. ‘‘Either my eyes deceive me, or this lovely lady is identical to the one I just left.’’

I didn’t flinch at his close examination, although I badly wanted to shadow to escape his penetrating scrutiny. To my surprise, I felt his mind brush against mine. I quickly erected my mental defenses, glancing at Gabriel to see whether he had noticed.

The muscle in his jaw twitched once. He’d noticed.

‘‘Identical and yet not identical,’’ Fiat continued in a soft voice. ‘‘A mate? Can this be?’’

‘‘Yes, and she’s claimed,’’ Gabriel said with much less suavity than was the norm for him.