“I’m about five hundred. Like you, I have no real birthday recorded,” Drake said.
The room grew quiet as everyone glanced at each other and tried to put some kind of extended relationship together.
“Why don’t we throw out some names?” Rory asked.
Drake went first. “My mother’s name was Mary, and my father’s name was Faelen.” Jayce had coughed when Drake said his father’s name, and Kristine wasn’t sure she’d heard right.
“Did you say his name was Fang?”
Drake laughed. “Actually, I said Faelen.”
Amy shot to her feet. “Mine too! You must be my brother. My little brother.” She began to cry. “No, wait. You were told Mary was yourgreat-grandmother.”
Conlan spoke up. “Sometimes what we’re told and the truth are a wee bit different. When dragons move around, they often change their names to hide their longevity. Or they invent or eliminate knowledge of a generation altogether to protect their secret.”
Drake looked like he was trying to choke back tears. He strode to Amy and pulled her into a tight hug. “I don’t care what anyone says. I’ve found a sister.”
The room was silent except for some sniffles. Rory and Conlan stared at each other. Kristine saw the look that passed between them.
“What is it?” she asked.
The elder dragons turned to her and smiled. Rory spoke up first. “Mayhaps we’ve all found each other at last.”
“It was our uncle Faelen who left Ireland before the battle of Ballyhoo,” Conlan added.
Kristine touched her widow’s peak. “I don’t know much about my father’s lineage. So at this point I would guess that our yellow mark, which matches Drake’s, probably belonged to his father—or his father’s father—and the slight bit of orange I can see in Conlan’s roots were probably indicative of his father’s line.”
Conlan rose, strolled to the mirror over the fireplace, and inspected his widow’s peak. “I’ve been neglectin’ me appearance while on me quest.”
“Rory? Do you have a mark?” Kristine asked.
“Indeed. Me sisters and I all sport the red streak. Like you, we dyed it to match the rest of our hair. Chloe’s hair is blonde. Shannon’s is red—well, more like flame-orange. Not the soft strawberry-blonde hair you have.”
Jayce finally said something. “Am I to understand that you’re all cousins from some royal family long ago?”
Rory grinned. “It would appear so.”
Amber said, “Let me try to put this together. Maybe a thousand years ago there were a couple of dragons who miraculously survived the original St. Patrick’s Day.”
“More than a thousand, but yes,” Rory said. “St. Patrick lived in the fourth century.”
Conlan set his whiskey on the mantelpiece. “When St. Patrick drove all snakes and serpents over the cliffs, our grandparents managed to grab hold of a rock or two and scramble into a cave as they went over the side. Mayhaps a few others survived in similar ways.”
“Our kin became king and queen of the cliffs, living simply and in secret,” Rory said. “After St. Patrick died, they felt comfortable building their castle on the edge of that cliff over the caves. A few humans inhabited the castle aboveground, and only the dragons had access to the cliffs—flying at night to remain unseen.”
“So the humans still thought all the dragons were gone?” Amber asked.
Rory nodded. “For the most part. A trusted few may have known the truth.”
“Okay. So the survivors…” Amber continued. “The king and queen had three sons. One had a red mark in his widow’s peak, one had an orange mark, and one had a yellow mark. Eventually, the twins—one with a red mark and one with an orange mark—challenged each other to take over as king when their father died or moved on or whatever. Right?”
“That is correct.” Rory said.
“So what happened to your grandparents? Why was the crown up for grabs?”
“The same thing that happens to all dragons after a time. Humans became suspicious of their longevity. They had to say good-bye and settle somewhere else until all those humans passed away. Only then could they return—when they would no longer be recognized.”
“Only they never returned,” Conlan said and took a sip of his whiskey. He smacked his lips and said, “Ahhh.”
