Brannie opened her mouth, but Rhona quickly cut her off with “Good.”
Not bothering to argue any of this with Rhona the Fearless—she’d always made her feelings on the Mì-runach abundantly clear—Aidan held up the new equipment she’d provided and asked, “Anything we need to know about this?”
“Chain mail shirt and leggings, sword belt, and weapons will shift with you. Chain mail boots are for when you are human, but when you shift to dragon, they will turn into greaves to protect your lower legs and cover your heel tendons.” She handed each a dark red cape and stated, “These are bewitched. They’ll shift when you do and the color will change as needed. Shadows will be your friends in these.”
“Will we be invisible?” Uther asked.
And the look Rhona gave him . . . no wonder she didn’t trust him with Brannie’s weapon. “No.”
Uther recoiled a bit. “I was just asking.”
“These surcoats are like the capes and have the crest of a royal family that hasn’t chosen sides one way or the other. It should keep you safe enough on these roads.”
After the clothes, Rhona handed out swords and short daggers for eating, expertly crafted by her and her father. Once done, she gave Uther a big ax, Caswyn a medium-sized hammer. And Aidan she gave a long-bladed dagger. All these weapons would change size when the wielder did.
Aidan held up his long-bladed dagger. “What am I to do with this, Rhona the Fearless?”
“What you do best,” she replied with a wink.
Then she handed Brannie an ax, a war hammer, and a gladius. All for her and her alone.
“But me stick?” Brannie asked.
“Looks like a stick. Use it when they least expect it.”
With a yawn, Rhona pointed at the meat over the fire. “Is that done? I’m starving and we need to get some sleep. We start early tomorrow.”
Uther and Caswyn pushed past Rhona, the triplets, and the dragon protectors traveling with them to be first in line for food. Then Rhona had to pry a hammer from one of the triplets, who tried to use it to crush the pair’s heads in.
Chuckling, Aidan slipped the dagger into its sheath.
“What did Rhona mean?” Brannie asked. “What do you do best?”
“When I first came for training, I was known for my skill of sneaking up on the other trainees and slamming their heads against walls.”
Brannie smirked. “Give you a hard time, did they?”
“I was the only royal in that class. They thought I was easy prey. I enjoyed pointing out how wrong they were. Sadly, my trainers didn’t appreciate my . . . reluctance to stop my reign of terror against my enemies.”
“That’s how you ended up in the Mì-runach?”
“The queen thought I’d be better suited in small groups of dragons who enjoyed sneaking up on others and smashing their heads into walls.” He held up the sheathed weapon. “Eventually I moved from smashing heads to a quick flick against the throat. A little messier but faster. Unlike you, I don’t need to revel in the destruction of others.”
“I don’t revel,” she lied, walking away in hopes of getting food from the cold, dead hands of Uther and Caswyn. “I just like to make sure they’re really dead. Nothing worse than when they pop up behind you. Still breathing.”
* * *
They ate their meal on large stumps, no one saying much.
When a large burp filled the silence, they all jumped a bit and everyone looked over at little Breena.
Picking venison out of her teeth with the tip of her finger, she stopped when she realized she was being stared at. “Wha’?”
“A little class, sister,” Nesta chastised.
Breena leaned in close, her nose against her sister’s cheek, and unleashed a burp that went on for a good two minutes.
Brannie saw Uther’s and Caswyn’s mouths drop, stunned as they gawked at the triplets. It wasn’t merely that Breena was still midway in her burp display or that Nesta, her jaw tight, was sitting there, silently raging. But that Edana had continued to shovel food into her mouth as if it was her last meal, completely ignoring or oblivious to her sisters’ antics.
As Brannie glanced over at Aidan, their gazes caught, held, and both ended up turning away, their stifled laughter shaking their bodies and causing tears.
When Breena finally finished, she kissed her sister on her cheek and went back to putting food in her mouth. Nesta’s brutal glare should have engulfed her sister in flames but, sadly, life didn’t work that way and she, too, eventually went back to eating her meal.
Once everyone had finished eating, it was Edana who pulled out a flask of Cadwaladr ale. She had the stopper pulled and the flask to her lips when Rhona snatched it from her hands and tossed the entire thing into the fire.
“You mad cow!” Nesta and Breena screeched in unison, the pair united in their need for ale. Edana just kept looking at her empty hand as if she expected the flask to reappear.
“We were drinking that,” Nesta barked at a steely-eyed Rhona.
“No. You weren’t.” Rhona looked over all of them. A sergeant in Her Majesty’s Army. But a general in the Cadwaladr Clan. “We are not on holiday. We have duties. Important duties that need to be accomplished quickly and efficiently. Can’t do that if you lot are drunk off your asses, now can we, Branwen the Awful?”
Blinking, Brannie looked up at her cousin. “What the battle-fuck did I do?”
“How many times have you gotten drunk one night, only to wake up the next day someplace else, with no idea how you got there?”
Brannie opened her mouth to argue that, but Aidan leaned in and whispered, “Let it go.”
He was right. Nothing Brannie said would convince Rhona that she was wrong on this point. She was a firm believer that the Cadwaladrs, as a whole, drank too much. And it was one thing to drink when you just had to get up the next morning to perform some basic army duties or handle guard duty. But when on a mission . . . there was no excuse for “that,” as she liked to call the Cadwaladr Clan’s love of heading out to a local pub and indulging in a few pints.
“You lot going off to do that again?” she’d ask with that tone.
Not that Rhona didn’t drink. She did and she did it well, but it’d better be the right time. And traveling on an important mission for the queens was not, in her mind, the right time.
“Now”—Rhona pointed at the triplets—“you three take first watch.”
That was met with eye rolls that had Rhona walking over to them, but the She-dragons were off the log and disappearing into the surrounding trees before their older sister could launch into one of her famous tirades.
“The rest of you get some sleep,” Rhona ordered. “I’ll wake you up when it’s time for your watch.”
“Are you going to get some sleep?” Brannie asked her.
“I will. But you know me.”
Brannie did. Her cousin slept like a house cat. Waking up the instant she heard a sound that she knew wasn’t normal. And as soon as she woke up, the dragoness was ready for battle.
Although Brannie often woke up swinging, she wouldn’t say she was necessarily ready for battle or even really awake. One time she was halfway through a battle before she realized that she hadn’t been dreaming but had actually been knee-deep among the enemy.
Brannie tossed the bones from her meal out into the woods so that the local animals could eat and gratefully took one of the bedrolls that Rhona provided her and the others. Sleeping on hard ground was not one of her favorite things. Unless, of course, she’d been drinking with her kin. Then, wherever Brannie landed would be her bed for the night.
As Brannie yawned and dropped her bedroll on the ground, she noticed Keita standing off to the side, staring up at the sky.
Brannie would never call her cousin pensive. Far from it. This was usually Keita’s time to shine. Flirting with the males and joking with the cousins. But she’d been of few words for hours now.
At first, Brannie was just going to get some sle
ep and leave her cousin to whatever her problems were, but . . . that simply didn’t feel right. She didn’t dislike Keita. She was annoyed by her. And some days she wanted to punch the little twat in the throat, but they were still kin.
Leaving her bedding, Brannie walked over to Keita, standing next to her.
“You all right, cousin?” she asked when Keita didn’t acknowledge her.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re worried about Ren,” Brannie guessed.
“Concerned.”
“We’ll do our best . . . to find him, I mean. Promise.”
Keita glanced at her, forced a smile. “I know.”
Keita headed to her own bedroll, which was placed near Uther and Caswyn because Brannie knew that pair would destroy anyone or thing that came too close to her cousin.
Brannie returned to her own bed and as she snuggled down, she saw that the always observant Aidan was watching her, his brows raised in question.
She only had to tilt her head a bit, shoulders giving a tiny shrug for him to understand her perfectly. Of course, they’d been in battle together for years now and Aidan had been protecting his Mì-runach brethren from her since the beginning. The dragon knew how to read her.
With a sweet, understanding smile, he stretched out on his own bedroll. Brannie followed suit, her hands behind her head, her gaze focused on the sky above.
Except for Caswyn’s intolerable snoring, it was a nice evening.
And probably the last one they’d have for a very long time.
Chapter Ten
It was late when Rhi tracked her great-aunt down, with her twin cousins following right behind.
They didn’t like to let her “go off by yourself. Who knows what trouble you’ll get into?”
Talan and Talwyn still acted as if she were five winters old. It was irritating. She could take care of herself, thank you very much!
But that said . . . she didn’t mind them attaching themselves to her when she had to face Brigida the Most Foul. That she’d rather not do on her own.
Brigida stood in a burnt-out clearing where giant trees used to live and thrive. She was in her dragon form, and a wounded horse was screaming as it tried to get away from the beast looming over it.
The She-dragon stared down at the poor animal, fighting to get back on its feet, but she didn’t attack right off. She stared first. And Rhi got the distinct feeling the old Dragonwitch was enjoying the animal’s suffering.
Rhi looked away as the twins stood on either side of her.
“Do it, Rhi,” Talan urged.
With a nod, Rhi crouched low and touched the burnt ground. She buried her fingers deep and closed her eyes. Power slipped from her fingers, cutting through the earth until it reached the horse. Its entire body tensed and it screamed out one last time before mercifully dying.
Talan crouched down beside Rhi and he also dug his fingers into the soil as she pulled hers free. His power, dark and uncompromising, flew from his hand, through the dirt, and into the horse. Its eyes turned red and the animal scrambled to its feet. It still bled from its many wounds and was no longer alive, but now undead.
Sucking her tongue against her fangs, Brigida glanced back at the three of them.
“Always ruining my fun, ain’tcha?”
“You don’t toy with an animal like that,” Rhi chastised. “It’s wrong and you know it.”
“Depends on who you pull your power from, little girl.” Sitting back on her hind legs, she used her forearm to grab her walking stick. It lengthened and grew until she had to use both front claws to handle it. “My masters don’t care what I do, as long as I make me sacrifices.”
Rhi had long ago stopped asking her great-aunt what sacrifices those were. She honestly didn’t want to know.
Walking away from Rhi and Talan, Talwyn moved closer to Brigida, crossing her arms over her chest. “Why are you here, Brigida?” she demanded.
“To help me kin,” Brigida replied before she slammed the end of her staff into the undead horse. She beat its head until it stopped moving.
“Don’t give us that centaur shit, old bitch,” Talwyn snapped. “We know you. Why are you really here? What do you hope to gain?”
Brigida didn’t answer right away. She was too busy picking up the horse’s undead remains and shoving it into her maw.
Rhi glanced at Talan, her face—she was sure—showing her full disgust. Everyone knew that the remains of a reanimated animal or human were not for eating. As soon as Talan’s magicks touched one of his victims, the soul was immediately forced out and the insides turned fetid.
But there Brigida was, gulping down that horse with ease. After a few minutes, she burped and happily stretched. As though she’d just dined on tea and cakes.
Flames exploded around the old She-dragon and she was in her human form again. She slipped on her wool dress and pulled on her gray cloak. Then, leaning heavily on her walking stick, she slowly limped her way over to them.
“Your grandfather will be here soon enough,” Brigida said as she moved. “I want to make sure we’re ready for him when the time comes.”
“If Grandfather comes here,” Rhi reminded her, “you know what he will do.”
“He’ll tear this land apart and rip the castle down around that fancy Lord Salebiri and his whore-wife Ageltrude.”
Brigida had been cutting past them when she said that last part and Talwyn quickly stepped in front of her, stopping Brigida in her tracks.
“You know who Ageltrude really is—why are you acting like you don’t? What are you up to?”
It was a sound question Rhi’s cousin asked. They’d known for years now that Salebiri’s wife Ageltrude was actually Vateria, last of the House of Atia Flominia and hated cousin of the Rebel King. Gaius had discovered her involvement with the Zealots and warned Rhiannon and Annwyl, because there was no way that Vateria was a true believer. She only loved herself.
Not only had she convinced her husband she was human and a loyal follower of Chramnesind, but they’d had children together. Offspring like Rhi and Talan and Talwyn, Abominations.
Brigida stepped into Talwyn, her face close. “What if I am up to something?” she asked, her voice low. “What will you do about it?”
Rhi and Talan were about to spring to Talwyn’s side, but just as they were both going to move, Brigida’s damaged eye, all milky white and painful looking, suddenly swiveled over in its eye socket and locked on the pair.
“That thing has a life of its own!” Talwyn had screamed more than once at them. And Rhi feared her cousin might be right.
“You three got much work to do,” Brigida said, now moving around Talwyn to go her own way. “Better get to it. There won’t be much time left once your grandfather gets here.”
They silently watched her walk away until Talwyn asked Brigida, “Where’s my mother?”
“How should I know?” was the reply they got back.
“Is she dead?”
“Maybe,” Brigida said with a shrug. “Then again . . . maybe not. Who knows with that woman?”
* * *
The three cousins returned to the tent and Fearghus felt his heart drop when they told him what had been said. Sadly, though, he wasn’t surprised. He knew that Brigida would never tell any of them what she might or might not know about Annwyl’s disappearance, but they’d all needed to try.
He refused to believe his mate was dead. That somehow, Zealots had gotten hold of her. He refused to believe it because if he did, he’d never get through this. And he knew Annwyl would want him to lead this fight in her absence because she’d told him that more than once.
So he put his heartache away and focused on the more important matters at hand.
“We need to be ready before your grandfather gets here. There’s always a chance Salebiri could be planning something. Has already moved on it.”
“We have legions heading to his castle to surround it,” Izzy told them, sitting on the big table with all the maps. ?
?ibhear sat on the ground, his head resting against the side of her leg. He hadn’t been himself since word came down that Branwen and his three Mì-runach brothers were missing, last seen heading to one of the mountains to take on a small group of Zealots. Most believed them already dead but bodies had yet to be found.
Then again, the debris from the fallen mountains went on for miles. They might never know what had happened to their kin and friends when everything was said and done. But Fearghus was sure that if Branwen could, she’d return to her soldiers.
Talwyn sat down on the armrest of Fearghus’s chair and rested her head against the top of his. She didn’t say anything, but she knew how he felt. Father and daughter had always understood each other.
Fearghus worried about the boy, though. He was as close to his mother as Talwyn was close to Fearghus. If something happened to her at the hands of the Zealots . . .
No. Best not to think of that, either. Not now. Not when they had plans to make, Zealots to kill. The idea of his only son becoming an evil necromancer kept him up some nights, but he hadn’t worried too much because Annwyl’s love had always kept their son from falling too far. But without her during his formative years . . .
They sat with their own thoughts for a long while until Rhi abruptly asked the room, “Anyone else worried about what Grandda is going to do once he gets here?”
“Gods, yes.”
“Blood will soak the lands for centuries.”
“The world is doomed.”
“I’ve given up hope. Just seems saner.”
She nodded. “Okay. Just wanted to make sure it wasn’t only me.”
The tent flap pulled back and a dirty and bruised Gwenvael stormed in.
“Bastards!” he roared. “They threw me into an endless pit!”
Rhi shook her pretty head at Briec. “Oh, Daddy.”
“It wasn’t just me,” Briec insisted. “It was Fearghus’s idea.”
Fearghus shrugged. “He asked for it.”
* * *