“Find something else to eat, demon.”
“It’ll eat you, human.”
Annwyl shrugged. “Probably.”
“Just move.”
“I can’t. I heard his pitiful cries and I . . . I just can’t.” She petted his stomach again. “He may be dying anyway. I can’t find any wounds. He’s clearly in distress. Maybe he’s just old. Why would you want to kill and eat something that’s old?”
The lead demon shook his head and the entire group began to back up. “It’s not old. It’s a baby.” He pointed behind Annwyl. “And you should run.”
Which was what the rest of them did. They ran.
But Annwyl couldn’t bring herself to move. Even as the ground shook beneath her feet and what she could only guess was the mother of the crying animal leaned her head around him and focused on Annwyl.
Annwyl stepped back, her gaze moving up to see the back of the mother as it towered over her offspring.
Then she moved to the side and saw more of the animals. This was a herd . . . that had come when they heard the youngest of their number crying for help. That’s what had drawn Annwyl. Just as her own children’s calls would pull her to them.
Of course, if Annwyl found some strange, armed woman standing over them . . . petting their stomachs . . . no. That would not end well. So probably not for her either.
The mother let out a threatening snort-snarl that had Annwyl quickly moving away. Then she nudged at her offspring until he got up. When he was on his feet, she pushed him toward the others of her herd before returning her gaze to Annwyl.
All Annwyl could think to do was raise her hands to show she meant no harm. “Sorry,” she said. “Just trying to help. Meant no offence.”
The mother leaned in close and sniffed Annwyl from head to foot and back again. Then she nudged her with her snout, sending Annwyl flying back about a hundred feet.
Annwyl hit the ground hard, but she didn’t complain. She saw that those fangs were much bigger than the babe’s. So the fact the mother didn’t bite her head off . . .
Annwyl pushed herself up until she was standing again and nodded at the She-beast.
“Thank you,” she called out. “For not killing me.”
Turning, Annwyl started back the way she’d come, but the beast made a noise and she glanced back, half-afraid she’d find it charging her. But it was moving its head to the side.
She changed direction and went where the She-beast indicated. Maybe this was the way out. Or just another entrance to another hell. Annwyl didn’t know. But why not try? It wasn’t like she had many choices at this point.
* * *
First there were only a few of them, watching her. But then more were drawn here from the other hells toward this place where they could look down from a high vantage point and watch what she did. Where she went. They’d all sensed her here, in this place. She was alive while they were all dead. It wasn’t fair and something they would not stand for.
She was always supposed to end up here, they all knew it, but it never occurred to them she’d end up here still alive . . . and vulnerable.
She headed away from the herd of corpse-eater cattle and they began to follow.
Because they’d waited long enough, lost in their brutal hells. And it was now her time to know suffering. To know true pain and horror.
Now she was here, and they could settle it.
Settle it and end it. For eternity.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Aidan woke up on his back, coughing dirt, sand, and water out of his lungs.
When the coughing subsided, he let out a breath, relieved he was alive. Until he remembered that he’d had Zoya Kolesova on his back.
Moving fast, he rolled out of the crater his body had created when it landed and turned back to look down into it.
Half-covered in dirt and sand was poor Zoya Kolesova, on her back, her arms and legs bent. Probably similar to the position she’d been in when they’d landed.
But Aidan lurched back when Zoya suddenly coughed, a plume of sand exploding from her mouth.
Shocked, Aidan leaned into the crater again and called out, “Zoya?”
The Rider coughed again . . . and sat up, shaking her head in an attempt to remove the dirt and sand from her eyes.
“How . . . I don’t . . .” Aidan was beyond words at this point.
“I am Zoya Kolesova of the Mountain Movers of the Lands of Pain in the Far Reaches of the Steppes of the Outerplains,” she announced. “And sometimes, when you move mountains, the mountains, they fall on you. If you cannot survive a few thousand pounds falling on you . . . what kind of weak Mountain Mover are you?”
“Uh . . . excellent point?”
“Of course it is.” She stood. “Now get me from this pit.”
Aidan reached down and grabbed Zoya’s arm, lifting her to level ground. Once she was safe, he concentrated on helping the others. He had to walk a bit across the beach until he reached them and the craters in the sand where each of the dragons had landed.
Caswyn and Uther were already awake and alert, doing their best to get their bulk up. The Riders were all alive, including Kachka.
Branwen, though, was still buried in the dirt, not moving. Keita knelt beside her.
Aidan arrived quickly at her side, standing opposite Keita.
The lightning bolt had torn open a spot underneath her right wing. It wasn’t bleeding, though, because the heat from the lightning had cauterized the wound.
He knelt beside her and pushed her hair off her brow. “Brannie? Brannie, can you hear me?”
She growled in response, her front claws digging into the sand, but her eyes remained closed and she didn’t get up.
“Aidan?” Keita said softly.
He looked at the princess and she was staring up. He followed her gaze and saw the women standing on the cliffs looking down at them. There were many of them and they didn’t seem disturbed that there were five dragons on their beach.
These women were all Eastlanders. If they knew dragons, they only knew Eastland dragons, which were very different from Aidan’s kind. So, at the very least, they should be reacting to that. But they weren’t.
“Who are they?”
“Warrior witches,” Keita replied. “Like the Kyvich and the Nolwenn.”
“What are they called?”
“Heaven’s Destroyers.”
Aidan admitted, “Their name suggests we might have an issue with them.”
Keita snorted. “If they wanted to kill us, Mì-runach . . . we’d be wet, sticky spots in the sand by now.”
“That information does not make me feel better.”
“I’ll handle them,” Keita said, “and you, Aidan, take care of my cousin.”
Keita shifted to human and stood, her long red hair covering her naked body. She motioned to the witches and walked away from Branwen.
Aidan snapped his claws at Uther and Caswyn and pointed at Keita. The two males shifted to human—their Rhona-provided chain mail shifting with them—and rushed after her to keep her safe.
Taking Brannie’s claw in his own, Aidan held it and watched the witches make their way down to the beach. Armed with swords and bows and arrows, the witches also carried staffs made from bamboo, each individually adorned with jewels and gold chains and items from nature, like large feathers from predatory birds and fangs from jungle cats. They used those staffs like they were walking sticks but Aidan knew better.
A witch with shoulder-length black hair that had gray and red strands peppered throughout, light brown skin, and catlike brown eyes stepped in front of the other witches and smiled at the royal.
“Princess Keita.”
“Lady Meihui. It’s delightful to see you again.”
“And you, Princess.” Meihui took Keita’s hand and held it, her smile for Keita alone.
Uther, eyes wide, glanced back at Aidan but he shook his head, indicating Uther should let it go. Aidan was not about to fall down this gopher hol
e over Keita’s past.
“So what brings you back to our shores, Princess?” Meihui asked, still holding Keita’s hand.
“I’m here to see the Empress, but the boat we took decided to pass through the Trail of Storms.”
Meihui snorted a laugh. “Let me guess . . . Northlanders?”
“What do you think?”
“Well, of course, we don’t mind you here, Princess, or your entourage . . . but we are concerned with”—using her staff, Meihui pointed at the Riders—“them.”
Before Kachka could stop her, Zoya stepped forward, hands slapping her chest. “Have something to say to me, decadent Eastlander? Come and talk to Zoya!”
Meihui sighed and released Keita’s hand. “See what I mean? Barbarians.”
“They’re part of my protection.”
The witch blinked. “Riders? Part of your protection? That’s . . . unusual.”
Keita stepped closer to Meihui and said low but quickly, “They’ve attached themselves to me and now I can’t really shake them. Can we just . . . overlook them? They’ve committed to me and I will make sure they cause you no problems.”
“Now, Keita, we know what your commitments are worth,” Meihui purred back.
“Come, come. That was decades ago. And it wasn’t my fault.”
“Still blaming Gwenvael then?”
“When it’s necessary.” Keita turned and gestured to the others. “Uther the Despicable. Caswyn the Butcher.”
“I do love Southland dragon names.”
“Aidan the Divine. And my cousin, Branwen the Awf—”
“Branwen?” Meihui suddenly asked, her back straightening, her gaze going immediately to Brannie. “Your cousin is Branwen the Awful?”
Keita glanced at Aidan, unsure where this was going. “Uh . . . aye. She’s my cousin.”
Meihui looked at the other witches and, as one, they pushed past Keita and descended on Branwen, surrounding her and Aidan.
Meihui leaned over Branwen’s wound, studied it. “This is deep.”
“Should we have her shift?” one of the witches asked their leader.
“No. That might kill her.” She leaned in. “We need a poultice.” She snapped her fingers and half the witches took off running.
“You need to move back so we can work,” Meihui said to Aidan.
“I’m not leav—”
Without even looking at him, Meihui waved her staff and it was as if someone grabbed him by the forearms and dragged him back several hundred feet.
Shocked, Aidan could only stare at the witches as they worked on Branwen. There weren’t a lot of human witches who could move his dragon form around like a leaf on the wind, and he wasn’t sure he wanted these women caring for a wounded Brannie. But it wasn’t like he had much choice.
Aidan shifted to human and went to Keita’s side. “Are you sure they can be trusted?” he asked the princess.
“She’ll be fine. Meihui and I are very old friends.”
“So I noticed.”
“My, my, we are judgey, aren’t we?”
“I’m not judging. Just wondering if Ragnar knows exactly what he’s gotten himself into.”
Keita let Uther place the cape he wore around her shoulders since any clothes she had in her travel bag were still soaking wet.
Wrapping the cape around her body, she told Aidan, “I can assure you, there’s nothing that Ragnar the Cunning does not know about me. And he accepts me despite it all.”
“Then you should make him your mate,” Uther said while also watching the witches take care of Brannie. “After all this time and twelve bloody hatchlings, it’s the least you can do.”
Aidan cringed, watching Keita slowly—so slowly—take a few steps forward and then turn so she faced Uther directly. Glaring up at him with those dark eyes.
Uther, oblivious as always, stared back. “What? What did I say?”
* * *
Keita was shown to a room in the Heaven’s Destroyers’ temple. She found parts of her old wardrobe tucked away in a wood chest.
She lifted a purple dress in front of her and smiled at her reflection in the tall mirror at the far end of the bedroom.
“I can’t believe you still have my clothes,” she said.
“How do you always know when I’m in the room?” Meihui asked from the doorway.
“Your scent.” She glanced back at her. “Lemon.”
“I work the grove every day. It calms me.”
“Really?” Keita stepped into the dress. “So all those rumors about you and your coven attacking the Darkest Night temples?”
Meihui sat on the bed, her arms stretched out behind her, long legs crossed at the ankles. “That’s none of your concern, Keita.”
“No, of course not.” She pulled the sleeves of the dress up her arms. “But I am curious. As always.”
“Your curiosity has always gotten you into trouble.”
“Very true.” She walked over to Meihui and turned. “Tie me up?”
Meihui stood and proceeded to lace up the back of Keita’s dress.
“I hear you have a mate now.”
“Something like that.”
“Do you like him?”
“I do . . . which is surprising. I never thought I would.”
“All done.”
Keita turned and smiled at her old friend.
Brushing Keita’s hair off her forehead, Meihui asked, “Why are you really here, Keita the Viper?”
“To see the Empress.”
Meihui leaned in close. “I truly hope I don’t have to kill you, my friend.”
“Me?” Laughing a little, Keita kissed Meihui on the cheek, then lifted her skirt and twirled a few times. “I forgot how much I used to love this dress!”
* * *
Brannie woke up human . . . but that was strange because she didn’t remember shifting to human.
She was stomach down on a bed with Aidan asleep in a chair beside her. Snoring.
“Not very royal.”
Gritting her teeth, Brannie took her time turning over and sitting up. She remembered well when that lightning bolt had hit her in the back and she was just grateful to be alive. She wasn’t about to risk her progress by jumping up and running around the room.
When she was sitting and comfortable, she got to her feet, again, taking her time. When the room was no longer spinning, she made her way over to a tall mirror on the other side. Brannie turned and tried to see her back. In her human form, the wound went from her shoulder to the back of her calf.
“If you’re wondering,” Aidan said from his chair, “your wing is fine.”
She had been wondering, and hearing that information . . . She closed her eyes and let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.
“Good. How long have I been out?”
“A day.” Aidan frowned, looked over his shoulder at the darkness outside. “Okay, maybe two. Barely.”
“How is everyone else?” she asked, heading back to the bed and carefully stretching out.
“The same. Fine. Mostly sleeping in, though.”
Brannie lay down on her back but it hurt; so she rolled over onto her stomach, using her elbows to raise her chest up a bit.
“Did I shift?” she asked.
“No,” he said on a yawn, stretching in the chair. “The witches shifted you to human after they took care of your wound while you were still dragon.”
“What witches?”
“Human warrior witches. Heaven’s Destroyers. We’re at their temple.”
“Never heard of them.”
“Your cousin seems to know the leader quite well.”
It was something in Aidan’s voice and, after a few seconds, Brannie caught on. “Oh. Yeah.” She shrugged. “Well, the one thing Ragnar must know is that Keita loves him, because she’s never stayed with anyone too long. Everyone bores her eventually.”
Brannie leaned her head down and dug her fingers into her hair, massaging her scalp for a bit
.
“Can I admit something to you?” she asked Aidan.
“You’re just relieved to be off that bloody boat?”
“By the gods, Aidan,” she gasped out, “you have no idea.”
The room door slid open and a woman stepped in. She was beautiful and tall and definitely in charge.
“You’re awake,” she announced.
“Branwen, this is Lady Meihui. Lady Meihui, Branwen the Awful of the Cadwaladr Clan, captain of the First and Fifteenth Companies.”
Brannie smirked at him. “You’re such a royal.”
“I know. It’s a flaw.”
“No introductions are needed for us,” the witch said, moving into the room. “We all know Branwen the Awful.” When Brannie cringed, she added, “Don’t worry. You didn’t kill anyone we know.”
“Well, that’s a relief. Always a bit awkward when you have . . . but you don’t know it until you’re face to face.”
“We’ve just heard a lot about you.”
That surprised Brannie. “You have? About me?”
“Of course. You’re the great Branwen the Awful.”
“I am?” She heard Aidan chuckle. “Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything!”
Meihui leaned over Brannie and studied her back. Fingers prodded the wound.
“It’s healing very nicely, Captain.”
“Brannie’s fine. Everybody calls me Brannie.”
“All right, Brannie. You’ll need to stay another day. Maybe two before you can head inland to Emperor’s City.”
Brannie looked at Aidan. “Do we have time for that?”
“We’ll make time.”
“Is there a rush?” Meihui asked.
Aidan gave his most charming smile. “Not at all. Captain Branwen just hates to dawdle. Military logic.”
“Of course.” Meihui moved back to the door. “I’ll be sending up some medicinal tea. It tastes awful, but drink all of it anyway. It’ll help the healing.”
“All right.”
“And your Riders . . . we put them out in the stables because they annoyed me.”
Meihui walked out, closing the sliding door behind her.
Brannie and Aidan were silent for a long moment until Aidan noted, “At least the Riders like horses.”
Laughing, Brannie buried her face into her pillow.