“Not even close.”
Talaith had grown tired of this big bitch barking at her like she were a small child and, as usual, Talaith’s mouth ran much faster than her sense. “Is there anything I should call you? Or should I just grunt and point in your direction?”
When the men and witch all stared at her, she had a feeling she might have gone too far—again.
Slowly, Annwyl turned back to her. Talaith had a feeling very few people said much to the Blood Queen of Garbhán Isle.
But, instead of taking her head or cursing her to those nasty pits she seemed so fond of sending people to, the queen smiled. A really sweet smile, taking Talaith completely by surprise. “I think Annwyl will do, don’t you?”
“Uh…” Talaith shrugged “Yes?”
Her smile broadened. “Yes. And you best come with us.”
“What? Why?” Well that was definitely not the right response, but Annwyl—nor Arzhela—appeared to notice.
“Annwyl,” the witch murmured. “I’m sure that Talaith has somewhere else to—”
“You think this was the only band of scavengers roaming these forests, sister?” Annwyl cut in quickly. “They’re one of many. You know that better than most.” To Talaith she said, “Come with us now. We’ll get you some food and some safety. You can decide what you want to do from there. All right?”
She made it sound like a request, but Talaith knew better. Dread filled Talaith’s being. Most of the gods knew she shouldn’t go. But she had no choice.
She had absolutely no choice.
* * *
Briec stared out over his land. As human he sat at the very edge of the highest entrance to his cave. He knew eventually his brothers would arrive, and when they sat next to him, one on either side, he wasn’t surprised. And, he had to admit at least to himself, he was quite grateful.
“What happened?” Éibhear asked.
“What does it look like? She left me.”
Gwenvael leaned over to stare down at the sheer drop to ground level. “Planning to throw yourself from here as human and end it all?”
“Of course not.” He let out a deep sigh. “I just got home, truth be told. I’ve been looking for her for days.”
Éibhear raised one leg and rested his arm on it. “Why did she leave?”
Briec’s head dropped forward in abject misery. “I don’t know.”
He sensed more than saw Gwenvael lean down a bit to get a good look at his face. “Are you really that upset?”
Bellowing in fury, he turned on his brother, “Do I look happy to you?”
His brother held his hands up. “Calm down. I was just asking. I didn’t realize you’d become that attached.”
“How could you not see that?” Éibhear asked. “Lofal the Blind One could have seen that.”
“When has Briec ever cared about a female beyond the bedding?”
“Talaith was different,” Briec seethed.
“Ah, yes. The woman whose name you didn’t even care to know at first.”
“Shut up, Gwenvael. Or you’ll quickly find out if your human body can fly.”
“You sure you’re just not mad because she had the audacity to leave you—Briec the Mighty?”
Normally Briec would shove his brother’s face into the dirt, but he didn’t even feel like doing that. For four days he searched everywhere he could think of for her and nothing. Not even a trace of her. Finally, he gave up and returned back to his lair, which suddenly seemed way too big and extremely lonely. He didn’t realize how much he’d come to enjoy her very presence. The scent of her. Her voice. Her extremely acid tongue. The way she kept tripping on his tail.
But, he kept reminding himself, she left him. She left him when he hadn’t done anything wrong. And she’d actually seemed damn happy when with him. If she hadn’t been, she should have told him in that rude way she had.
“Aren’t you going to hit him?” Éibhear asked.
“I don’t feel like it.”
“Good gods.” Gwenvael stood. “This is worse than we thought, Éibhear. Up, brother.” Gwenvael grabbed Briec’s arm and pulled him to his feet. “There is only one answer for this.”
“Which is?”
“Drinking and eating. The whoring will keep until we get you good and drunk. By the time we’re done, brother, you won’t even remember her name that you didn’t even care to know in the first place.”
Now, why did he doubt that?
* * *
This wasn’t what she expected. Never, in her wildest dreams.
This…this was the Blood Queen of Garbhán Isle? Scourge of the Madron lands? Destroyer of Villages? Demon Killer of Women and Children? She who had blood pacts with the darkest of gods?
This was Annwyl the Bloody?
Talaith watched, fascinated, as Annwyl held onto Morfyd the Witch’s wrists. Morfyd—the Black Witch of Despair, Killer of the Innocent, Annihilator of Souls, and all around Mad Witch of Garbhán Isle or so she was called on the Madron lands—had actually tried to sneak up on Annwyl to put ointment on the nasty wound the queen had across her face. But as soon as the warrior saw her, she squealed and grabbed hold of her. Now Annwyl lay on her back, Morfyd over her, trying her best to get Annwyl to stop being a ten year old.
“If you just let me—”
“No! Get that centaur shit away from me, you demon bitch!”
“Annwyl, I’m not letting you go home to my brother looking like that. You look horrific.”
“He’ll have to love me in spite of it. Now get off!” She shoved and Morfyd tumbled back right into Brastias’ arms. And he looked damn pleased to have her right there.
“That’s it.” Morfyd stood, straightened her robes and glared at Annwyl. “You’ve asked for this.”
“Don’t you dare-“
But the spell was unleashed, flying across the small campsite, lifting Annwyl and slamming her back against the tree behind her. Then it pinned her there.
Now Morfyd sauntered over to her. “If you’d given me two seconds, we could have been done with this, but you had to be difficult.”
“I hate you.”
“Join the queue.”
“Vicious cow.”
“Argumentative harpy.”
Morfyd carefully rubbed the cream over Annwyl’s fresh scar. Once done, she spit a counter-spell and Annwyl hit the ground.
“Ow!”
“Crybaby.”
No, this isn’t what Talaith expected. Annwyl the Blood Queen was supposed to be a vicious, uncaring warrior bent on revenge and power. She let her elite guard rape and pillage wherever they went, and she used babies as target practice while their mothers watched in horror.
That’s what she was supposed to be and that’s what Talaith expected to find. Instead, she found Annwyl. Just Annwyl. A warrior who spent most of her resting time reading or mooning over her consort. She was silly, charming, very funny, and fiercely protective of everyone. Her elite guard, all handpicked by Annwyl, were sweet, vicious fighters and blindingly loyal to their queen.
And then there was Morfyd. A taller woman she’d never met, with a power Talaith envied. She had monumental control, the kind Talaith had only seen with the older, more powerful Nolwenn witches. Morfyd’s beautiful face spoke of many young years. Perhaps no more than thirty winters. If that.
With a sigh, Morfyd sat beside her on the tree stump. “She makes me insane.”
“Like family.”
Morfyd smiled. “Exactly.”
Wiping off the ointment she’d used on Annwyl with a dry cloth, Morfyd asked, “Are you cold, sister?” Morfyd had been calling her sister since she met her. She seemed to know she was a witch. Though not a very powerful one.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because you haven’t taken off those gloves in two days.”
Of course she hadn’t. A witch of Morfyd’s power only need take her bare hand and she’d know all there was to know about Talaith’s past, from her first breath at birth to her last gasp with Briec. Because she hadn’t had any training in the witch arts for the last sixteen years, Talaith had no idea how to keep her out.
“I am very chilled, sister,” she lied.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“No worries.”
“No worries about what?” Annwyl sat on the other side of Talaith, handing each some dried beef and a large chunk of bread. The battle she’d just waged with Morfyd already forgotten.
“Talaith is chilled.”
Annwyl sighed. “I’m sorry, Talaith. I know we’ve been living rough these few days, but we’ll be home soon enough. All the rooms in the castle have a built-in pitfire. It’s nice.”
Good gods. The woman wasn’t merely taking her back to Dark Plains, she was planning to put her up at Garbhán Isle as well.
“I’m fine, Annwyl. Really.”
“When we stop for the night, you can sleep in my tent.”
Panic swept through Talaith like wildfire. “That’s not nec—”
Annwyl waved her argument away with a scarred hand. The woman had many scars. “It’s nothing, Talaith. Really. But, of course, it’s up to you.”
“She snores,” Morfyd warned.
“I do no such thing!” Annwyl yelled back.
“Like a bull in rutting season.”
“When we get back to Garbhán Isle…don’t speak to me.”
“Trust me, Annwyl, that will be a pleasure.”
Talaith would have loved to enjoy their argument, but she couldn’t. Not when it took all her strength not to start shaking.
* * *
Talaith stood outside the back of Annwyl’s tent. Again, she swallowed down her nausea and thought only of her daughter. At the moment, that was all that kept her moving forward. With another quick glance around, Talaith crouched low and burrowed her way between the tent and the ground until she was inside.
She stood and walked over to Annwyl. The woman slept soundly. One arm thrown over her head, the other laying near the floor. Barefoot, she still wore her leggings. And her bindings all she wore on top. Several large blade wounds covered her upper torso and lots of tiny ones covered those. All old and long-ago healed.
The strangest thing was the markings over her collarbone. These marks were of an ancient and intricate design and were light brown against her sun-darkened skin. They resembled a faint tattoo or old brand and Magick radiated off it. Some kind of protection. Perfect.
Her long brown hair lay loose around her and she’d kicked the covers off so that they rested on the floor.
She looked peaceful.
Again Talaith closed her eyes, shutting out everything but the thought of her daughter. This sacrifice would save her daughter and that’s all that mattered.
Keeping that in her mind, she raised the dagger—tightly gripped in both her hands—over Annwyl’s chest. Right over the protective brand on her chest. With a prayer to any god but Arzhela to save whatever may be left of her soul, she brought it down with all the force she could muster.