“I say we should have let Éibhear kill the bastard.” Talaith rubbed her eyes with the tips of her fingers. She adored her mate, truly she did. But there simply was no grey area for him. There was only black, white, and annoying.
“Killing him seems a little harsh,” she reminded Briec. “It’s not like he forced Izzy to do anything.”
“All I know is Celyn can’t stay here,” Fearghus insisted. “Don’t want him here. Eating our food. Using our clean water so his oozing wounds can heal.”
“You’re all being ridiculous,” Morfyd said. “We can’t throw him out.”
Gwenvael, the only one sitting down, tossed his feet up on the table.
“I’ve been thrown out for less, don’t see why he shouldn’t be.” Dagmar raised a finger. “If you have nothing of use to add to this conversation, Defiler, then quiet.”
“It’s not like we’re telling him to leave the Southlands completely,” Fearghus argued, probably thinking he was being quite generous.
“I think he should leave the Southlands completely.” Briec pointed at the two Northlanders feeding at the other end of the table. “He can go back to that shit-hole of a territory with those two idiots.” Talaith winced and mouthed to their now-scowling guests, Sorry.
Éibhear ran into the hall.
“You should have killed him,” Briec said again before his brother could utter a word.
“What’s wrong?” Fearghus asked.
“I don’t know, really.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“Lord Ragnar told me to come and get you.”
Gwenvael’s feet hit the floor. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I was looking for Keita and, you know”—he shrugged—“figured if what everyone was saying was true, he’d know where she was, but then he asked me if I’d seen Keita. The way he was acting—it was like she’d vanished right in front of him.”
Talaith shook her head. “This can’t be good.”
“Everyone calm down,” Morfyd cut in. “She probably ran off because she couldn’t stand the sight of him anymore. You know how she is.”
“Perhaps we shouldn’t assume that our baby sister simply vanished during a conversation merely to get away from him.” Fearghus pointed at Gwenvael. “Go check behind the guard houses. Briec, check the—”
“Wait. Wait,” Morfyd said with an annoyed sigh. “Give me a moment to check for her.”
Morfyd closed her eyes, and Talaith watched the tendrils of Magick that surrounded the dragoness at all times lift away from her body and stretch out in all directions. It was a beautiful and amazing thing to witness, and a shame only a few could actually see it.
“Will this take long?” Gwenvael asked. “I’m already bored.”
“I say we rip the scabs off our cousin…to pass the time,” Briec suggested.
Morfyd’s eyes snapped open, and she looked around the room. “Oh, gods.”
Talaith slipped off the table where she’d been sitting. “What is it?”
“Elestren.”
A moment of stunned silence followed, all of them staring at each other. Then they were running for the Great Hall doors.
Not wanting to slow them down, Talaith and Dagmar followed, even though they had no intention of going anywhere.
Briec stopped by the Northlanders, sizing them up before he asked, “You’ll watch out for them, until we return?” Vigholf—Talaith could only tell the Lightning apart from his cousin because of his short hair—nodded once. Briec glanced back at Talaith and then bolted out the door.
Meinhard—he had the longer hair and the slightly bigger head—looked up and asked, “Think we can we get more food while we’re watching out for you?”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Keita landed hard, her shoulder shoved out of place, two of her talons breaking. Groaning, she rolled onto her back, but the rope around her throat, made out of extra-strong steel, tightened and yanked her to her knees.
“Come, come, cousin. I thought you were tougher than this.” Keita had shifted to dragon as soon as her cousin looped the rope around her neck and yanked her off the ground like a sack of grain. Elestren hadn’t taken her far, but she was in a cave she didn’t recognize. It was well lit with torches and multiple pit fires. Something told Keita this was a meeting place. But meeting for what, she probably didn’t want to know.
Elestren grabbed Keita by the hair, snatching her head back. “Did you think you could betray your queen and there would be no repercussions from us, princess?”
When Keita didn’t answer her question, Elestren shoved her forward again. Keita’s head bounced against the floor, and for a few brief minutes, everything went black.
When she woke again, more dragons had arrived. Two Elders and several of the Queen’s Royal Guard. Keita noticed that her father was not among them.
“She’s the queen’s daughter, Elestren,” Elder Teithi was in the midst of arguing.
“And a traitor. She protected Esyld and met with those two idiots we know for a fact are trying to remove the queen from the throne.” Elestren walked around Keita. “I’m not saying she should die. But we can’t allow her to be roaming free, working against us.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“We take her to the desert borders. My cousins will keep her busy at the salt mines until this is straightened out.” Damn. Now she understood where she was. The meeting place of the Royal Guard Council. They chose those who earned a place among her mother’s guard—and judged those who broke the guard’s rules. In theory, the Council should only be judging members of the royal guard, not a royal.
But Keita sensed that a real trial was the last thing her cousin would allow at the moment.
“You mean hold her captive.”
“If it keeps our queen safe…”
“He blames me,” Izzy said, when she knew she could speak without blubbering.
“Of course he blames you. That’s what they do. As sweet as our Éibhear is, he’s still his father’s son. He’s still male.”
“I should have hit him harder with that shield.” Chuckling, Annwyl dropped to the ground in the middle of the field, and began sharpening her sword with a stone. “I’m still amazed you could pick that bloody shield up.”
“It was just a practice shield.”
“For dragons, Izzy. A practice shield for dragons.” Izzy shrugged, gazing across the field and into the surrounding woods.
She sat down beside Annwyl, relieved to be out of the fortress, at least for a little while. Away from Éibhear and Celyn.
“It’ll be all right, Izzy.”
“It will never be all right. Those two will make up, and I’ll be relegated to the whore who got between cousins.”
“You think Celyn will walk away from you that easily?” Annwyl grasped Izzy’s chin, tugging until Izzy had to look at her. “Or is that what you’re hoping?”
Frustrated, Izzy shook off her aunt’s hand. “Everyone acts like Celyn is supposed to Claim me as his own now.”
“Is that what you want?”
“No.”
“So it’s what you want from Éibhear.”
Izzy gave a snort of disgust. “I want nothing more than to see the back of him.”
“Is that so?”
“He judged me like he had a right. Like he has some say in my life.”
“You don’t want Celyn. You don’t want Éibhear. What do you want, Izzy the Dangerous?”
Now she looked at her queen without fear or shame, and admitted the truth. “I want to be your squire.”
“I have a squire,” Annwyl said flatly. “He’s fat now.” Shocked, Izzy giggled. “Annwyl!”
“He is. Wonderful with horses, though. My Violence loves him.” She glanced at the enormous black beast calmly grazing on the grass several feet from them. “But my squire’s fat, and that’s because I don’t go anywhere. I don’t do anything. If you become my squire, Izzy, all your talent will go to waste. I won’t have that, luv. Not for you.”
“So you won’t being going to face the Sovereigns in the west?” Izzy asked, having heard her parents talking the night before.
Annwyl shrugged, pulling her knees up so she could wrap her arms around her legs. “I’ll send legions to meet Thracius head on.”
“Is that what you want?”
“At the moment that’s all I can have, Izzy.” The horse pawed the ground, shook his head.
Annwyl gave a little laugh. “As you can see, my Violence doesn’t like the sound of that at all.”
Eyes on Violence, Izzy frowned, not sure Annwyl’s words were the horse’s concern at all.
“Izzy.”
Her queen’s voice was soft when she said her name, so soft Izzy might have missed it if she weren’t right next to her. But Izzy heard the fear and slowly looked away from Violence.
They’d come out of the trees, but Izzy had heard no sound. They moved like death. And yet there were so many of them, Izzy couldn’t even count the number. Izzy had never seen anything like them before.
Animal skins and leather barely covered hard, muscular bodies that had seen many battles. And they all bore many tattoos. No tattoo the same.
Some of them wore them on their arms, their thighs, their chests, but absolutely all of them had tattoos on their faces. Black, tribal markings disturbed only when facial wounds had left scars.
Most were on foot, but a good forty were mounted, with large doglike creatures beside each one.
What they rode were like horses, but Izzy had never seen any so wide, their oversized muscles rippling as they stood restlessly, swinging their heads to the ground so their horns could dig in to the dirt. Izzy had the feeling the digging was their way of sharpening those horns. And their eyes were blood red. The doglike animals also had horns, but their horns curled inward like the rams Izzy liked to chase on the Western Mountains. Unlike the large dogs Dagmar bred and raised, though, these things were bigger.
Some looked close to three hundred pounds, all of it hard muscle and flesh.
Like something coughed up from the underworld.
Yet none of that disturbed Izzy as much as what were being held back by thick chain and collar. While the dogs had no leash and the horses had no saddles, these things were controlled by the thick metal collars around their throats and the chains being held by their captors. These had no horns, no otherworldly eyes, no bulging, overdeveloped muscles—and that was because they were men. Human men frothing at the mouth, more than eager to kill. Men who’d lost their minds and humanity long, long ago.
Slowly, Annwyl got to her feet, her gaze locked not on the entire legion before her but on the one who rode at the head. A woman. A witch.
Izzy might not be one like her mother and sister, but she could spot one. She could spot them all.
“Izzy,” Annwyl said again, her voice now stronger. “Go.”