Yet it wasn’t just the skil that startled him. It was the joy on her face while she worked and laughed with her father. It was that thing that had been missing when he watched her fol owing orders and flying into battle.
“My,” his mother murmured. “She’s quite . . . hearty.” She glanced up at him. “A Cadwaladr, I’m assuming.”
“We traveled here together.”
“And you like her.”
“Not real y,” he blatantly lied. “She just needs protection and like a true Northlander, it’s my duty to protect helpless females.”
“Helpless?” His mother looked over at Rhona. The Fire Breather lifted the sword she worked on, stil glowing bright from the heat. The grin on her face, the light in her eyes . . . it was a beautiful sight to behold. Rhona put the blade in water to cool and caught another weapon her father tossed at her. A good-sized battle-ax. She swung it a few times, then threw it, the blade imbedding into the stuffed head of the practice dummy standing in the corner.
His mother nodded. “Oh, yes. I see now, my son. She’s extremely helpless.” Chapter 10
Rhona stopped not far from the Garbhán Isle gates. The gates lined with Kyvich witches keeping watch. She’d forgotten how imposing the human females could be.
In one lone line, they snaked around the top of the gate wal s, a shorter spear cal ed a pilum gripped in each witch’s hand. Considering it was winter, they wore little clothes. Mostly animal skins and bits of armor covering the important areas and arteries. But it was the black tattoos that marked their faces and/or necks. There was no uniformity in those markings or in the way the females dressed or looked—and yet there was no doubt they were a unified army. A deadly and wel -trained one that had no mercy, no heart, and no loyalty but to those their gods had chosen for them.
“Disturbing to look at, aren’t they?” the Lightning asked as he stepped up beside her. She’d lost track of him while she’d worked in her father’s forge, learning al sorts of new and wonderful blacksmithing techniques. “They’ve been around for at least a mil ennia in the Ice Lands and they’ve been feared since the beginning.”
“Can they real y be trusted?”
“They fol ow the dictates of their gods without question.”
“So then the answer is no. They can’t be trusted.”
Vigholf laughed. “Not a fan of the gods then?”
“I cal them if I need them, but I’d be a fool to trust them.”
“I like the war gods.”
Rhona crossed her eyes. “Of course you do.”
“So”—Vigholf faced her—“would you like to have dinner tonight with me and my mother?”
“No.”
He scowled. “Why not?”
“Wel , first off I’m having dinner with my father, and second . . . no.”
“You don’t like my mother,” he accused.
“I don’t know your mother.”
“And you never wil . . . unless you have dinner with us.” His grin was wide . . . and a tad ridiculous—in an annoyingly adorable way. “Bring your father.”
“You’re getting stranger every day, I just want to make that clear.”
“That’s not a no to my dinner invitation.”
At that point, Rhona was going to walk away, but that soft sound caught her attention first. A sound they both heard.
After so much combat, it wasn’t surprising they both moved quickly, turning to face the smal storage building on the left side of their path. Rhona dropped to a crouch, the tip of her wonderful new spear pointed directly in front of her. Vigholf stayed tal , his warhammer held high in one hand, a battle-ax in the other. She’d seen him use both at the same time to devastating effect for the enemy.
Vigholf motioned to her with a dip of his head and Rhona, keeping low, moved forward, the Lightning guarding her rear.
Then it came at them from the brush that lined the side of the building. Teeth snapping, smal blade slashing. Reacting without thought, as Northlanders had been trained to do in combat, Vigholf stepped in front of Rhona, hammer raised high, but she slammed into his side, sending him stumbling a few feet away.
“What the holy hells—”
Rhona reached out and caught hold of their attacker, lifting it in the air, and holding it up so the Lightning could see it.
“It seems my cousin’s offspring takes after his Great-Grandfather Ailean. He liked the surprise attack as wel , according to me mum.” The boy, seeing he was wel and truly caught, burst into dramatic tears and Rhona sighed. “And, sadly, he takes after his Uncle Gwenvael. This is Talan,” she reminded Vigholf. “Fearghus and Annwyl’s son who we’ve rushed here to protect.”
“I remember. But where’s the girl? Talwyn?” Vigholf demanded, his gaze searching, an air of anxiety rippling around him. “Where there’s the boy, there’s his sister.”
Rhona shook the boy she stil held. “Where is she, little snake?”
He wailed louder and Rhona glanced up at the Kyvich to make sure they weren’t taking any of this seriously. And although they watched her and Vigholf closely, they made no moves to step in. Good. They knew their place. They may be protectors, but Rhona was family.
“For the love of the gods,” a voice said from behind them, “stop the wailing.” Rhona smiled and faced the centaur. “Hel o, Ebba. How’s the nanny business going for you?”
“I won’t say they’re unmanageable,” the pretty centaur told them as they slowly made their way back toward the castle. “But they are the reason I’m paid so wel .” She smiled. “I’ve already bought land near the ocean. Lovely view.” She walked a few more feet and stopped next to a tree with a large hole beside the base.
An empty hole.
“Uh-oh.”
Vigholf didn’t like the sound of that at al . “Uh-oh?”
“I left Talwyn here.”
“You left a child buried in the ground?” Rhona demanded.
“She was just buried up to her neck. Besides, I didn’t put her in there. He did.” The centaur pointed at the boy. “Didn’t you, little monster?” Stil held by the back of his trousers by Rhona, Talan grinned.
“Of course,” Ebba observed. “She’s loose now. And she’l be coming for you, little monster.” The boy’s grin faded.
“Are you staying long, Rhona?” Ebba asked as they continued heading to the castle.
“No. I’m leaving in the morning. Back to the Val ey.”
“Good. The sooner this war ends, the sooner these little monsters get their parents back.” She lovingly smiled at the boy. “And I can final y take a bloody holiday.”
Rhona had known Ebba for years. She’d met her mother, Bríghid, when she’d taken over the care of Keita for that short time. It was strange how the much smal er centaurs made such good caregivers for young dragons, though their powers were legendary and they tolerated no fools.
Although Rhona had never seen it, she’d heard that an army of centaurs could devastate kingdoms when pushed too far. Anyone’s kingdom. The problem, though, was to get centaurs as a group to agree on anything. So there weren’t many times that they chal enged any kingdoms but their own.
They neared the steps that would lead into the Great Hal , and Rhona glanced around and said, “Al this . . . preparation?”
“Our Battle Lord is quite cautious,” Ebba explained, speaking of Dagmar. “The local merchants have al been moved to nearby towns and only those who live here, are invited by those who live here, or are part of the Queen’s army are al owed entry. Everyone takes the children’s safety very seriously.” They walked up the stairs to the castle’s Great Hal . “Although I don’t know why.” Rhona stopped right in the doorway. “Why would you say that?”
Ebba had only a chance to raise a brow before the boy was ripped from Rhona’s hand by his dirt-covered sister. She attacked silently, only growling once the pair had hit the floor in a flurry of fists and sibling rage.
The girl, glaring like Rhona’s Uncle Bercelak, got her brother on his back and head-butted him. Twice.
“Awww,” Rhona observed, feeling nostalgic. “Just like our Aunt Ghleanna.”
“I need to eat,” Vigholf announced, apparently not feeling nostalgic at al .
“He constantly needs to be fed,” Rhona complained, watching her young cousins rol ing across the floor.
“Should I starve instead?”
“Yes.” She watched the twins a bit longer. “Should we separate them?”
Ebba pul ed a red dress over her now-human form. “If you’d like.”
Rhona reached down and took hold of the siblings, yanking them apart. It didn’t stop them from trying to rip each other into shreds, though. “Are they like this al the time?”
“Only when they’re not torturing others.”
“Do they speak?” Rhona had yet to hear anything from the pair but snarling, snapping, and growling. It was disconcerting.
“Only to each other and only in whispers.” Ebba brushed her long, reddish brown hair from her face. “We try not to be terrified by that.”
“I need to eat,” Vigholf said again.
Rhona faced him, shaking the snarling children for emphasis. “Can you not see we’re talking?”
“About babysitting.” And he grinned at her when he said it. “Shocking.”
Her eyes narrowed, daring him to cal her that blasted nickname.
There were screams from the courtyard and panicked humans running. “How nice.” Ebba took the children from Rhona’s hands. “Queen Rhiannon’s here.”
“Oh,” Rhona said. She glanced at Vigholf, but he was already staring at her. She nodded and said, “I have to go. Need to clean up, meeting my father for dinner.”
“Me too,” Vigholf chimed in. “What I mean is . . . meeting my father. Wait, no, he’s dead.”
“Your mother. You’re meeting your mother.”
“Right, right. Mum.”
And with that, they scattered. It wasn’t dignified or remotely brave, but it was necessary because neither of them wanted to face the queen.
“Ren can have the portal open in a day,” Keita explained to Dagmar, Talaith, and the Kyvich leader, Ásta.
“And then what?” Dagmar asked.
“I’m not going to—”
Dagmar raised a finger, stopping Talaith’s potential tirade. “And then what?” she asked Keita again.
“He takes them to the Eastlands. They’l be safe there. His parents wil be happy to help.” She smiled. “They adore me.”
“I’m sure they do. But that doesn’t mean they’l adore the children.”
“While I appreciate your eagerness to help, Princess,” Ásta cut in, “I wil not al ow you or this foreigner to take the children from our care.” Keita’s eyes narrowed and Dagmar warned, “Don’t you dare unleash flame in this room, Keita.”