Chapter Five
“Why isn’t Uncle Gwenvael back yet?” Talwyn asked her father.
“He’ll be along.”
She didn’t trust her father’s glib reply but she was just so glad to see him, she decided not to argue. Instead she hugged him again and desperately attempted to ignore the ridiculous drama going on several feet from her.
“Oh, Daddy!” Rhi cried. “It was horrible! Horrible!”
“My poor, perfect, perfect daughter!” Uncle Briec glared over Rhi’s shoulder at Talwyn. “I thought I told you to protect my perfect offspring, demon child!”
“She’s breathing, isn’t she?” Talwyn told him, one eyebrow purposely raised to antagonize him. Because, honestly, was all this necessary?
Had her cousin been through a lot? Yes. Of course. Talwyn would never deny that. But she was still alive and breathing so all the sobbing and accusations were more than Talwyn would ever be willing to tolerate.
“Of course,” she felt the need to add, “if you want your perfect, perfect daughter not to suffer, I can always put a pillow over her head when she’s asleep. And all her troubles will be gone”—she snapped her fingers—“like that.”
Now she had father and daughter glaring at her.
“Why do you have to be so horrible?” Rhi demanded, her arms still around her father’s big neck, her tiny feet miles from the ground because he was still holding her up like she was a fragile doll.
The kind Talwyn had used for archery practice when she was a five-year-old.
“Because my daddy loves me whether I’m perfect or not,” Talwyn replied. “So, I can be as horrible as I want.”
Laughing, her father kissed the top of her head. “I adore you.”
She shrugged at her cousin. “See?”
Lips a thin, angry line, Rhi patted her father’s shoulder, telling him to let her down.
He lowered her carefully—again, as if she were fragile glass. She smoothed the skirt she insisted on wearing over leather leggings and nodded at Talwyn’s father. “Uncle Fearghus.”
He put his arm around his niece’s shoulders and hugged her close. “My little Rhi. I’m sorry you were hurt.”
“I’m fine, Uncle. And thank you for caring,” she added, her eyes widening at Talwyn.
“What did you want me to do while you were bleeding from the eyes? Lick it off?”
“Och! You’re disgusting.”
“And you’re a spoiled brat!”
“I’m spoiled?”
“Daddy!” Talan called out, barreling through the tent flap, arms spread wide, his trajectory straight for their father.
But her father was fast as well and he held out his arm, palm up, his expression cautionary.
“No,” Fearghus told Talan.
“Just a hug.”
“No.”
“I bet you hugged Talwyn,” Talan accused.
“I love her.”
Talwyn laughed at that as Rhi quickly stepped between father and son. Although she didn’t really have to. Talan enjoyed tormenting their father with forced affection. It made Fearghus the Destroyer incredibly uncomfortable, and anything that made their stoic father uncomfortable entertained her brother endlessly.
“We don’t have time for this,” Rhi announced. “We are in grave trouble here, and we need a plan. Yes?”
Fearghus nodded. “There already is a plan.”
Talan immediately looked at her, but all Talwyn could do was shrug at his unasked question.
“What plan is that?” Talan asked.
“We weren’t given full details. Not yet,” Briec admitted. “But it will involve our father. Bercelak the Great will be joining the battle.”
There was a long moment of silence as the youngest of the family let the information their fathers had imparted to them sink in. Then they each had their own reaction.
Talwyn swung her fist, gritted her teeth, and growled, “Yessssssss!”
Talan cringed like he’d been kicked in the balls.
And Rhi burst into copious tears, wailing, “Father, nooooooo!”
* * *
“They left us here to die,” Uther said again. “Where’s the loyalty?”
“They left the horses. I’m sure they’ll be back.” Caswyn let his friend use his working arm to lift him up enough to get a drink of the stream water he so desperately needed.
He was just about to take a sip when small hands slapped the metal cup from Uther’s hands.
“Oy!” Uther barked, until he saw who stood before them. “Princess Keita?”
“Don’t drink from the stream.” She held out her hand and snapped at Brannie and Aidan, who were walking toward them all—from where? Uther had no idea, but Aidan carried chain mail armor and boots. “Give me one of your canteens, Branwen.”
Handing the canteen to Aidan, Brannie motioned for him to help Uther while she kept walking.
And she continued walking until she reached the princess. That’s when she spun Keita around, slipped her hands under her arms, and lifted the princess off the ground until they were at eye level.
“Don’t think for a moment, cousin, that you are in charge. Because you’re not.”
“I’m a princess! And put me down, you giantess!”
Brannie shook Keita hard, shocking the royal into near-silence.
“Why, you—”
“Listen well, cousin, this little adventure that is pulling me away from my troops, from my friends, and kin, will be run by me. The Mì-runach report to me. You report to me. That is the only way this is happening. If you fight me on this . . . if you get lippy, complain, try to poison us—”
“I just saved them from poisoning!”
“—or get on my nerves in any way—”
“What?” Keita boldly demanded. “What will you do to me? Kill me? Scar me? Do you think there’s really anything that you, peasant, can do to me? A daughter of the House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar!”
“I’ll tell your father . . . everything.”
The princess, dangling from her much larger cousin’s hands, snorted a laugh.
“Tell him what? My father has no delusions about me. He already knows everything about—”
“He knows you poisoned him?”
Keita’s eyes widened, her mouth hanging open. “Wha-what?”
“Oh, yes. I know about that. All those days poor Uncle Bercelak was sick . . . after eating one of your victims.”
“That was an accident.”
“And poisoning a horse in the first place? What is wrong with you?”
“I needed a test subject! It never occurred to me Daddy would eat it.”
“You didn’t even tell him why he was sick.” She “tsk’d” her cousin. “How many elders did Uncle Bercelak kill thinking they were the ones who had him poisoned?”
Keita’s eyes narrowed into slits. “I don’t remember.”
Brannie smiled. “I do. So let’s not forget our place, shall we? This is a military operation and royals don’t run those unless they are warriors like your brothers. Or a Battle Witch like your sister. So you, cousin, will do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it. Or Uncle Bercelak will find out what a bitch of a daughter he truly has. Understand?”
“Perfectly.”
Brannie pulled her hands back and the princess fell to the ground hard and on her ass.
Glaring up at Brannie, Keita snarled, “Cow!”
“Viper.”
“Brannie,” Aidan said. “We need to get somewhere safe . . . and with untainted water. Caswyn needs a healer, I’m afraid.”
“No, no, my brother,” Caswyn choked out. “My ancestors are waiting for me on the other side. Just let me—”
“Oh, shut up!” Brannie snapped, grabbing some of the chain mail armor and yanking it on. “If you think, for a second, Caswyn the Butcher, that you’ll be getting out of this shitty little assignment except on the end of my spear, you’re gravely mistaken. Die on your own time! Now let’s move out!”
* * *
They took what they needed from the original traveling party, although Brannie was quite disappointed in the weapons. The guards only had swords and eating knives, and the workmanship on all did not meet the Cadwaladr’s very high standard.
“I could probably wipe me ass with these and not even scratch this frail human skin,” she muttered . . . more than once.
But Aidan was just glad they had something to protect themselves with. He hated walking around without weapons. Two of his best mates were weak and vulnerable, and now they had a royal to protect.
Aidan was grateful, though, that it was Branwen the Awful who was traveling with him on this mission. She was, truly, the best warrior he knew, and if anyone could help him get his mates and Keita the Viper out of this alive, it was Branwen.
But she was miserable and he hated that. She was ruthlessly loyal to her troops and he knew that leaving them during what would likely turn into a monumental battle would eat her up inside. There was nothing to do about it, though. The queen had given her orders and it was their duty to obey.
Unfortunately that didn’t mean Brannie wouldn’t complain every step of the way....
“I couldn’t even be stuck with a useful royal.” Brannie fixed the saddle on the carriage horse she’d claimed as her own. “No, no. Gods forbid I’d get a Fearghus or Briec or even a Gwenvael. Instead I get the most useless of the lot. Keita the Do Nothing.”
Keita’s eyes narrowed on Brannie’s vulnerable back and Aidan quickly stepped to the royal’s side, afraid she was moments from shoving some vicious poison down her cousin’s throat.
“Why don’t you ride with me, Princess Keita?” he asked, even while he pushed her toward his horse. “There are only four horses and Branwen will have her hands full managing my two wounded mates.”
“Fine.” Keita lifted her skirts and moved toward the horse.
“So sorry, Aidan,” Brannie scoffed, “that you have to be bothered with such a useless She-dragon.”
“Oh!” Keita gasped seconds before she turned and started stalking back toward her cousin.
“No, no, no,” Aidan said quickly, stepping between the two before they could get near each other. “Both of you stop it,” he ordered. “We don’t have time for this. Look at poor Caswyn. He’s practically falling off his horse. He’s weakening by the second and you two want to keep this ridiculous fight going? We have our orders—let’s just get them over with.”
Brannie closed her eyes, taking a moment to get control of her intense anger. She knew he was right, but Aidan also knew that she’d hate admitting it.
Which meant, of course, that she wouldn’t.
“Let’s go,” she muttered. But she just as quickly stopped and pointed her finger at Keita. “But if any of my troops suffer because of you—”
“Oh, for the love of the gods, let it go!” Keita nearly screamed at her. “Your troops! Your troops! You and your troops have one purpose in this world! Protect the throne! Do your job, Branwen the Awful!”
Brannie was reaching for Keita’s throat when Aidan slapped her arm down and stepped into her.
“Stand by the horse, Princess,” he ordered. “I’ll be right there.”
With much flouncing, the princess stomped off and Aidan said to Branwen, “I need your help. I can’t do this alone. Do you understand that?”
“I’m just so frustrated,” she bit out between brutally clenched teeth.
“I know. But let’s get Caswyn and Uther someplace safe, where they can heal. Food and a good night’s sleep is probably all you need. I won’t say tomorrow will be a better day, but it will be a new one. We’ll start again, and we’ll get it right.”
“But I want to kill her,” she admitted in a whisper.
“You can’t. Otherwise, most of my kin would have been dead a long time ago instead of irritating Rhiannon with their needy presence at Devenallt Mountain.”
A small smile managed to turn up the corners of her mouth. “Your mother will annoy our queen, won’t she?”
“Greatly. She will greatly annoy our queen. And, to be honest, probably already has annoyed her. My mother doesn’t usually waste time with that sort of thing.”
Brannie nodded. “Knowing that does help.”
Without another word, Brannie returned to her horse and mounted him. Once she was comfortable in the saddle, she took in a deep, cleansing breath, and let it out.
Closing her eyes, she finally said with obvious great pain, “Where to first, Keita?”
Keita, sitting sidesaddle behind Aidan, pointed down the road. “That way. There are friends of mine where we can stay with for the night. But remember, we’re not kin, you and I, and we’re definitely not dragons. All of you are my guards. Keep that in mind, and we’ll be able to get much from them without any trouble.”
Shaking her head, Brannie said, “You and I have vastly different definitions of the word friends.”
Keita shrugged. “That’s why I have so few. But who needs them,” she asked, flashing that brutally bitchy smile, “when you have kin?”
Brannie, with some great force of will, choked back her next words, and headed off down the road. The rest of them followed.
* * *
Briec the Mighty, Shield Hero of the Dragon Wars, Lord Defender of the Dragon Queen’s Throne, and extremely proud father of two of the most amazing and perfect, perfect daughters in the known universe, watched his first daughter, Iseabail the Dangerous, General of the Eighth, Fourteenth, and Twenty-Sixth Legions, help her men make quick work of a gigantic, burned tree stump.
Izzy didn’t have to help her troops do this sort of grunt work. Briec definitely wouldn’t. But she wasn’t just a royal with a title. She loved the world of the soldier. From the most mundane guard duty to creating elaborate battle plans, she could do it all. And do it all well.
Briec hadn’t been happy when his daughter had made it clear to one and all that she wanted to join Annwyl the Bloody’s army. She’d only been sixteen. A baby, even for a human. But he’d foolishly assumed that a few months of living in the muck and mire as an army private would change her opinion and she’d be back, safe, with him and her mother at Garbhán Isle.
He’d been so wrong. She came home, of course, for leave, but always with her eye on getting back out there. Back to the muck and the mire and the blood and the danger and the harsh world of being a soldier in an active army. There were those who felt Izzy had only gotten her rank because of her family connection to Annwyl the Bloody. As fast as Izzy moved up those ranks, this attitude wasn’t exactly shocking. But the troops quickly learned that Izzy wasn’t just some daft royal who thought it would be fun to play with true warriors.
And those who pushed her, those who really didn’t want her as part of their army, soon learned she was not a girl—now a woman—to be pushed.
Briec never asked her for specifics of what her life in the military was like. He honestly didn’t want to know. But as long as she came home with her usual smile and happy attitude, he didn’t really worry about it.
Of course, if someone had hurt her, if someone had crossed those lines that Annwyl the Bloody insisted her troops respect, Briec wouldn’t have stopped until he’d caught the bastard and had him on a spit for the entire Cadwaladr Clan to feast upon . . . as was their way.
But Izzy had never needed his protection. Over time, she’d even earned respect from the most bigoted and hardened human soldiers who thought royals shouldn’t do anything but get out of their way.
Now she had control of three legions and was the right-hand woman of the queen and the queen’s second in command, Brastias.
Once the stump was pulled out of the ground, she ordered it to be taken off and broken into kindling.
Hands on her hips, she looked around the growing camp and tried to figure out what issue would next need to be tackled. That’s when she saw him.
Briec loved how her face lit up, her smile wide.
“Daddy!”
She ran to him, jumped up, threw her arms around his neck, and hugged him tight.
It was true. Izzy was not blood; her father had been her mother’s first love. But she was still Briec’s first daughter, as far as he was concerned.
“You’re here!” she said when he’d placed her back on the ground.
“We’re here.”
She suddenly took his hand and pulled him toward the general’s tent. Once inside, she faced him. “Where’s Fearghus?”
“With the twins. They said they need to talk to him alone. But why is that?”
An answer came from a dark corner. “The mad queen is missing.”
Father and daughter turned and watched the ancient Cadwaladr witch limp out of the shadows.
“Where did you come from?” Izzy demanded.
“Don’t whine so.”
“I wasn’t whining, Brigida. What do you want?”
“I’m here to help.” She made an expression that some might consider a smile but both Briec and Izzy stepped back from her.
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why I bother with you idiots.”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t then,” Briec replied. “Bother, I mean.”
“Can you get Annwyl back?” Izzy asked.
“I have no idea where she is.”
“Then what can you help with?”
“Preparing for what’s coming our way.” She rested against her walking stick and Briec noticed that the old She-dragon was having trouble breathing. She was as worn down as he’d ever seen her. But he wouldn’t count Brigida the Most Foul out yet. No. Not her.
Only a fool would do that. And Briec was no fool.
At first, he’d traveled down the road of the Battle Mage, learning about magicks and the spells that controlled them. But his interest hadn’t lasted and he had ended up becoming a Dragonwarrior instead, much to his mother’s disappointment and his father’s surprise.
Briec still remembered enough about the world of magicks and mystics, though, to know and see real power when it was staring him in the face. Even when that face was a little hard to look at.
“With the human queen gone,” Brigida went on, “you risk that human army of yours losing its focus. Or making a run for it.”
“Won’t happen,” Izzy quickly said. “We’re not just fighting for Annwyl; we’re fighting for our country. Our people—”
“Blah, blah, blah. No one cares.”
Izzy shook her head and paced away.
“One queen is gone, most likely never to return—”
“I wouldn’t say that around Fearghus,” Briec muttered.
“—and the Dragon Queen is about to release her deadliest weapon. Your father, Bercelak the Great.”
“He is unpleasant. Some see that as deadly.”
“We either win here or we die trying. I’m here to help you win.”
Briec stared at his ancient relative. “And what do you get out of us winning, Brigida the Most Foul? Until the twins and my Rhi were born, none of our kin had seen you in centuries. Now you’re here, fighting by our side.” He looked her over once. “Why?”
“Smarter than your brothers, ain’t ya?”
“Not smarter. More cynical.”
Brigida’s true smile lifted one corner of her face. The part of her face without the vicious scars from lip to just below her eye. Like she’d been swiped by a clawed animal. Except there was no clawed animal in the natural world that could harm a dragon in that way. And he doubted a fellow dragon would even try something like that with Brigida.
“We don’t have much time,” she told them. “We need to get everybody together and get this moving. Once your father’s here . . .”
“What about Annwyl?” Izzy demanded as Brigida headed toward the tent flap.
“What about her?”
“We have to get her back.”
Brigida stopped and looked over her shoulder at Izzy, her sneer vicious.
“It’s too late for all that.”
“Yeah,” Briec felt the need to point out once more, “I really would not say that to Fearghus.”