Chapter Nineteen
To protect Keita, only the Riders went to the Port City docks to find a boat that could take them to the Eastlands. The rest of them stayed well inside the city in a back alley, all of them surrounding Keita’s tiny human form.
She was very tense the entire time, pacing and constantly scratching the back of her neck. The She-dragon wanted to know who was trying to stop her trip if it wasn’t the Zealots. Who was willing to kill the entire party just to stop her?
Since Aidan didn’t know who was on Keita’s vast list of connections, he couldn’t help. All he could do was stand guard with Brannie and his Mì-runach brethren until Kachka returned to them.
“Zoya found boat,” she told them, motioning the group out of the alley.
They moved quickly, aware the two suns were beginning to dawn in the sky.
Reaching the dock, they hastened past the fishermen heading to their own boats and the merchants and fishmongers who were already setting up their stalls for the day.
“There,” Kachka said, pointing at a Northland-type ship docked in the harbor. It was bigger than Aidan expected, round shields lining the outside of the boat for, Aidan guessed, easy access during a fight.
They stopped by a load of crates that would be placed on another boat heading out. Zoya stood on the dock between the boat and the crates. She studied the area closely before she motioned for them all to come forward.
Walking quickly but not running, they headed toward the boat. But as Aidan was about to pass a still-watchful Zoya, she caught hold of his arm to halt him.
“What?” he asked.
She motioned behind him, her confused gaze focused in the same direction.
Aidan looked over his shoulder, expecting to see more of the robed assassins coming for Keita but . . . no. That was not what had Zoya’s attention.
It was Branwen. She still stood by the crates.
Surprised, Aidan rushed back to her side. “Come on,” he urged. “We have to move.”
“You know, I was thinking . . .”
She was thinking? Now? When they were trying to avoid those trying to kill them?
“Why don’t I stay here? Take care of those pesky assassins?”
Pesky?
“That way we can be sure that you guys . . . you know . . . get away. Safely and all.”
“What are you talking about?”
Keita appeared at his side, Kachka behind her.
“What’s going on?” Keita asked.
“I was thinking I should stay here,” Brannie said, her gaze seemingly locked on the ground.
“Take care of those pesky assassins,” Aidan added, frowning at Keita.
“If we get on the boat and get out of here,” Keita reasoned, “we won’t have to worry about anyone. So let’s go.”
Brannie lifted her head, looked at all of them, then said, “I’m . . . I’m not leaving my troops. I’m going back to the front.”
Keita threw up her hands. “Are we actually here again?”
“We’re here again,” Brannie insisted. “I’m not leaving my . . . my men . . . for anyone. Including you, cousin. So there!”
Keita let out a disgusted sound from the back of her throat. “I don’t have time for this centaur shit. Kachka, grab her and let’s go.”
Without question, Kachka reached out and grabbed Brannie’s arm . . . and that’s when everything went particularly strange.
“No, no, no, no, nooooo!” Brannie abruptly screeched, yanking her arm away from a stunned Kachka. “None of you are getting me on that fucking death trap!”
“Branwen!” Keita barked.
“I’ll die here, thank you! Here on land! You can go out there”—she waved her hands wildly in front of her—“and die on the open seas! I’m staying right here! Right here until the end of time!”
Mouths open, Aidan and Keita looked at each other, the princess’s eyes as wide as his own, he was sure.
Kachka leaned forward and told them calmly, “Could be wrong, dragons, but I think mighty warrior . . . terrified of ocean.”
* * *
Branwen couldn’t think straight. She just knew—knew!—she wasn’t getting on that death trap and allowing it to drag her out into the middle of an angry ocean where they might or might not get to the other side.
No. No! Never!
His hands raised, Aidan tried that soft voice thing he did when he was trying to calm something out of control. Like a horse. Or a stampeding elk. Or Annwyl.
But Brannie knew. She was not crazed! She knew exactly what was going on and she wasn’t about to let anyone convince her otherwise! Even Aidan!
“Bran—”
“Nooooo!” she screamed in his face. “I’m not listening! I’m never listening! I will not allow any of you to drag me to my death!”
Aidan backed up. “All right,” he said to Keita. “I’m out.”
“Typical male,” Keita complained with a sigh. “Completely useless!”
Then Brannie’s tiny cousin swung her fist and . . . that was the last thing Brannie remembered.
* * *
Aidan watched the back of Branwen’s head collide with the wood crate before her body slipped to the ground.
And all that from one punch.
From Keita.
Now he and Kachka Shestakova gawked at the dragoness as she brushed one hand against another.
“Do you mean that?” Keita asked when she realized they were staring, her punching hand gesturing to a still knocked-out Branwen. “The first thing my father ever taught me was how to handle a male who didn’t understand the word no. And in the end, the difference between a persistent male and a crazed Branwen is negligible.” She smiled and motioned to the ship. “Now . . . shall we?”
* * *
The entrances to different hells were not elaborate or complex. Annwyl found out she could easily enter one without even meaning to.
She’d walked into at least five different ones so far and in the process had nearly frozen to death, burned to death, been eaten by flies, chased by snakes, and attacked by screeching harpies. Thankfully getting back to the hell she started in was not hard, either. She just had to turn around.
Who knew she’d started off in the “nicer” hell?
Well, at least the most tolerable. It seemed almost like a normal world for demons. There were houses and towns and roaming animals. But everything was tainted. And because Annwyl wasn’t, they would go for her. So she avoided the towns, the houses, and stayed off the main roads.
Despite her exhaustion, Annwyl just wanted to get out. She wanted to return to her troops, her kin.
At some point she had hit some kind of wasteland, characterized by dirt and rocks and a red, overcast sky.
Deciding to take a break, she dropped down by a deformed tree, her back against its lumpy trunk. She closed her eyes and tried to relax, but the branches of the tree kept trying to grab her. So she caught hold of the closest branch and pulled and pulled until she tore the branch off. Blood poured from the wood like sap and the tree made a strange mewling sound before the branches withdrew and left Annwyl alone.
“You fit in here quite well,” she heard.
Annwyl opened her eyes and looked at the brown-skinned warrior woman standing in front of her. At some point, the woman’s throat had been cut and her arm was nearly hacked off at the shoulder, but she didn’t seem dead. Not like everyone else Annwyl had seen who was not a demon.
“Do I know you?”
“We’ve . . . met before. But you weren’t at your best. I doubt you remember. But you know a friend of mine.”
“Do you know the way out of here?” Annwyl was in no mood for chitchat.
“Sadly, not for you. It took me ages to find you as it is. So you’ll have to find your own way out. I have no power here.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“I’m sure it is. But you need to be careful. Die here and you’re staying. There’s nothing anyone can do about it.”
“I assumed.”
“And the ruling lord of this hell . . . you didn’t kill him. He’s coming for you.”
“Figures.” Annwyl stood up, brushing red dirt off her leggings. “Anything else?”
“You do know you’re not talking to yourself, don’t you?”
“Of course I’m talking to myself.”
“Annwyl, I’m a god. I’m Eir.”
“Riiiiight. Sure you are. You’re a god. I’m a completely rational human being right now. How could it be anything else?”
“But you’ve spoken to gods before. Mingxia, for instance—”
“That’s my point. If you were real, you’d be Mingxia. I don’t know you.”
“Annwyl—”
“No, no. I don’t want to argue with myself. I’m sure once I get out of here, I’ll be much less crazy.”
Annwyl’s delusion smiled at her. “There’s nothing wrong with a little crazy, Annwyl the Bloody. Never forget that. Hold on to that. It may save your life.”
“That’s really sweet. But we both know I’m way more than a little crazy.”