Wel . . . there was one thing.
“You’re going with her,” Vigholf said. “I can see it on your face.”
“What else can I do?”
“We could go back. Back to the Val ey. Back to the war. Even death in battle is better than this insanity.”
“I can’t go back. She has my cousin. She has Briec’s daughter.” She put her hand on Vigholf’s forearm. “But you can go back. Tel them what happened, tel them—”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Vigholf—”
“I’m not leaving you. Not with her.”
“Then you’re a fool.” She glanced over at the queen as she marched into the forest. “We’re not coming back from this, Vigholf.”
“Wel , not if you’re going to be so negative.”
Despite everything, she laughed a little. “What?”
“Think positive. You never know. We could survive. And then what wil you do with me? Keep me is what you’l do.” He winked at her and fol owed after the others, whistling for the horses they’d left on the hil .
Rhona took another look around the camp, her eyes resting on the mangled commander’s remains.
Stil disgusted by al that—Rhona had never been one for torture—she fol owed after the Mad Queen of Garbhán Isle and prayed that when her time came, it wouldn’t be anything like this human commander’s.
She’d hate to meet her Cadwaladr ancestors missing her leg and fingers. They’d mock her for eternity over that.
Chapter 24
Rhiannon stood on the castle wal s and stared out over her territory. True, she al owed the humans to believe this was their territory too, but it actual y was al hers. So the fact that these Tribesmen had invaded annoyed her. The fact that Annwyl wasn’t here to pound these barbarians into the dirt as she’d been doing for years, much to Rhiannon’s enjoyment, annoyed her even more.
And the Tribesmen were . . . slippery. Disappearing into the forests until they were ready to attack again. They must worship those nature-loving gods.
Even Bercelak with a squad of Dragonwarriors had been unable to find the bastards, although they’d been attacked many times with arrows. So it looked as if they’d have to wait until the Tribesmen struck the castle again, when they were out in the open, before Rhiannon’s warriors could real y do some damage.
Wel , it could al be worse.
Rhiannon felt a tug on the skirt of her gown and she looked down to see her granddaughter Rhianwen standing there. Honestly! A brigade of Kyvich, a battalion of guards, a centaur, and dragons and absolutely no one could keep their eye on one smal child?
“My sweet girl. What are you doing?” Rhiannon crouched in front of her grandchild. “Why are you up here? It’s too dangerous for you to be up here.”
“But it’s begun,” the little girl told her.
“What has?”
“The siege. Where Daddy is.” Smal hands reached for her, and Rhiannon pul ed her granddaughter in close.
“What happened, Rhian?”
“Daddy’s hurt,” she whispered. “They can’t help him.”
“Are . . .” Rhiannon fought to hold back panic, devastated tears. She wanted to believe the child merely had a bad dream—a nightmare. But Rhiannon knew that the girl had seen. “Are you sure, luv?”
She nodded. “I’m sure.”
“Is it very bad?”
“Yes. It’s very bad.” She held up a piece of parchment that she’d drawn on. “But I’m drawing this to help him.” Rhiannon forced a smile. “It’s very pretty. I’m sure he’l love it.”
“Don’t tel Mommy about Daddy. She’l be upset.”
“I won’t.” Rhiannon kissed the child’s forehead, concern for her son nearly kil ing her. “Now I don’t want you to worry about anything,” she told the child. “This wil al work out.”
“Only if the monster helps.”
“Monster?” Rhiannon asked. “What monster?”
“The angry one. The bad people hurt him. So he hates everybody now. He only has one eye. An angry one eye. Maybe Auntie Keita can send him eye patches to cheer him up.”
Good gods, the child spoke of the Rebel King. But how...
“Wil the monster help?” she asked her granddaughter.
The child toyed with Rhiannon’s white hair as she liked to do when her grandmother held her.
“Probably not.”
“Probably not?” Rhiannon asked. “So there’s a chance . . . ?”
“Auntie Annwyl wil have to get back what means the most to him.” The girl’s face turned painful y sad. “But she’l have to get it from the bad one.
The bad one won’t give it to her.”
“And what means most to the monster?”
“The same thing that means most to Talwyn and Talan. If Auntie Annwyl remembers that, she’l know what to do.” Rhian sighed and looked her grandmother in the eye. “When can I have pretty necklaces and bracelets?”
“When I’m sure you won’t turn into your Aunt Keita.”
The girl final y smiled. “Auntie Keita’s funny.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” Rhiannon hugged her granddaughter tight while her mind raced with how to get Annwyl a message. Any attempts she’d made to contact either Annwyl or the others in the west, and her offspring in Euphrasia Val ey had been fruitless. She’d been blocked. Her! A white Dragonwitch! Damn gods and their damn meddling. And she knew it was the gods because only they could stop her from anything. But there might stil be a way. Of course she’d need—
“Take my hand,” her granddaughter told her.
“Um . . . can we play later, baby? I need to—”
“Take my hand. We can contact Auntie Annwyl together.”
“No, I . . . we’ve been unable . . .”
Rhian held her hand out. “We can do it together,” she said again. “But soon. I’ve got to finish Daddy’s drawing.”
“You real y can help me contact your Auntie Annwyl, can’t you, Rhian?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know how to do that?”
She shrugged. “I just know.”
Not sure what was going on, but only able to deal with one major crisis at a time, Rhiannon took her granddaughter’s hand. “Let’s do this together, but I’l do al the talking. I don’t want you in your Auntie Annwyl’s head. Ever.” Sadly, Vigholf and Rhona decided to let the horses go. The terrain of the mountains was so rocky and the group would have to be able to take cover so quickly, they didn’t want to risk the horses’ safety or their own.
Although, at first, Vigholf began to believe this was a bad idea on their part. What with al the walking. For miles. And the gods knew they had many more miles to go. This Rebel King whom Annwyl wanted to find was located clear on the other side of the Provinces. The Provinces they hadn’t even reached yet. How Annwyl expected to get to where she needed to go in a timely manner, none of them knew. But the queen seemed fixed on her objective. No matter how much Rhona tried to tel her gently this was not a good idea, the queen didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to hear anything, which explained why the normal y chatty Izzy and Branwen mostly kept silent.
They final y took a break the next afternoon by a stream. Food was retrieved from travel bags and water replenished from the stream. Each of them sat on smal boulders or overturned tree stumps.
“It could be worse,” Vigholf softly murmured into Rhona’s ear. “It could be summertime. So miserably hot.” Izzy dug into her pack and pul ed out several pieces of fruit, which she offered to everyone. Annwyl declined with a shake of her head, Branwen took two, Vigholf took one, and Rhona declined with a flat, “No.”
With a shrug, Izzy returned to her stump and began to eat. While she did, she asked Rhona, “So how’s my father?” When Rhona didn’t answer, Vigholf replied, “Rude.”
“So he’s fine then?”
They both chuckled.
“And how’s the war in the north? Going wel ?”
“Rough, I’m afraid. Those Irons . . .”
Vigholf shook his head and Izzy said, “They just keep coming.”
“That’s it. How are there so bloody many of them?”
“We’ve thought the same thing. Right, Brannie? Because they do just keep coming.” She ate some more fruit, then added, “But you know, I have to say, the way their army works . . .”
“I know,” Vigholf immediately agreed.
“. . . their organization, their discipline. And they’re so bloody ruthless.”
“You admire them,” Rhona observed, watching Izzy closely. Maybe too closely.
“How could you not? There are things they do in their ranks that we could start doing. Changes we could make that would help us in the long run.”
“Stil planning to be general one day, Iseabail?” Rhona asked and Vigholf definitely heard a sneer in that even if Izzy didn’t.
Izzy shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I? I have as much chance as anyone. But I know it’l take hard work.” Then she grinned and added, “Discipline.
Organization.”
They al laughed except Rhona, who continued eating and scowling.
Izzy offered Vigholf bread. “So you were at Garbhán Isle. How’s my mother? Rhian?”
“They’re fine and Rhian is adorable.”
“I can’t wait to see her. She’s probably so big now.”
“I think she’l be tal . Maybe not as tal as the twins, though. They’re growing like vines.” That’s when Rhona asked Izzy, “Aren’t you going to ask about Éibhear and Celyn?” Both Vigholf and Branwen cringed at that question, but Izzy only shrugged again. “Should I ask?” Rhona sniffed in disgust—a sound Vigholf was wel acquainted with—and went back to eating her dried beef.
Izzy placed her food down and swiped one hand against the other to brush off crumbs. “Is there something you want to say to me, Rhona?” she asked.
“No,” Rhona lashed back. “Because why would I want to say anything to the whore who got between two cousins?”
“Rhona!” Branwen snapped. “Have you lost your mind?”
Before Rhona could reply to that—and Vigholf knew the female was going to reply—Annwyl suddenly yel ed, “What the hel are you doing in my head?”
They al stopped, the four of them looking at the queen.
“Out! Out of my head! Fearghus said you’d never be in my head! Why are you in my head? ” Rhona leaned over and whispered to Vigholf, “By the c*ck of the gods, she’s gone ’round the bend.”
“Are you sure?” Annwyl asked no one. She reached down and pul ed a scrol out of her travel bag. When she unrol ed it, Vigholf saw it was a map. “Aye. I see it. But are you sure? Wel , how the hel s would she know? She’s just a . . . oh, fine! And never do this again.” Annwyl rol ed up the map and stood. “Let’s go.”