Then again, her mother might be right. Take this city the Zealots were fighting so hard to protect, kill Salebiri and Vateria . . . and all this might end.
Talwyn and Talan stopped. When they’d briefly lost sight of their mother in the crush of bodies, Talwyn had thought about using her mind to call out to nearby kin, but nearly a year ago all dragons—even the Dragon Queen—had to stop doing that to communicate. They’d discovered that the Zealot priests had somehow been listening in, learning about battle plans and their movements. It was a pain in the ass, though. Communicating with kin like normal humans. With parchment and ink and messengers.
Thankfully Talwyn finally caught sight of her mother . . . staring into a well.
Talwyn glanced at her brother. “What the battle-fuck is she doing?”
“I have no idea. But we better get her anyway.”
They easily batted away the few soldiers that attacked and were only a dozen or so feet from their mother when Talwyn watched in horror as a claw reached up from deep inside the well, caught Annwyl around the face, and yanked her in.
“Mum!” both Talwyn and Talan screamed before charging over. But seconds before Talwyn could dive headfirst into the well after her mother . . . both the well and their mother vanished.
* * *
Aidan the Divine had spent most of his life doing what he was doing right at this moment—protecting his friends from sure death.
No. Not during battles. They were mighty fighters and didn’t need his help there. Instead, it seemed to be Aidan’s job to protect his brethren when they were not in battle. When they were not facing the enemy. And who knew such a task would be so gods-damn hard?
He slowly faced Caswyn and glared up at the dragon while the idiot continued to chew on that damn horse’s hooves. It seemed to take forever, with the tip of Brannie’s intimidating weapon pressed against Caswyn’s throat.
Although, honestly, the tension of the moment had little to do with the weapon and more to do with the She-dragon wielding it. Branwen the Awful had been trained to use every weapon that Aidan knew about. And she not only used them, she mastered them. Swords, axes, war hammers, spears, pikes, bows . . . the list went on.
Her skills had even managed to impress her unimpressible mother, the great dragon army general, Ghleanna the Decimator.
And now, Branwen the Awful coldly stared up at Caswyn while he continued to chew.
Black smoke curled from Brannie’s human nostrils and Aidan feared he’d have to sacrifice himself to save his friends. Not that he wanted to, but it might be his only choice....
Aidan finally looked away from the imminent death before him and down at the ground. Then he lifted his head and looked out over the battlefield below.
Annwyl the Bloody and Iseabail the Dangerous had combined the legions under their direct command to take on Duke Salebiri’s Zealot army in the territories between the Quintilian Provinces and Annaig Valley. And, not surprisingly considering their number, their side was winning. Moving forward steadily. Easily gaining ground.
But from this vantage point, halfway up the mountainside, Aidan could tell that something was terribly wrong. He could hear it.
“Brannie.”
“Forget it. They’re both dead. It’s the least my horse deserves.”
“No, Brannie. Listen. Do you hear it?”
She did, her head tilting slightly. Their eyes met and Brannie immediately began to lower her weapons.
Realizing they didn’t have much time, Aidan began, “We better—”
The ground jerked hard, all of them stumbling back, almost falling.
That’s when the sound became clear. Coming out over the morning air. A song. A prayer.
No. Aidan quickly understood he was wrong. Not a prayer. A powerful spell.
The ground shook again, but this time the quake was so strong that none of them kept their footing as the very mountain they stood upon broke apart.
“Shift!” Brannie ordered seconds before she disappeared beneath the earth. The rest of them followed her into the blackness.
* * *
Devastated. Panicked. The twins ran into the main camp looking for help from those who could give it.
The queen was gone and, unless they got assistance from those with powerful magicks like their own, she would be gone forever.
Like him, Talan knew his sister was not considering the option that their mother could already be dead. She’d been dead once and they’d gotten her back. So a simple trap could never kill her.
That’s what they believed. That’s what they had to believe.
And, for once, it wasn’t just their selfish royal needs that made their mother indispensable. The Southland people needed her. The troops needed her. Legions of soldiers who counted on the Mad Queen of Garbhán Isle to lead them into battle. If she was willing to risk all for her people and her land, then so were they. But without Annwyl?
Of course, the human troops would still fight, but would they be willing to give all? Talan didn’t know and he wasn’t going to think about it now.
In this moment, all he and his sister were concerned about was getting Annwyl the Bloody back. No matter whom they had to sacrifice.
As they entered the camp, Talwyn’s war horse and battle dog joined her. She’d left them behind this morning because the red eyes of the horse and the horns on both animals upset the human soldiers. The fact that they were gifts from the Kyvich—warrior witches from the Ice Lands—meant nothing when watching a red-eyed horse eating human flesh after stomping a soldier into the ground.
Without having to say a word, the twins headed toward the same place. General Iseabail the Dangerous’s tent. They’d start there and work their way out, bringing in their cousin Rhianwen and their aunt Morfyd. Strong witches who could help them—
Talwyn stopped first and Talan stopped beside her.
“What?”
“You don’t hear it?” his sister asked.
“Hear what?”
Then he did.
A beautiful voice, soft notes, coasting through the crisp morning air. A powerful spell sung to a god. Talwyn’s hands curled into fists, her body vibrating on the spot where she stood.
“Talwyn? What is it that?”
A screech exploded from Izzy’s tent and they watched their cousin Rhianwen, another powerful Abomination like them, stumble out, her hands over her eyes, blood pouring through her fingers.
Talan caught his cousin in his arms.
“Make it stop!” Rhian begged. “Make it stop!”
Talwyn pressed her fingers against their cousin’s forehead and Rhian passed out. A protection spell also surrounded her. Talan could feel it encasing her body like a thin sheet made of iron.
“Put her on my horse,” Talwyn ordered and Talan set Rhian on the beast’s back, allowing her to slump forward so that her head pressed against the animal’s neck.
“Protect her, Aghi,” she told her horse.
“There,” Talan said, pointing out the spell caster.
A beautiful, eyeless woman on one of the high hills.
“I’ll—” Talwyn began but then everything changed.
The ground beneath their feet moved and cracked, jerking them hard, startling the soldiers around them.
Talan knew then there was no time for plans and plots. They had to move.
“Pull back!” Talwyn yelled at the soldiers. “Pull back now! Go!”
The pair took off toward the hill, both of them now screaming for the soldiers to get out.
“Go! Don’t look back! Just go! Run!”
Thankfully her mother had trained the legions to listen to Talan’s and Talwyn’s orders as if they were coming from Annwyl directly.
So the soldiers ran. They ran fast and hard. Many grabbed the reins of their horses and made a break for it, few willing to leave their loyal mounts behind.
As Talan ran by an archer, he grabbed the woman’s bow and yanked the quiver from another’s back. When he was close enough, he knelt, knocked his arrow, and released.
His aim was true, and the arrow flew up the hill with great power and speed and—broke into pieces before ever reaching the eyeless Zealot priestess.
Something protected her as something now protected Rhian.
Even worse, though, she wasn’t alone. There were other priestesses, on other hills. They began to sing the spell with her. Their beautiful voices uniting.