Even the Riders were impressed. Well, all except Zoya.
“At least these two men have some skills.”
“Males,” Nina corrected.
“What?”
“They’re not men. They’re males. Dragons. Remember?”
Zoya stepped out of the open cage, eyeing the two males before loudly announcing, “Then I would expect more of them! Such weak dragons! Dragons!” she exclaimed, walking past the shocked—and hurt—pair.
“We could have left you in there, you know,” Uther reminded her.
“The great dragon captain would not have allowed that, would you, Branwen the Awful?”
“Well—”
“Exactly!” She pushed past Aidan and, with her bare hands, began prying open doors that, unlike hers, hadn’t been melted shut.
Aidan didn’t bother to argue with the Rider. He didn’t bother to argue with anyone really. Instead, he just made his way over to the other cages and worked with Kachka to release everyone else.
Nina Chechneva didn’t help anyone—as was her way—but instead stared at the sigil burned into the wall.
“Did you know that mark keeps you and your friends from shifting to dragon, Branwen the Awful?”
“What? Oh . . . no. I didn’t. But I hadn’t tried either.”
“You do not feel weak?”
“No.” She faced the strange and, frankly, unpleasant witch and added, “I’m sure we can still murder anyone in our way and burn the flesh from their bones for a tasty meal. You know, in case you were wondering.”
Dark, dark eyes studied Brannie but, after facing “Auntie” Brigida’s soulless stare on occasion, Brannie had learned not to show any fear to the magick wielders.
She flashed Nina a smile before giving her a hearty slap on her back. The witch stumbled forward, shocked, and Brannie announced, “But we’re all friends here, aren’t we, Nina Chechneva?”
“All friends!” Zoya agreed as she hustled the few weakened humans that were let out of their cages. “Some of these humans we may want to kill now. They are too weak to travel.”
“No, Zoya Kolesova,” Aidan said before Brannie had the chance. “We’ll not do that.”
“I do not listen to you, penis haver.”
“Then I’ll say it,” Brannie cut in, using her firmest captain voice. “We kill no one. If someone can’t travel out of this fort on their own, you can carry them on your strong Kolesova back.”
Zoya nodded. “All right.”
Aidan rolled his eyes, frustrated his words alone hadn’t bent Zoya to his will. But to Zoya Kolesova, a male was a male was a male. It didn’t matter if they were dragon or men or giant trolls. If they were male, they simply weren’t worth listening to.
And, honestly, Brannie enjoyed that part of Zoya. Her logic was pure, as was her unwillingness to change it.
“Oy!” Caswyn yelled out. “I found another way—”
The double doors Aidan and Uther had closed off burst open and armed Zealots flooded into the room, one of their eyeless priests leading the way.
When both eyes were missing, Brannie knew she was dealing with not only a slavering sycophant of Chramnesind, but a powerful priest. Apparently Chramnesind really liked his followers to slaver.
The weakened humans that had been trapped in these dungeons for days immediately panicked and moved as quickly as they could behind Branwen and the others.
“Going so soon?” the priest asked. “And we had so many plans for those who follow the Abominations and their whore mother.”
Brannie was already moving on the priest when Aidan grabbed her arm and yanked her back. She had no idea why he’d bothered. He’d never stopped her from killing one of the Zealot priests before.
But then she saw it. Easing into the room from the stairs.
Smoke.
Brannie’s nose twitched and she immediately knew this wasn’t some regular fire. The smoke was tainted with . . . something. She could smell it.
Then, the Zealots in the back of their group began to spasm. Eyes—those who had them—rolled back in the Zealots’ heads, saliva poured from their mouths, weapons dropped to the floor from paralyzed fingers.
“Keita,” Aidan said softly. And it was all she needed to hear.
“Move!” Brannie ordered the others. “Move!”
Those too weak were picked up by Zoya, Uther, and Caswyn. Caswyn led the way to a door in the walls he’d found. He pushed it open and went inside, the rest of them following.
Once Brannie stepped in, she turned to close the door firmly behind her, giving her a brief view of what was happening to the Zealots she was leaving behind.
Whatever poisonous smoke Keita had released into this place, it was not merely killing the Zealots. It was torturing them. Giving them the most violent, painful death any of them could imagine.
That’s how Brannie knew. She knew that Keita had somehow found out that her longtime friend was dead and that these Zealots were responsible.
Shutting the door, Brannie turned and charged up behind the others. She grabbed two of the slowest humans and began to run with them in her arms.
“Move!” she ordered again. “All of you, move!”
* * *
It took a little time, but they eventually found their way back to the door that they’d used to get in.
Once Aidan got the humans he was carrying out, he went back to help the others.
He assisted as many as he could until they were far enough away to drop to the ground.
The smoke had nearly caught up to them as they’d made their mad escape. Now, gasping and coughing, Aidan stretched out on the ground with the others under the pouring rain and looked back at the fort.
Most dragons would have burned it down to the ground and been done with it. But not Keita. There was no fire. Just smoke. Poisonous smoke.
And that poisonous smoke came out from behind every small window, from behind and under doors, from every crack in the foundation. It came out and curled up into the air.
And with it, he could hear the screams and cries of the suffering and slowly dying Zealots.
It wasn’t that Aidan was bothered by the deaths of their sworn enemies. Actually, that didn’t bother him at all. What did bother him however . . .
“Did you forget we were in there?” Brannie demanded of her cousin when she walked up to them.
Keita shrugged. “You were taking too long.”
Despite his need to cough up whatever was traveling through his lungs, Aidan still managed to jump up and grab hold of Brannie before she could throw herself at Keita.
“Do you ever think of anyone but yourself?” Brannie demanded. “We are here for you and this is how you treat us?”
With an eye roll, Keita walked off and Brannie tried to go after her, but Aidan kept his arms around her waist, holding her back.
“Let it go,” he suggested.
“Let it go? She could have killed us, too!”
“She lost Ren,” Uther said, helping some of the stronger humans up so they could assist the others. They wouldn’t be able to travel with the dragons. The humans would have to rely on each other.
“Yeah,” Caswyn tossed in. “How would you feel if it had been Iz?”
Brannie stopped fighting, but she clearly didn’t like what they were saying either because she rammed her elbow into Aidan’s collarbone, forcing him to release her.
“Ow! That hurt.”
“Good.”
Uther pointed. “You should talk to her.”
Brannie’s mouth dropped open at the suggestion. “Talk to her?”
“She’s your cousin.”
“So?”
“If this was Izzy—”
“Shut up!” Brannie closed her eyes and blew out a breath. “I hate all of you,” she complained before going after Keita.
* * *
Brannie grudgingly followed after her kin.
She felt her logic was sound. Keita had taken a stupid risk doing what s
he did and, as Cadwaladrs, conversation wasn’t necessary.
A good beating, however . . . that was more than warranted.
But the “nanny gang” seemed to think Brannie owed Keita some kind of consideration. And invoking Izzy every time they wanted her to do something....
It was just wrong!
Brannie’s relationship with Izzy was different from every other relationship she had. Unlike Brannie and Celyn, Brannie didn’t have random, morning fistfights with Izzy. They didn’t argue about who Mum and Da loved more. They didn’t argue about who was more stupid: Oxen or their brother Fal. They simply enjoyed each other’s company, whether sitting in Izzy’s tent drinking Uncle Bercelak’s ale or in the midst of battle.
Brannie and Keita, on the other hand, had little in common. They were blood relations but that was all.
So what could Brannie possibly say to the royal that would somehow connect them and make this bloody trip at least tolerable?
“I . . .” Brannie began, walking fast to keep up with Keita. “I . . . uh . . . heard that cousin Eugenie is sleeping with Duke Clemens.”
Keita got a few more feet before she stopped and, slowly, faced Brannie.
“What?”
Brannie cleared her throat. “Eugenie is sleeping with Duke Clemens.”
“He’s more than sixty winters. And her mother hates humans.”
“And he’s an old human. Eugenie’s mum is said to be beside herself with rage. Uncle Rhys doesn’t know how to handle it. His wife is that angry.”
“I don’t blame her,” Keita said, glancing off. “Eugenie’s a baby. Not even eighty yet.”
“Her brother says she’s an old soul.”
“She’s not an old soul. She’s a young soul that likes pissing off her mother. I should know . . .” She shrugged. “I’m the queen of Pissing-Off-Mother Land.”
Brannie chuckled but, after a few moments, she asked, “How did you know?” Keita raised her eyebrows. “About Ren.”
She held out her hand, revealing a gold medallion and chain in her palm.
“This was his. I found it among the bodies outside the fort.”
“So? He could have dropped—”
“It was sewn inside him.” She stroked her left side. “I and other Protectors have the same thing. The only way they could have gotten it—”
“Was to cut it out of him.”
“And he wouldn’t have let that happen unless he was already dead.”
“I’m sorry, Keita. I really am. I’ve always liked Ren so much. We all have.”
She closed her palm and placed her fist against her chest. “He fit in well among us. On both sides of the family. Amazing, since he was nothing like any of us.”
Keita’s head dropped and she stared at the ground. That’s when Brannie realized the rain had stopped. It was much quieter now, so they could hear the screams of the dying from the fort more clearly now.
“Look, Branwen . . .” Keita’s shoulders slumped a little under her wet cape. “I have to do things. When we get to the Eastlands. And I don’t have time to argue—”
“I know what you have to do. Mum told me.”
Keita lifted her gaze to Brannie’s. “And?”
“I have my orders, cousin. I’m with you on this. My feelings on it don’t matter. But I’d prefer you not forget the rest of us exist and kill us in the process. You know . . . accidentally.”
Keita gave a small smile. “I’ll do my best. Oh!” she suddenly exclaimed, looking back in the direction of the fort. “We should really get everyone away from there.”
Brannie briefly closed her eyes. “You’re poisoning the air, aren’t you?”
“A little.”
With a growl, Brannie ran back toward the others as Keita yelled after her, “It won’t last or anything, but . . . you know . . . for now . . . best to err on the side of caution . . . to avoid death.”
Chapter Fourteen
Lord Phalet entered the dungeons with his personal guard and assistant Harex. They didn’t rush forward, though. Not after word of his guest’s antics had reached his long, pointed ears.
But, seeing her sitting on the floor, her back against the wall, head bowed in defeat . . .
Smiling, showing all his fangs, he pointed to the human. “See, Harex? She just needed a little time to cool down and to understand how completely trapped she is.”
“Should I greet her properly, my lord?” Harex asked, his own fangs showing, his excitement at the prospect obvious.
“Please.”
Harex moved down the hall until he reached her cell. He stepped close to the bars and purred, “Hello, my la—ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
Harex’s scream of anguish rang out, startling them all.
The crazed female had launched herself from the ground to the bars, reached through, and gripped Harex by the head. Then she began attempting to pull him through the bars.
Harex fought back valiantly, but every time he got one arm off his head, she used the other. When she couldn’t seem to get his rather large head between the bars, she gripped both of his ears and used her thumbs to dig into his eyes.
“Help him!” Phalet ordered. His guards actually hesitated before following his orders.
By the time they dragged Harex away, both his eyes were gone, his nostrils were torn open, and his throat nearly torn out. And the crazed female had done all that with only her hands.
Still attached to the bars, she screeched and clawed at Harex and the others. Once they were definitely no longer close, she stopped screeching, spit, lowered herself from the bars, and went back to sitting against the wall. Calm as she was before.
A panting, blind, profusely bleeding Harex was taken out of the dungeons but Phalex remained, staring at the woman he’d brought to his hellish kingdom.
He’d had humans here before. Warriors. Peasants. Even kings and queens. Some had died before they arrived, his world their fate after death; and some had fallen into a hell trap when they were still alive.
But this one . . . he’d brought her here specifically for his own purposes. She wasn’t cooperating, however.
And, more disturbing, she was completely insane!
“What kind of rulers do these humans have?” he asked one of his guards.
“Do you want us to kill her now, my lord?”
“No. We need her. But”—he gestured vaguely in the woman’s direction—“I don’t know what to do with her.”
“We can break her,” his guard suggested. “If you’d allow us to deal with her . . . as a group.”
Phalet had wanted to avoid that. It seemed so . . . human. But, sighing, he realized he didn’t have much of a choice. They didn’t have a lot of time and he needed her . . . flexible.
With a nod, he gave his permission, but added, “Break her, Cursain. Do not kill her.”
“Of course not, my lord.”
“Then good luck.”
* * *
With orders given, plans neatly mapped out, and Lord Phalet back in his hall to meet his guests for dinner, Cursain and his fellow guards walked to the prisoner’s cell. The door was unlocked and opened and they all silently entered.
As one, they stood and gazed down at her. When they were done . . . she’d beg to do anything for Lord Phalet if it meant the torture would stop.
The woman, hair falling in her face, lifted her head and Cursain had only a moment to see crazed green-gray eyes angrily glaring at him from underneath all that hair before her scream echoed around the walls and she was on him. . . .
* * *
Sitting at the head of the dining table, enjoying the screams of the dismembering happening at the other end of his hall while enjoying the casual conversation of the guests enjoying his feast, Lord Phalet was surprised when someone stroked his hair from behind.
He was about to turn when the stroking hand gripped his white strands tightly and yanked his head back. An arm reached over him and a blade slammed into his chest again and
again.
His guests screamed and stumbled away from his table, no one bothering to assist him.
Worthless scum!
With the blade buried to the hilt in his chest, his attacker’s lips pressed against his ear and whispered, “Come for me, demon, and you’d best bring an entire army.”
Then Phalet was flipped out of his chair and dragged across the floor, his neck stomped on, his nose crushed....
Then she was gone.
“Lord Phalet?” one of his worthless guests asked, coming into his blood-smeared view. “Are you all right?”
“Of course I’m not all right, idiot!” He raised his arms. “Get me up!”
He was brought to his feet so he could pull the blade from his chest. He recognized it as Cursain’s dagger.
Thankfully that woman didn’t know about demon anatomy. His heart wasn’t in his chest as a human’s was. And that lack of knowledge was the only thing that had kept him alive.
Stumbling and still bleeding profusely, Phalet made his way down to the dungeons along with some of his guests.
He saw the blood first. All over the floor. The walls. The ceiling. The other cells. Arms and legs were scattered everywhere. Many of his guards appeared to have been attacked as they were trying to get to the exit.
But the heads . . . the heads of his guards were in a nice pile in her cell, Cursain’s at the top, his eyes and mouth open in horror.
“By the blackest hells, Phalet,” one of his guests asked from behind him, “what unholy thing have you brought here?”
Phalet could only shake his head. “I don’t know.” But if the bitch wanted an army . . . then an army she would have.
Turning to a nearby servant, Phalet bellowed, “Bring me General Scrilis!”
Chapter Fifteen
They made it to the Port Cities and found a pub with rooms on the top floor and stables for their horses.
Uther, Caswyn, and the Riders stayed at the pub to drink and listen. See if they could find out anything.
Unlike Dagmar and anyone she hired to spy for her, Aidan’s fellow brethren weren’t actually good at being sneaky—nor, for that matter, were the Riders—but they were known for accidentally finding out information because they were drinking ale at the right place at the right time. Might as well try their luck once again.