But Brannie wasn’t about to let that happen to anyone on Annwyl’s lands and definitely not to humans who had offered them food, protection, and healing.

She cracked her neck and lifted her weapon, ready to attack, when she saw Keita step out of the safety of the castle.

“Greetings, my one-god-loving friends!” the little idiot called.

Brannie gritted her teeth. “What is wrong with her?”

“What is she doing out there?”

Jerking at Uther’s voice behind her, Brannie ended up gritting her teeth again. Damn Mì-runach. She hated when they snuck up on her.

“Don’t do that,” she growled at him.

“Learn to hear better,” Uther chastised. And she briefly thought about slapping him. Not hitting, just slapping. Until he cried like a babe.

“What’s going on?” Caswyn asked, coming up behind Uther.

“Why are you up?” she asked. He still looked weak but much better than he had the night before.

“You can’t expect me to lie around when danger is near.”

“I expect you to not undo what the healer has accomplished, idiot.”

“You must be better,” Uther joked. “She’s back to abusing you.”

“You both make it so easy,” she muttered, looking back. That’s when she caught the horrifying sight of Keita . . . gesturing to Brannie to come out.

“What is she doing?” Brannie demanded.

“I think she just . . . revealed our location to the enemy.” Uther shook his head. “Would she really do that?”

Brannie sighed. “Probably.”

“Why would she do that?”

“We’re dragons,” Brannie explained, pushing the doors all the way open. “She probably thinks we could just burn them all to death. So why hide?”

“If we shift now or unleash our flame, all the humans die. Including her precious royal friends.”

Brannie glanced at Uther. “You have no idea how sad it is to me as a Cadwaladr to know that my cousin is even more stupid than you two.”

* * *

Aidan stayed hidden on the roof of the stables until Keita looked right at him and, with a smile, told him to come down.

Now he had no chance. Zealots with bows aimed arrows at him until he jumped down to the ground.

He’d never thought Keita could be so stupid . . . but she was. She was that stupid.

Aidan stood by a seething Brannie. He thought it was best if he stayed close to her to prevent her from killing her cousin. Because he only had to look at her face to see that’s exactly what she was planning to do.

“Now see?” Keita said to the priest. “We’re all friends here. No need to lie or hide things. Yes?”

“Your honesty is a true blessing, my lady. My god will be happy to have you on our side.”

“Oh, I’m sure he will. I am absolutely delightful.” Keita pressed her hands to her face. “But the eye thing . . . I can’t do that. My eyes are just too beautiful. As is my face. Actually, everything about me is beautiful. To destroy that for some god I could not care less about seems absolutely ridiculous, don’t you think?”

The priest’s handsome smile never wavered. “Trust me, my lady, your other choice is even less attractive.”

“Is it?” Keita asked, her head tipped to one side, her hand abruptly pointing at one of the Zealot guards standing near her.

The guard coughed and blood shot out of his mouth and down his chin. Seconds later, blood flowed from his eyes—he still had both—and his nose.

The priest, although physically missing his eyes, still had a sight provided to him by his god.

“What have you done, witch?”

“Me? A witch?” Keita smiled at that. “No, no. I am lacking that skill. But tell me . . . did you enjoy the water from the stream you rested by last night?”

Brannie stomped her foot. “Keita!”

“What? It will wash away soon enough.”

“You hope!”

“Can your chastising wait, O’ flawless one?” When Brannie looked away from her cousin’s gaze, Keita went on. “Now . . . where were we? Oh, yes! The death of your guards.” With a flip of her wrist and a flourish of her arm, she gestured to the guards once more, who began dropping like dead trees. Some fell right over. Others dropped to their knees first and then landed facedown. Blood poured from every orifice and the royals backed away.

“You shouldn’t be here for this,” Keita told the royals. She handed Lord Breeton-Holmes a sealed parchment. “Take this directly to Dagmar Reinholdt. She will take good care of you. And thank you, my lord.”

“Of course, my lady.” He rushed his family back into the castle and Keita sent their few guards to saddle the horses from the stables so they could get on the road right away.

“Now,” Keita said once she had the Breeton-Holmeses on the move, “back to you, priest.”

“I drank that water . . . why am I—”

“Still alive? Because I know from my studies that all your priests and priestesses partake of the Sinnoch root. It helps with your mystical sight. It also is a natural protection from the poison I used. It stops the toxin from killing you. So while your guards may be dead, you have as long as I allow you to live.”

No longer in good humor, the priest snapped, “What do you want, woman?”

“Information, of course. What else do you think I want?”

The priest suddenly looked around. “You brought us here on purpose.”

“Of course, I did. You’re all so fucking predictable with your shit-loving god, it wasn’t really hard.”

“I’ll die before I—”

“You came in contact with an Eastlander not too long ago,” she cut in to the priest’s declaration. “Three weeks ago specifically. You met him in a pub and followed him out later that night. What happened after you followed him?”

The priest smirked. “I’ll tell you nothing. Have your”—he glanced at Brannie—“manly thugs—”

“Hey!”

“—do their most evil. I can withstand anything.”

“Can you?” Keita asked. She winced a bit. “I guess I should have mentioned. The root you eat nightly for your sight. It will keep you from dying. It will not, however, keep you from the brutal pain.”

* * *

Once the Breeton-Holmeses made their hasty exit, Keita had Aidan drag the priest into the castle and leave him in the middle of the floor, far from weapons or anything he could use to kill himself. While the man screamed and writhed in utter, devastating pain, Keita sat at the main hall table, her feet up on the wood, a chalice of wine held in one hand.

When the priest wasn’t screaming and begging for an end to his misery, Keita yawned and sipped from her chalice.

It became so bad and went on for so long that Brannie had to leave for a bit so she could hunt down some fresh meat. It—thankfully—took a while before she found game worth the effort.

She had the animals skinned and put on the spit by the time the priest finally reached his breaking point.

Standing close enough to stare down at him but not close enough to be grabbed, Keita asked the same question she’d been asking for hours. “What happened to the Eastlander you followed out of that pub?”

“We . . . we tried to take him,” the priest, covered in sweat and his own blood, vomit, and excrement, panted out. “But he fought off my guards . . . and disappeared . . . into the forests.” He reached out for her but even her bare feet were too far from his fingers. “Now please. Please . . . end it.”

“Don’t evade, priest. You followed him out of that forest. To where?” He shook his head, trying to fight, but there was nothing left but his suffering. “Answer me, priest,” Keita said, her voice almost soothing. “Answer me or I will enjoy watching you suffer for days.”

He curled into a ball. “We followed . . . followed him to about ten leagues ... leagues . . . northeast of . . . Port . . . Cities.”

“And?”

“And . . . he suddenly . . . disappeared just when . . . we got . . . got close.”