“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.

Aidan, however, went with Brannie and Keita to the docks to find a boat that would take them to the Eastlands.