* * *

The entrances to different hells were not elaborate or complex. Annwyl found out she could easily enter one without even meaning to.

She’d walked into at least five different ones so far and in the process had nearly frozen to death, burned to death, been eaten by flies, chased by snakes, and attacked by screeching harpies. Thankfully getting back to the hell she started in was not hard, either. She just had to turn around.

Who knew she’d started off in the “nicer” hell?

Well, at least the most tolerable. It seemed almost like a normal world for demons. There were houses and towns and roaming animals. But everything was tainted. And because Annwyl wasn’t, they would go for her. So she avoided the towns, the houses, and stayed off the main roads.

Despite her exhaustion, Annwyl just wanted to get out. She wanted to return to her troops, her kin.

At some point she had hit some kind of wasteland, characterized by dirt and rocks and a red, overcast sky.

Deciding to take a break, she dropped down by a deformed tree, her back against its lumpy trunk. She closed her eyes and tried to relax, but the branches of the tree kept trying to grab her. So she caught hold of the closest branch and pulled and pulled until she tore the branch off. Blood poured from the wood like sap and the tree made a strange mewling sound before the branches withdrew and left Annwyl alone.

“You fit in here quite well,” she heard.

Annwyl opened her eyes and looked at the brown-skinned warrior woman standing in front of her. At some point, the woman’s throat had been cut and her arm was nearly hacked off at the shoulder, but she didn’t seem dead. Not like everyone else Annwyl had seen who was not a demon.

“Do I know you?”

“We’ve . . . met before. But you weren’t at your best. I doubt you remember. But you know a friend of mine.”

“Do you know the way out of here?” Annwyl was in no mood for chitchat.

“Sadly, not for you. It took me ages to find you as it is. So you’ll have to find your own way out. I have no power here.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“I’m sure it is. But you need to be careful. Die here and you’re staying. There’s nothing anyone can do about it.”

“I assumed.”

“And the ruling lord of this hell . . . you didn’t kill him. He’s coming for you.”

“Figures.” Annwyl stood up, brushing red dirt off her leggings. “Anything else?”

“You do know you’re not talking to yourself, don’t you?”

“Of course I’m talking to myself.”

“Annwyl, I’m a god. I’m Eir.”

“Riiiiight. Sure you are. You’re a god. I’m a completely rational human being right now. How could it be anything else?”

“But you’ve spoken to gods before. Mingxia, for instance—”

“That’s my point. If you were real, you’d be Mingxia. I don’t know you.”

“Annwyl—”

“No, no. I don’t want to argue with myself. I’m sure once I get out of here, I’ll be much less crazy.”

Annwyl’s delusion smiled at her. “There’s nothing wrong with a little crazy, Annwyl the Bloody. Never forget that. Hold on to that. It may save your life.”

“That’s really sweet. But we both know I’m way more than a little crazy.”

Chapter Twenty

Since Gwenvael had been off to war with his brothers, Dagmar had been waking up every morning surrounded by her five dogs. They didn’t replace Gwenvael, but they helped with the loneliness.

As someone who’d spent her entire life in the Northlands mostly alone—and enjoying every second of that solitude—missing someone as much as she missed Gwenvael was not an easy thing. But the dragon had a way of digging his claws into a being’s heart and making himself quite comfortable there. She should hate him for doing that to her . . . making her care. But it was too late now. Not only did she care about him, she cared about his siblings, the mates of his siblings—including the human queen of these lands—the people who lived in these territories and, of course, her own children. Var, Arlais, and Gwenvael’s Five. Her youngest daughters.

And she did truly adore them. That didn’t mean, however, she felt comfortable waking up with the youngest of the Five sitting on her bed, silently gazing at her.

“Thora?” Dagmar raised herself up on her elbow, quickly noticing her very brave, very large dogs were huddled in a corner of the room, watching but not really helping. They hadn’t even let out a little bark so that Dagmar would know she was no longer alone. “Is everything all right?”

Her youngest nodded that beautiful, golden head. Eyes bright gold like her daddy’s. Gwenvael’s Five were mirror images of him, the eldest of the Five now fourteen and this little one just turning eight.

“Do you need something?” Dagmar tried again.

Thora had one of the puppies from the kennel stretched out in front of her. She played with the puppy, handling it with care. Something Dagmar was very glad to see about her youngest child, who rarely spoke.

“I don’t need anything, Mummy. I just have to keep you busy for a little while.”

Sighing, Dagmar fell back on the bed. “What are your sisters up to now?”

“Nothing. We just don’t want you facing her. We know how you are. And she’s in a . . . mood.”

Dagmar studied her daughter before asking, “You don’t want me facing who?”

Gold eyes lifted to meet Dagmar’s and Thora said softly, “Auntie Brigida.” She chewed her lip for a bit before adding, “She’s here to see Arlais.”

* * *

Arlais walked into the kitchens, pausing as soon as she stepped inside. She glanced back at the armed female guard that followed her around. Her mother said she’d put this female on Arlais to protect her from being kidnapped. But Arlais knew better. Her mother just didn’t like her “sneaking around.”

That’s what her mother had called it! “Sneaking around.” Like Arlais was a barn cat!

Arlais didn’t sneak anywhere. She walked. With purpose. Anywhere she bloody wanted to go.

Gods! She couldn’t wait for her father to get back so he could keep the great Dagmar Reinholdt busy. Arlais was tired of being that woman’s focus. Amazing since Dagmar had an entire kingdom to deal with, but somehow . . .

“Let my dog outside and then wait in the hall for me,” she ordered, but the guard simply stared at her. Petting the wonderful, furry beast pressed against her side that she’d raised from a pup, she added the warning, “Don’t make me unhinge my jaw.”

Glaring, the guard snarled, “Don’t try and run.”

Arlais smiled. “Wouldn’t dream.”

Once her nosy protection was gone with her pet, Arlais walked over to the main cook and took the bowl of fruit she offered her.

“Here to see me?” she asked the robed figure in a shadowed corner. “I’m honored.”

Arlais placed the bowl on the big worktable, pulled a chair out, and dropped into it. Popping several of the finger-sized pieces of fruit into her mouth, she said, “Well, greetings, Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-, plus ten or minus a few thousand Greats, Auntie Brigida. What brings you here to grace us with that face?”

Holding on to her big stick, the She-dragon in human form stepped out of the shadows, one leg dragging uselessly behind her.

Without saying anything, she looked over at the servants.

Arlais asked the small group of humans, “Could you lot leave us for a bit?”

The servants walked to a separate exit that would take them outside. That way they could get fresh eggs and milk from the chickens and cows being guarded in the fields and nearby barns.

When they were alone, Arlais put her feet up on the table and popped more fruit into her mouth. “So what do you want?”

“I wanted to talk to you about your future.”

“My future? What about my future?”

Brigida moved closer to the table, but she didn’t sit. Instead she simply leaned against it.

The old witch looked tired. Exhausted. Like just breathing was taking a lot out of her. But no one could live forever. Perhaps it was simply her time to die.