Uh-oh.

Once Ghleanna was right behind her kin, she screamed. Like a wild banshee.

And her kin screamed in return, spinning around, raising weapons and shields.

“Did you lot miss me?” Ghleanna asked with a smile.

“You mad cow!” Addolgar yelled, shoving her with his shield. “That was about to be the second time you got a sword in the chest!”

“As if you’ve ever been that fast, brother.”

Then they were hugging and Bram knew nearly everything was as it should be.

Ghleanna accepted hugs, shoves, punches, and hair yanks for what they were. Familial affection—the Cadwaladr way. A way she’d missed so much.

“But you’re all right, yeah?” Hew pushed. “You sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine.” She held her forearms away from her body. “Look at me. Better than ever. Them Fins have good surgeons, they do.”

“Thank the gods for that,” Kyna said. “Isn’t that right, Kennis?”

“It is. For them. ’Cause if they hadn’t sent our girl back to us—”

“—we’d have grown gills and gone down there ourselves to their watery pit to tear the scales from their flesh and those bloody fins from their backs.”

Ahhh. Nothing like the true love and caring of the Cadwaladr Twins.

It was all as she’d expected and she was damn grateful for her kin. But what Ghleanna hadn’t expected . . .

“The Twins would have been the least of the Fins’ problem if they hadn’t sent my girl back to me alive and well.”

Eyes wide, Ghleanna faced her father. He was in his battle armor, weapons strapped to him and ready. He hadn’t left her mother in ages to go into battle. He left that “to me brats.”

“Da?”

“I’m so glad you’re home, girl. So glad you’re safe.” Ghleanna swallowed past the lump in her throat before she threw herself into her father’s arms. Let them all say what they would about Ailean the Wicked—none of it mattered. His heart was as big as any ocean and the love he had for his offspring as mighty and strong as any mountain.

“I’m glad, too, Da. And what I said to you before—”

“It’s forgotten, Ghleanna. Don’t even think about it.” He pulled back. Smiled at her. “Understand?”

“Aye.”

“Good. And Bercelak’s sorry he couldn’t be here—”

“He can’t leave Rhiannon when we have traitors in our midst.”

“—but he said you’d understand.” Ailean gazed down at his daughter and Ghleanna saw in that one look how proud he was of her. “Now, what do we do next? Escort you and our Bram to the Sand Eaters? Or take you back to Rhiannon first?”

“First Feoras dies.”

As one, all the Cadwaladrs faced the forest behind them . . . and Bram the Merciful.

Frowning, Kyna asked, “What was that?”

“Feoras dies,” Bram repeated.

“And why is that then?”

Bram walked toward them, his reliable traveling bag around his shoulder. “Because he betrayed the throne, betrayed our queen, tried to stop an important alliance that I’m sure he’ll try to stop again and, most importantly . . .” Bram stood in front of Ghleanna now, his claw brushing along her jaw. “. . . he tried to kill my Ghleanna. For that offense alone he dies.”

Cai rested his elbow on Ghleanna’s shoulder and asked, “But ain’t you the merciful one?”

“I am.” And, with his gaze never leaving Ghleanna’s, “But there are limits to my mercifulness, I’m afraid.”

Chapter 18

Ghleanna waited for Feoras about five miles from where Rhiannon had tracked the bastard down. The queen’s skills had, as Bram had said, gotten mighty. It seemed she could track nearly any dragon she wanted without ever leaving Devenallt Mountain unless the fugitive had the protection of a witch as strong as she. And Rhiannon had tracked Feoras here, not more than fifteen miles from where he’d tried to kill Ghleanna.

As Bram had said, Feoras and the rest of the soldiers he’d bribed, were waiting for Bram to return so they could finish the job that had been started.

And here Bram was, relaxing next to a tree, still in his dragon form, quietly scratching away on some parchment. Did he ever pay attention to anything going on around him that wasn’t on a piece of paper or in a bloody book? She doubted it. But he seemed to have complete faith in her. He still trusted her to protect him and that was all she needed to know.

She heard Feoras and his soldiers moving through the trees. They were quiet enough but Ghleanna knew what to listen for. The flutter of a leaf, the warning of a bird . . . the slither of a tail.

Feoras came around a boulder, but he stopped when he saw Ghleanna standing there. He reared back in surprise, golden eyes blinking wide.

“Ghleanna?”

“Feoras.”

“I . . .” His gaze shifted and he saw Bram leaning against that tree, still writing—and blatantly ignoring him.

“You . . . ?” she pushed when he stopped speaking. “You . . . what? Thought I was dead?”

Feoras focused on her again. “I knew you wouldn’t go down that easy.” He leered. “You never did . . . go down easy.”

“Not unless I want to.” She moved forward, pulling out her axes, holding one in each claw. “I am going to stop you here.”