“So they’re not giving up?”
“No, but we’l be fine,” she assured Talaith.
“As my guests keep reassuring me.” Talaith looked over at the squad of Kyvich who stood on guard duty inside the room.
“Would you rather be down here alone?”
“Might as wel be. They’re not exactly chatty.”
“I don’t mean for your social life, Talaith. I’m talking about the safety of the children. So please, do me a favor and suck up the misery for a little while longer.”
“Oh, fine. Here. Have some tea. It’l make you feel better.”
While Talaith poured Dagmar some tea, Dagmar watched Ebba search among the children’s bedding.
“Lose something, Ebba?” she asked.
“Can’t find the children’s swords. And you know how they get when they don’t get in their morning training. Cranky doesn’t begin to describe it.” She winked at Dagmar and went back to her search while Talaith complained about the Kyvich. She didn’t complain about anything in particular, just that they existed.
Slowly, Dagmar shifted her focus to the children. The three of them sat cross-legged on the floor in a circle. Rhian drew symbols on parchment and appeared much more worried than usual, her smooth brow pul ed down into a very deep frown; Talan played with one of the dogs; and Talwyn read. To everyone’s surprise, Talwyn was an advanced reader like her mother. Very advanced. She could read at least three languages that they knew of. The language of the humans in this region, the language of dragons, and now, according to Ebba, she could read the language of centaurs.
As Dagmar watched her, the seven-year-old girl lifted her head and looked at Dagmar through dirty, unkempt hair, black eyes like her father’s and yet she seemed so much like Annwyl. Especial y when the child suddenly smiled at her.
And it was at that moment that Dagmar realized . . . the captain of the guard would never find those assassins alive.
Fearghus watched Ragnar hover over his brother. Briec hadn’t moved since he’d been struck, the healers working on him through the night, but no one had told the rest of them anything and he was beginning to get anxious.
After several minutes, Ragnar came to his side.
“Wel ?”
“It seems that—”
“I don’t have time for one of your careful y worded replies, Northlander. Just tel me if my brother’s going to live or die.”
“I don’t know. He’s completely unresponsive, barely breathing, and . . .”
“And?”
“His spine’s been split.” Ragnar shook his head. “Neither I nor the healers know how to fix that. Perhaps your mother or Morfyd . . .”
“Wil they even know what’s happened to him?”
“No. We’ve been cut off. I can’t contact my brother or Keita or anyone.”
“Neither can I.” Fearghus cleared his throat. “If he survives . . . wil he walk?”
“I don’t know. But I do doubt he’l ever fly again.”
“Thank you,” Fearghus said and walked out of the chamber. He went around the corner and tried to control his breathing. He couldn’t al ow the troops—or his kin—to see this.
“Fearghus?”
He looked up at his Aunt Ghleanna.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Nothing’s definite. We keep it quiet for now. Just say he’s recovering.”
“That’s al wel and good for everyone else, but I’m asking as your aunt. How’s me Briec?” He shook his head, working hard to gain control. “It’s bad. Ragnar, the other healers . . . they say there’s nothing they can do.”
“What about your mum?”
“She’s his best bet, but we’l never get him out of here now.”
“But if we finish the tunnels, strike the next blow . . . the last blow.” She gripped his forearm. “Then we can get your brother back to Devenal t Mountain and let your mum heal him. Don’t give up on him, Fearghus. Please.”
“Of course I won’t.”
“I’l get the ones working on the tunnels to move their col ective arses. We’l get this done.” She pressed her claw to his cheek. “We don’t give up on each other in this Clan, boy. Don’t you forget that.”
“I won’t.”
She nodded and stomped off, ordering recruits to get to the tunnel, while al around them the cave wal s shook from the never-ending siege from the Irons battering them mercilessly, giving them no way to get out—to get his brother out of here and someplace safe.
Yet Fearghus knew his aunt was right. They didn’t give up on each other, and he wouldn’t start now.
Chapter 23
After a quick but lusty morning romp, Rhona and Vigholf bathed in the river, dressed, and were riding toward the Western Mountain Pass by the time most people were sitting down for their first meal.
They rode hard and made good time, stopping at a few smal towns along the way so Vigholf could do what he did so wel : get information from complete strangers. Rhona would have to admit, she was impressed. She simply didn’t have an easy way like that with people she didn’t know.
And those she did know, she wasn’t above threatening to get information. Vigholf never had to do that. She couldn’t explain it; he just . . . had a way.
Yet Rhona wasn’t completely useless, able to fol ow the queen’s tracks once they got into the Karpos Forests that surrounded the Western Mountains. Then again it wasn’t hard to differentiate Annwyl’s tracks from the many others that ran into and around the area. The woman had such big feet for a human female....