“You think you can win against Thracius?” the god asked.
“I think I’m wil ing to kil anything in my way.” The human queen tipped her head to the side. “Are you in my way?”
“Perhaps. So let me move out of your way.” And with a flick of the god’s wrist—Annwyl the Bloody was gone.
They were evacuating the tunnel, nearly out the exit, when it started again. The arguing. Always with the bloody arguing. And, as she’d been doing since Rhona left, Nesta’s sister Edana got between the two idiots along with poor Austel . The arguing this time, though, was more vicious, more physical. Like it was before Rhona threatened both Éibhear and Celyn. Maybe they knew the war was almost over. Knew they wouldn’t have much more time to fight because all of them would insist the pair was separated. For their own good and the good of others.
Éibhear caught hold of Celyn by his breastplate, yanking him close, and slamming his fist into the dragon’s face. Nesta looked at Breena and her sister could only rol her eyes and shake her head.
Austel , clearly fed up with al of them, pushed himself between the pair, slamming his claws against their chests.
It was what had been happening a lot. There was only one difference this time—the human who suddenly appeared in the middle of al this. And Nesta didn’t mean Izzy and the proverbial wedge she’d shoved between the cousins. But an actual, living, breathing human.
Nesta and Breena looked at each other and then back at the human. They leaned in a little closer.
“Annwyl?” Breena asked.
The human queen looked around, snarled as only Annwyl could, and roared, “That bitch! ” They pushed the Irons back again, but Briec stopped. Looked around. Something wasn’t right. A trap? He turned in a circle, using his tail to bat off any Irons who got too close.
He expected some attack to come at them from either flank, but there was nothing. But stil , the Irons were being pushed back too easily.
Perhaps another attack with their siege weapons?
“Hold!” he cal ed out to his troops. Then, to his brothers, “Fearghus! Gwenvael!” He motioned to them with his shield. “Pul back. Now!” Fearghus responded immediately, but Gwenvael was impatient. “Why?” he demanded. “We’ve got them.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Fearghus snapped. “They’re pul ing us away from here.”
“But—”
“Do you want to take a little longer to return to your mate, or do you want to go back to her without important parts of you intact?” Gwenvael didn’t even have to think on that. He began moving back, cal ing his troops with him.
And, instead of retreating, the Irons again moved forward. They attacked again. But what they were trying to lure them from, Briec real y didn’t know.
“No! ” Izzy bel owed, jumping forward to where Annwyl had been.
Rhona caught her, held the girl in her arms while they al gawked at the spot the human queen once stood in.“Bring her back.” Izzy pul ed away from Rhona and faced the goddess.
“You think you can order me to—”
“Bring her back!”
“So much emotion,” the god chastised. “I see why I like dealing with Dagmar more.” And then the god was gone.
“No! ” Izzy screamed again.
“You have to go after her,” Lady Agrippina ordered her brother. “There’s no arguing over this.”
“It’l take us days to get to Euphrasia. By then . . .” King Gaius shook his head, glanced over at Izzy, whose roar of pain was so gut-wrenching that no one could look at her for long.
“Rhona,” Vigholf said in a low voice. He jerked his head and Rhona looked in front of them. It was a wolf. A wolf just sitting there. An enormous, freakishly sized wolf, but a wolf nonetheless.
Vigholf shrugged. “A wolf licked her head and made her feel better. He’s a wolf.” Rhona frowned in confusion; then her brown eyes grew wide.
“You,” Rhona said, pointing at the wolf. “You can send us to Annwyl, yeah?”
“To Euphrasia,” Vigholf clarified. A good idea since who the hel s knew where that pissed-off goddess sent Annwyl.
The wolf looked at King Gaius. The Iron glanced at his sister, then said to the wolf, “Let us end this. Send us. We’re ready to fight.” The god nodded once—and they were flying.
Aggie made the mistake of blinking. That’s how fast they were gone. With no more than a nod from the god, some Southlanders, a Northlander, her brother, and Gaius’s entire army were gone with just a thought.
She heard her cousin’s soldiers moving through the trees toward her. Except for the cape Varro had given her, Aggie was naked and alone. But she wouldn’t go back to that dungeon. She would never go back.
The first group of thirty burst through the trees into the clearing. They saw her sitting on that boulder and the captain smiled.
“My lady,” he said.
“Captain.” Aggie forced herself to her feet, amused when the soldiers flinched.
“Now, now, my lady,” the captain said, “let’s not be hasty.”
“I’l not go back. You know that.”
“I know you’l fight, but you won’t be able to stop us. Look at you . . . every second you’re getting weaker and weaker. Al we have to do is wait for you to drop.” And Aggie felt real fear at the captain’s words, but the wolf, now much smal er than he had been before, stepped in front of her, facing the soldiers. That’s when Aggie realized she’d gone deaf. She could hear nothing. Not the soldiers laughing at the wolf or the wind in the trees or even the sound of her own heartbeat. She heard nothing, but she could see wel enough. She saw the wolf bark. Once. And although Aggie could hear nothing, the world around her shook. Trees fal ing, boulders rol ing, and the ground cracking open beneath the soldiers’ feet. The men opened their mouths—she assumed they were screaming—their hands grabbing their heads, blood pouring from their ears and through their fingers.