About a Dragon (Dragon Kin #2)(58)

But, he kept reminding himself, she left him. She left him when he hadn’t done anything wrong. And she’d actually seemed damn happy when with him. If she hadn’t been, she should have told him in that rude way she had.

“Aren’t you going to hit him?” Éibhear asked.

“I don’t feel like it.”

“Good gods.” Gwenvael stood. “This is worse than we thought, Éibhear. Up, brother.” Gwenvael grabbed Briec’s arm and pulled him to his feet. “There is only one answer for this.”

“Which is?”

“Drinking and eating. The whoring will keep until we get you good and drunk. By the time we’re done, brother, you won’t even remember her name that you didn’t even care to know in the first place.”

Now, why did he doubt that?

* * *

This wasn’t what she expected. Never, in her wildest dreams.

This…this was the Blood Queen of Garbhán Isle? Scourge of the Madron lands? Destroyer of Villages? Demon Killer of Women and Children? She who had blood pacts with the darkest of gods?

This was Annwyl the Bloody?

Talaith watched, fascinated, as Annwyl held onto Morfyd the Witch’s wrists. Morfyd—the Black Witch of Despair, Killer of the Innocent, Annihilator of Souls, and all around Mad Witch of Garbhán Isle or so she was called on the Madron lands—had actually tried to sneak up on Annwyl to put ointment on the nasty wound the queen had across her face. But as soon as the warrior saw her, she squealed and grabbed hold of her. Now Annwyl lay on her back, Morfyd over her, trying her best to get Annwyl to stop being a ten year old.

“If you just let me—”

“No! Get that centaur shit away from me, you demon bitch!”

“Annwyl, I’m not letting you go home to my brother looking like that. You look horrific.”

“He’ll have to love me in spite of it. Now get off!” She shoved and Morfyd tumbled back right into Brastias’ arms. And he looked damn pleased to have her right there.

“That’s it.” Morfyd stood, straightened her robes and glared at Annwyl. “You’ve asked for this.”

“Don’t you dare-“

But the spell was unleashed, flying across the small campsite, lifting Annwyl and slamming her back against the tree behind her. Then it pinned her there.

Now Morfyd sauntered over to her. “If you’d given me two seconds, we could have been done with this, but you had to be difficult.”

“I hate you.”

“Join the queue.”

“Vicious cow.”

“Argumentative harpy.”

Morfyd carefully rubbed the cream over Annwyl’s fresh scar. Once done, she spit a counter-spell and Annwyl hit the ground.

“Ow!”

“Crybaby.”

No, this isn’t what Talaith expected. Annwyl the Blood Queen was supposed to be a vicious, uncaring warrior bent on revenge and power. She let her elite guard rape and pillage wherever they went, and she used babies as target practice while their mothers watched in horror.

That’s what she was supposed to be and that’s what Talaith expected to find. Instead, she found Annwyl. Just Annwyl. A warrior who spent most of her resting time reading or mooning over her consort. She was silly, charming, very funny, and fiercely protective of everyone. Her elite guard, all handpicked by Annwyl, were sweet, vicious fighters and blindingly loyal to their queen.

And then there was Morfyd. A taller woman she’d never met, with a power Talaith envied. She had monumental control, the kind Talaith had only seen with the older, more powerful Nolwenn witches. Morfyd’s beautiful face spoke of many young years. Perhaps no more than thirty winters. If that.

With a sigh, Morfyd sat beside her on the tree stump. “She makes me insane.”

“Like family.”

Morfyd smiled. “Exactly.”

Wiping off the ointment she’d used on Annwyl with a dry cloth, Morfyd asked, “Are you cold, sister?” Morfyd had been calling her sister since she met her. She seemed to know she was a witch. Though not a very powerful one.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because you haven’t taken off those gloves in two days.”

Of course she hadn’t. A witch of Morfyd’s power only need take her bare hand and she’d know all there was to know about Talaith’s past, from her first breath at birth to her last gasp with Briec. Because she hadn’t had any training in the witch arts for the last sixteen years, Talaith had no idea how to keep her out.

“I am very chilled, sister,” she lied.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No worries.”

“No worries about what?” Annwyl sat on the other side of Talaith, handing each some dried beef and a large chunk of bread. The battle she’d just waged with Morfyd already forgotten.

“Talaith is chilled.”

Annwyl sighed. “I’m sorry, Talaith. I know we’ve been living rough these few days, but we’ll be home soon enough. All the rooms in the castle have a built-in pitfire. It’s nice.”

Good gods. The woman wasn’t merely taking her back to Dark Plains, she was planning to put her up at Garbhán Isle as well.

“I’m fine, Annwyl. Really.”

“When we stop for the night, you can sleep in my tent.”