Worse, she’d seen it in Talaith’s eyes from when they first met her at that lake. So it wasn’t that she’d given up because Annwyl had a blade to her throat. The woman was dead when she’d walked into the tent.

With an annoyed sniff, Annwyl pushed the woman away and stood, pacing beside her.

“What…what are you doing?”

“Not what you want me to.”

“Dammit.” Talaith grabbed her arm in a vicious grip. Vicious enough to hold its own in a fight and yet hadn’t. “Finish it, Annwyl. Finish it now!”

Annwyl saw the desperation in those dark brown eyes. Knew no amount of rationalizing would help. So Annwyl backhanded her, sending her flying across the tent.

Without another word, Annwyl calmly walked to the tent flap, pulling it back a bit. “Brastias,” she called out. “Fetch me Morfyd, would you?”

“Aye.”

Annwyl stepped back inside, studying the dagger in her hands. It was plain but sturdy and sharp.

Talaith was just rousing herself from the floor when Morfyd walked in. She frowned at Talaith and turned to Annwyl, but her confusion stopped and she stared at the dagger in her hand. “Where did you get that?”

“What? This?” Annwyl waved it at her battle mage and Morfyd jumped back from her.

“Keep that thing away from me.”

“Has everyone lost their mind? I’ve got her trying to kill me in my sleep and you’re suddenly frightened of daggers.”

The dagger quickly forgotten, Morfyd placed her hands on her hips. “I told you it was her.”

“Yes, but you didn’t tell me she’d practically beg me to kill her, now did you?”

Morfyd glanced at Talaith still pulling herself up off the floor. “I’m surprised you didn’t.”

“Does she look insane to you, Morfyd?” Annwyl asked calmly. “Does she look like she doesn’t have control of all her senses?”

“No, but—”

“Then why would she come at me with a blade? She’s not a fool. And only a fool would risk facing me in hand-to-hand combat. We’ve both watched her—she’s a well-trained assassin. She could have poisoned my food or water. She could have killed us all and then slipped away without anyone ever knowing. She could have used the poison-covered pins she has stuck in this hilt.” Annwyl was pretty impressed with herself for catching sight of the extra dangers that lay in the simple and plain dagger. “Instead she puts a dagger to my throat.”

Annwyl shook her head. “No. She’s merely the sword, Morfyd. I want the hand that wields her.”

“Easy enough.”

Morfyd walked over to the woman who still looked a little dazed. Of course, Annwyl had made sure to hit her hard. Taking firm hold of her hand, Morfyd ripped off the leather glove Talaith had been wearing since they met her and took the woman’s hand in her own.

“No!” Talaith, suddenly quite alert, tried to pull her hand from Morfyd’s grasp, but the dragonwitch merely gripped Talaith’s throat with her free hand and squeezed.

“Fight me, sister, and I’ll tear your throat out.”

Morfyd closed her eyes and everything became quiet. Annwyl knew if she were dragon or had any Magick skill whatsoever, she’d be able to see all the colors and flames and whatever else those magically inclined could see. But Annwyl was just a warrior with a dragon for a consort. All she could see were two women standing there like two statues. She found it a little odd.

Sighing from boredom, she walked over to her saddlebags and pulled out a flask of water. She took a long drink, but was startled when Morfyd suddenly said, “Oh. Oh.”

She turned to look at her and Morfyd was absolutely beaming while Talaith scowled at her intently. Morfyd always wore that expression when she knew an absolutely divine piece of gossip.

“What?”

Clearly trying not to laugh, Morfyd shook her head. “Nothing.”

“You lying cow. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” She coughed, and released Talaith’s hand. “Except you have some powerful enemies.”

“Tell me what I don’t know, witch.”

“Powerful enemies who are gods.”

For a moment, Annwyl was shocked beyond all reason…then she shrugged. “Now that I think of it—I don’t know why I would be surprised.”

* * *

Talaith sat impassively on Annwyl’s bed while Morfyd told of all she’d seen. She spoke of Talaith’s first love and how she lost the young soldier before their child had even been born. She told of how her mother and the other Nolwenn witches, blindingly angry at her relationship with the soldier and her soon-to-be-born child, tossed her out of the temple so she would learn a lesson. She knew they’d take her back as soon as the baby was born. What none of them saw was Arzhela. Her priestesses came for her the night of Talaith’s daughter’s birth. They tore the child from her arms and then dragged Talaith, bleeding and cursing, to their temple. Because Arzhela, goddess of light, love and fertility was their patron, most of the priestesses were midwives. They cleaned off the blood, healed her, and then told her quite plainly she’d never see her daughter again unless she did what they told her.

Three months later, they took her to the little village outside of Madron and handed her over to a man, telling her he would now be her husband. She would take care of his house, clean his clothes, feed him well and, in return, he wouldn’t question where she went every day. Because at those times, she would be in the local temple dedicated to Arzhela. There the head priestess would bring in the best of the best among the local assassins. For sixteen years they’d trained her until the moment when she would have to face a monarch so demonic, so evil, so contemptible in every sense of the word, she would thank the goddess for the chance to be the one to destroy her.