She would now have to contact her mother.

When they were no more than three miles outside of Garbhán Isle, Ren suddenly stopped, bringing the rest of them up short. The Eastlander looked so tired that if Dark Plains had been any farther away, Vigholf would have had to carry him.

“What is it?” Rhona asked Ren.

“They know I’m here. The Kyvich. And they are not pleased.”

“Why?”

“Perhaps they know what I’m doing. I don’t know.”

“You wait here.” Rhona motioned to Vigholf. “Watch them while I let the others know we’re here. The last thing we want is the Kyvich to panic over Ren’s presence and al my cousins need to see is a bloody Lightning about before they—” Rhona shoved him. A good thing too with that giant, steel spear shooting straight at him. But Rhona’s brown claws caught it in mid-flight, the steel tip inches from Vigholf’s throat. The pair stared at each other.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“You’re welcome,” Rhona replied just before a big fist slammed into the back of Vigholf’s head, shoving him forward.

Rhona flew out of the way when Vigholf was suddenly moving toward her due to that silver-scaled fist to the back of his head. Then another fist, this time black, slammed into the Lightning, forcing Vigholf back. But it wasn’t some enemy dragons who’d fol owed them to Dark Plains, but her Uncle Addolgar, the Silver—and good gods! Her father!

While both males mercilessly pummeled Vigholf within an inch of his life, Rhona shoved the spear into Keita’s hands, ignoring the royal’s squeal when it nearly dragged her to the ground below, and quickly flew between the battling males.

“Daddy! Addolgar! No!”

Her father stopped immediately, but Addolgar kicked Vigholf in the face, sending the Lightning flipping back in midair.

She cringed, feeling bad for the Northlander. But seeing her father again . . .

Heartless female! He was getting battered by the wench’s kin, and instead of coming to his defense, she was busy hugging some bloody Fire Breather. Where was the loyalty?

The older silver dragon had his broadsword out, aiming it toward Vigholf’s head. Vigholf yanked his hammer off his back, swinging it through the air, mostly to block the sword. But if he happened to hit the dragon’s head in the process . . .

But before Vigholf’s hammer could hit anything, it was caught and held in a strong claw, as was the older dragon’s sword.

“My daughter,” the big black dragon with red-tinged scales told them calmly, “said to stop. So you’l stop. Even you, Addolgar.” The Silver snarled and yanked his broadsword away. “Someone should have warned us you were coming here, Northlander. Thought you were a threat. Didn’t realize you were just more Lightning scum.”

“I’m so glad we have that truce with you,” Vigholf muttered, wiping the blood that dripped from his nostrils.

“Uncle Addolgar fought against Northlanders in at least three wars, including against your father,” Rhona explained. “So you shouldn’t take it personal y that he sees you al as worthless scum.”

Vigholf stared at the female. “How does that help the situation?” he demanded.

“I’l escort you back,” the black dragon told them al , his smirk reminding Vigholf of Rhona, “so the Lightning can arrive without being accosted.

Poor, weak little thing.”

“Daddy,” Rhona—barely—chastised.

The dragon laughed and, after taking the steel spear from a stil -struggling Keita and tossing it back to Rhona, headed toward Garbhán Isle, Keita and Ren beside him. Vigholf caught Rhona’s forearm. “Daddy?”

“Be glad he was here, Lightning. He’s one of the few strong enough to stop my Uncle Addolgar from doing anything.” Rhona made her way back to the castle, flying over the gates and landing in the courtyard.

The castle grounds weren’t at al like Rhona remembered. Instead of the cheerful place with al the vendors in the courtyard and outside the castle grounds, it had become a military outpost. Siege weapons lined the inside of the wal s and someone had begun to build a moat. Only a smal portion was finished, but already there was something alive and rather unfriendly looking swimming in the murky water.

No. This wasn’t the place she remembered.

Rhona nodded at cousins, smiled at aunts and uncles, but it was her father she ran to, her father whose arms she threw herself into.

“My girl,” Sulien the Smithy whispered, gripping her tight. “My beautiful, precious girl.”

“Oh, Daddy, I’ve missed you so.”

“And I you.” He stepped back, looked her over, and smiled. “So beautiful.”

She handed over the stainless steel spear that had nearly impaled the Lightning. “Not one of yours,” she noted.

“You know my work.” He leaned in, whispered, “This is shoddy.” He motioned to the emergency spear strapped to her back. “And where’s your spear?”

Rhona glared over at the Lightning who’d landed behind her father. “It’s in pieces,” she complained.

“It was an accident,” Vigholf shot back. “I told you I was sorry.”

“But you didn’t mean it!”

“Don’t worry,” her father soothed. “I have something for you anyway.” His brown eyes sparkled. “Something better.” Rhona grinned, feeling real excitement. “What? Tel me!”