With a quick bow of her head to the queen, Rhona walked out of the room in search of her father.

“They’re sending you to do what?” Sulien demanded of his eldest daughter.

“Don’t make me repeat it, Daddy,” she muttered, digging through his chests of excess clothes, uniforms, and armor. “Just help me find something that wil let me blend in with other travelers.” She motioned to what she wore. Standard protective gear with the Dragon Queen’s colors and seal on it. “Can’t blend in this, now can I?”

“Not in the bloody Provinces you can’t.”

“Scream it a little louder. Don’t think they heard you in the Desert Lands.”

Sulien gripped his daughter’s shoulders and turned her to look at him. “Why are you doing this?” he demanded.

“It’s my orders.”

“To head into the Provinces and end up crucified?”

“Not if I can get in and out without being noticed.”

“If you’re going to rescue that mad bitch, you’l be noticed al right.”

“Those are my orders—”

“Gods, girl! Stop saying that!”

Rhona sighed. “What do you want me to say? Do you want me to lie to you? Tel you what you want to hear?”

“That would be a start.”

Rhona smiled and he saw himself in that smile. Of al his offspring, Rhona was the one who took so much after him. She had his face, his strength, and his skil s. From the beginning he knew her place was behind a forge of her own, not fighting wars to prove something to her mother.

He adored Bradana more than words could say, but if there was one thing they’d always fought over, it was his Rhona.

It wasn’t that Sulien thought his daughter didn’t have what was necessary to be a soldier or even one of those bloody Dragonwarriors. But having what was necessary and having your heart in it were two vastly different things. From the time Sulien had met his mate, he’d known what she was. A warrior. Without a doubt. It was in her eyes, in the way she walked, in the way she lived. She was a warrior and would take no less from this world.

And that same look and attitude had been in al their offspring—except Rhona.

Rhona’s skil with weapons was so that, like every good blacksmith, she’d know what was the right weight, what worked wel during a fight, what could kil and what could maim.

But her mother had seen her skil as a cal ing to be a Dragonwarrior, and to this day it bothered her beyond reckoning that her eldest daughter had not gotten farther than a “mere soldier.” Cadwaladrs, in Bradana’s mind, were supposed to be Dragonwarriors, leading the way into battle.

Making orders, not taking them. So round and round mother and daughter went. Rhona never going further than a good soldier because her true cal ing was to be a Master Blacksmith. And her mother stil trying to prove that her eldest just needed a little push in the right direction.

A push right into death, it seemed.

Rhona held up a chain-mail shirt. “What about this?”

“No.” He snatched the shirt from her and slapped it back into the trunk. “You’ve got your mother’s”—Sulien awkwardly motioned around his daughter’s chest—“assets.”

“Assets?”

“Here. Wear this.” He handed her a chain-mail shirt that he’d spent years perfecting.

“Daddy, I can’t take—”

“You wil and you’l wear it under your traveler’s clothes. Here are the leggings that go with them.”

“But this is—”

“My best work and I can’t imagine who else you’d think I’d be saving it for if not for me own daughter.” Rhona smiled at him. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“Don’t get weepy on me. Don’t think I can handle it.” He turned from her, unable to look at that beautiful face. “By the time we’re done, you’l be the most wel -armed traveler ever known.”

Once he’d equipped his daughter as best he could, Sulien walked her outside his tent and there they said their good-byes. He hugged her tight, kissing the top of her head and making her promise she’d at least try to be careful. Assuring lies given, he watched his daughter walk off into the busy crowd of warriors and guards and witches preparing for another assault from the Tribesmen. At the right moment, Rhona’s kin would create a diversion that would give Rhona the time she needed to slip out undetected.

Releasing a heavy sigh, Sulien walked back into his tent, coming to an abrupt halt when he saw the Lightning standing there, arms crossed over a chest nearly as big as his own.

“What do you want?”

“Do you real y think for a second I’d let her go into the Provinces without me?” The Lightning lifted his giant—even when it was fit for a human—

hammer and dropped it to the ground. “I need one of those fancy hammers of yours, blacksmith. I have to blend, don’t I?” Grinning, Sulien helped the Northlander find just what he needed.

Chapter 13

Rhona crouched beside the discreet door. It was built into the gate hidden behind trees on both sides. And that’s where she waited to hear the signal that would tel her it was time to move.

Dressed as a traveler, she stil had weapons hidden in every available place she and her father could think of. She was as ready as she could ever hope to be. Would she rather be doing something else? Anything else? Aye. But that desire didn’t change anything.