“Listen wel to me, cousin. I’ve been given my orders. Find Annwyl. Bring her back. And that is exactly what I plan to do. Even if that means razing the entire Provinces and leaving no Sovereign or Iron alive. That’s what I’l do.” And gods, Morfyd knew the truth of that. Give this She-dragon an order and she fol owed it like her very life depended on it—and gods protect those who dare step in her path.

The pretty witch suddenly wrapped her arms around her kin, giving her a desperate hug. What no one wanted to say out loud, but Vigholf knew the truth of, was that they didn’t need Annwyl back to lead her troops. Instead, what they needed was not to have the remains of a crucified Annwyl lobbed at her armies. Nothing ruined morale more than having the head of your leader tossed at you.

“It’l be al right,” Rhona soothed, rubbing her cousin’s back. “I promise. I’l find her.”

“When wil you leave?” Morfyd asked, pul ing away from her kin.

“Now.”

“Do you need anything?”

“Can you afford to spare anything?”

Morfyd shook her head. “Not real y. The troops took the bulk of our remaining supplies for the trip.”

“Then we’l get what we need on the road. Now what I need to know from you, cousin, is where you think Annwyl went.” Morfyd eased farther away from Rhona, eyes downcast. “Uh . . .”

“Uh? Uh . . . what?”

“That’s a little tricky.”

“Right. She headed into the Provinces. We know that.”

“No. I mean, yes.”

Rhona glanced at Vigholf.

“Where is she, Morfyd?” Rhona pushed.

“She headed into the west, yes. Toward the Provinces. But I think—I’m not sure—but I think she’s not heading into the Provinces.”

“Then where is she headed?”

“Around the Provinces. I think she’s gone to find someone. Someone she thinks can help her.”

“Who, Morfyd? Spit it out.”

Morfyd faced her cousin. “Gaius Lucius Domitus.”

Again Rhona looked to him and al Vigholf could do was shrug.

“Who is that?” Rhona asked.

“The . . .” Morfyd cleared her throat. “The Rebel Dragon King of the Septima Mountains.” Rhona folded her arms across her chest and told her cousin plainly, “Then I guess we’re a wee bit f**ked, ain’t we, cousin?” The Rebel King? The bloody Rebel King? That was who Annwyl was after?

The Rebel Dragon King of the Septima Mountains was known for two reasons—he was nephew to Overlord Thracius and he was considered the cruelest bastard in the known world.

There’d been others who’d approached Gaius Domitus before. Most of them never came back. Those who had often missed bits of themselves.

Arms. Legs. Wings. He and his army lived outside the Provinces, hiding in the caves of the Septima Mountains, it was said, waiting for the day when he could take Thracius’s rule from him.

“Why,” Rhona had to ask, “would Annwyl do this? Why would she go to him?”

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t. She never mentioned a word to me. Then she was gone.”

“Then how do you know—”

Morfyd reached into the pocket of her witch’s robes and pul ed out a smal piece of parchment. She read out loud, “Went to see the Rebel King.

Wish me luck.”

Exhausted to her bones, Rhona sat down in the closest chair, hooking her leg over the armrest. “Mad cow your queen.”

“Perhaps,” Vigholf said, taking the parchment and staring at it. “Maybe not.”

Rhona gawked at him. “How do you figure?”

“Imagine if the mad bitch can get the Rebel King on our side? If she gets him to fight with us . . .”

“Or,” Morfyd reasoned, “she could turn him against us by . . . oh, I don’t know . . . cutting off his hair while trying to cut off his head?” Vigholf flinched and handed the paper back to Morfyd. “Point taken.” He looked at Rhona. “So what do you want to do?”

“What can I do? I have to get her. Maybe, if I’m lucky, she hasn’t found him yet. Of course, never real y been lucky,” she sighed out.

“Hopeful y that’l change.” Vigholf motioned her up. “Let’s go, Fire Breather. We’ve got miles to make.”

“On foot?”

“Is this about the horses again? I’m a dragon, female. Horses are supposed to be terrified of me.”

“Wel , that terror isn’t bloody helping us now, is it?”

“I have something for that,” Morfyd said. She dug into a bag she had lying on her bed and pul ed out a necklace. A talisman probably, but a boring one. Just a simple black stone hanging from a plain silver chain. “Wear this.” Vigholf reared back from the necklace Morfyd held out to him. “That’s al right.”

“You scared, Northlander?” Rhona couldn’t help but tease. “Scared of a little necklace?”

“It’s nothing dangerous,” Morfyd promised, ignoring the way Vigholf glared at Rhona. “It’l simply help you with horses. Make them a little less afraid of you. Here. Take it.”

When Vigholf didn’t, Rhona got to her feet. “Honestly! You’d think it was a snake, the way you’re acting.” She snatched the necklace from her cousin and went up on her toes to get the silver chain over his head.