Rhona watched her cousin and Iseabail attack first. Brannie seemed to favor the old standard—a sword and a shield. Iseabail, however, used an ax and a short sword. Together, the pair ran into the soldiers cooking their food over pit fires. The first men they encountered barely had time to cal to their comrades before they were cut down by the young females.

Yet the next wave of soldiers had time to pul their weapons and attack, but the four of them ripped through the entire battalion without much effort.

It would have been more of a chal enge if Rhona and Vigholf had been alone or if Branwen and Iseabail hadn’t been as wel trained. But they had been, hacking and slashing their way through the troops, al of them quickly making their way to the tent Annwyl had been pul ed into.

Rhona cleared her way through the soldiers first, giving her a straight run at the tent. She didn’t want her cousin to see . . . Anyway, she thought someone from inside would have heard the screams and been out here to see what was going on by now. But perhaps they were too focused on what they were doing to Annwyl.

Disgusted more than she could say, Rhona charged the tent, but she stumbled back when the tent flap was yanked open. She raised her shield and spear, ready to strike, but it was Annwyl standing in that tent flap. It was Annwyl who was covered in blood and was dragging the moaning commander by the neck of his breastplate.

The queen stopped right outside the tent, eyes blinking slowly. “Rhona?”

“Annwyl?” Rhona looked her over. “Are you al right?”

“Nose is broken,” she muttered. Then she walked off with the commander.

Vigholf stood by Rhona now, the pair staring after Annwyl before looking at each other. Without a word spoken, they entered the tent, but didn’t get any farther than a few inches past the flap.

“Gods, Vigholf.”

“Al of them,” he murmured in awe. “She’s kil ed al of them.”

Not just kil ed either. More like decimated. She must have gotten someone’s sword or ax, because there were pieces of the soldiers everywhere.

Heads, arms, legs . . . penises. Those pieces, along with al the blood, fil ed the entire floor and wal s of the tent.

Rhona walked back outside and watched Annwyl shove the Sovereign commander against the cage they’d kept her in. Iseabail tied the commander’s arms to the bars and Branwen handed Annwyl one of her two swords.

Wondering what the hel s was going on, Rhona headed over to the three females.

Annwyl crouched down before the commander. She stared at him a moment, then broke out in a bright smile. “That was fun, eh?” She poked him in the chest with her fist. Not hard, but based on his reaction Rhona was guessing there were some ribs broken there.

“Now,” Annwyl began, “tel me how you knew I was here.”

“You were seen,” the commander said through blood and broken teeth.

“Now, now. Don’t lie. I am so very good at spotting liars. So don’t lie to me. How did you know I was here? That I was coming?”

“You were seen,” the commander said again, glaring at her through the eye not swol en shut.

Annwyl let out a sigh, stood, and slashed her sword. It moved so quickly, Rhona barely saw it, but she heard the screaming of the commander, saw blood pouring from where Annwyl had hacked off the fingers of his left hand. She crouched in front of him again.

“Let’s try this again. How did you know I was coming? That I was here?”

Panting, gritting his teeth against the pain, “Got a message from Lady Vateria’s mage.”

“She has her own personal mage? How nice. And what’s his name?”

When he didn’t answer, Annwyl began to stand.

“Junius,” the commander said quickly. “Lord Junius.”

Annwyl returned to her position in front of the Sovereign. “And how did he know?” The commander shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“No. You probably don’t.” She reached over to him with her free hand and wiped a splatter of blood away from his jaw. Kind of ludicrous since he was covered in the stuff. His own and that of his men. “But I bet you know where I can find someone else.” She briefly pursed her lips. “Someone important.” She patted his chest. “Tel me where to find Gaius Lucius Domitus.” This time the commander didn’t bother lying; he simply shook his head. “Never. I am a soldier of the Sovereign Provinces and I’l never—” Annwyl hacked off the commander’s arm at the elbow, ignoring the blood that splattered across her face. “Branwen,” she murmured. And Rhona, becoming more horrified by the second, watched as her cousin unleashed a smal stream of flame that cauterized the wound and stopped the bleeding.

Crouching in front of him again, Annwyl calmly asked, “Where can I find Gaius Lucius Domitus?” The strength of wil of this one human commander showed why the Irons and Sovereigns were not easily kil ed. The leader shook his head. “I’l tel you nothing, whore.”

Rocking back and forth on the bal s of her feet, Annwyl said, “I can hurt you . . . for hours. Just like you were planning to do to me tonight. So, let’s not pretend you have any real choice in the matter. Tel me where to find Gaius Lucius Domitus. And tel me right now.”

“No.”

Without raising her voice, Annwyl said, “Izzy.”

And Iseabail the Dangerous, Daughter of Talaith and Briec, used her battle-ax to hack off the commander’s leg just below his knee, and Branwen quickly fol owed that up with a blast of flame.