by G. A. Aiken
Then it got strange. She heard the sound of a lot of chains and . . . snarling. For a moment she thought her wolves had come too, but it wasn’t her wolves. It was a large army of women on horseback. They were barely dressed considering it was wintertime. And covered in thick tattoos. Their horses were even more interesting, though, with bright red eyes . . . and fangs. Sitting beside their horses were something like dogs . . . maybe. Whatever they were, they were snarling and snapping and ready for a fight.
Keeley didn’t understand what was happening. She didn’t understand how or why all these sects had appeared here now.
Then she saw a gleeful Ragna hanging midway from a trebuchet with one hand, screaming toward Cyrus.
“Do you see, Prince Cyrus?” she called to him. “Your protection is gone! Destroyed by Queen Keeley! Now our gods have opened the doorways and unleashed their mightiest warriors to wreak their revenge. There is no escape for you now! Our gods will have your soul, foolish Prince! And they will have it for eternity!”
Slowly, Keeley faced a now sick-looking Cyrus.
“I guess I have what every god really needs,” Keeley said to the fallen prince. “Blacksmithing skills.”
Behind her, Keeley heard Ragna bellow out, “My fellow brothers and sisters, destroy Cyrus’s sycophants! Kill his followers! Leave none of them alive to ever speak his name! Or the name of his god! It is now that our gods call upon us to take our vengeance in the names of all those we have lost! Let none of our enemies live! Kill everyone!”
With that last call, the battle started, but Keeley didn’t bother to turn around.
She slapped the head of her hammer into her left hand. “Come on, Cyrus the Honored. Just you and me.”
“Kill her!” he ordered his men. “Kill her.”
Keeley sighed, not really in the mood to fight a whole bunch of men just to get to that one idiot she absolutely had to kill, but if she had to, she had to.
She raised her hammer but before she even had a chance to swing, something blew past her, and the soldiers charging her disintegrated into ash before they were even close enough to strike.
Stunned, Keeley looked over her shoulder, expecting to see one of the religious groups using their magicks, but they were all too busy destroying Cyrus’s other soldiers. Even Ragna wasn’t paying attention to Keeley at the moment.
Hearing screams, Keeley looked back and saw that Cyrus was being dragged off the field of battle.
Well . . . that wasn’t quite accurate. His soul was. His body was still there, on its knees, staring at her. His soul, however, was being dragged away by a god.
The god stopped, turned toward her. “Keeley Smythe.” He smiled at her. It was stunning. No one should be that beautiful. Or that giant. Especially with that many scars and open wounds. He must be a war god.
“I am Morthwyl. I and my brother war gods are grateful to you for your help.” He lifted Cyrus’s soul, shook it a bit. “Stop screaming! It won’t help you!” He chuckled.
“This one,” he said to Keeley, “and his god have been quite a problem. Killing our followers, without permission. That’s not acceptable. But now my brothers and sisters . . . we can have some fun. But we couldn’t have without your help. So thank you.”
“You’re welcome?”
“The body is yours to do with as you will. It’s still alive . . . so enjoy!”
He took a few more steps, then abruptly stopped, looked over his shoulder and down at her, adding, “By the way, nice work on your hammer. I mean before the dwarves got to it. Don’t get me wrong, they did a nice job too. We all know that’s their thing. And I can tell you from personal experience that Soiffart, their god, is a cocky fuck. But seriously, the work you did on it before they ever touched it . . . ? Nice. Just thought you’d want to know.”
With that, the god went on his way, yelling out, “Hey, boys! I’ve got something for us to play with!”
Then he was gone, disappearing from her sight.
Keeley didn’t know how long she stood there, staring blindly into nothing. Cyrus the Honored sobbed at her feet, screaming about his missing soul.
Long enough, it seemed, for Ragna to show up, demanding to know if Keeley was going to finish off Cyrus or not.
“What?” Keeley asked the war monk.
“Are you going to kill him or not? Or do you want me to do it?”
“I don’t care.” Keeley hugged her hammer tight against her chest.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“He said ‘nice work.’ About my hammer. He said it. He meant it.”
“Who meant it?” She looked down at the sobbing prince. “Cyrus?”
“No. The god.”
Ragna gave a small laugh. “You’re talking to gods now? Who compliment your hammers? We need to get you home, I think.”
“It really happened.”
“Sure it did.”
“He was beautiful. Giant.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Blond hair. Green eyes. Talked about his war god brothers.”
“Of course he did. And I’m sure he loved your work, Your Majesty.”
“He even mentioned the dwarves and called their god, Soiffart, a cocky fuck.”
Ragna’s eye began to twitch. “What . . . what did you say?”
“He said Soiffart was a cocky fuck, which I think I will not mention to the dwarves. I’m sure that would only insult them.”
Ragna gawked at Keeley a long moment before asking, “Wait . . . you . . . you . . . you spoke to Morthwyl? You really did speak to him?”
Keeley frowned. “Now you believe me. Two seconds ago you didn’t believe a word I said and thought I was insane.”
“I’ve read every text about Morthwyl since I joined the monastery, and there are tales of wars between Morthwyl and Soiffart because he called Soiffart a cocky fuck. But you couldn’t know that. Can you even read?”
“I can read. I learned.”
“And Morthwyl spoke to you? You?”
“Why do you say it like that for? I am a—”
“Queen?”
“No. Blacksmith.”
Keeley walked a few feet away and that’s when she screamed out, “And he said nice work!”
Needless to say, Keeley was not surprised to hear Cyrus’s head being cut off by a growling war monk a few seconds after that.
* * *
Donan put the baby in his crib and picked his toddler daughter off the floor.
“You lot!” he barked at his older boys. “Stop doing whatever you’re doing that your mother is going to yell at you about and get back to work outside.”
“I’m reading,” his eldest son complained.
Donan grabbed the book from his son’s hands and threw it across the room.
“Read later.”
“Fine!”
His son stormed out but he came right back in, his eyes wide.
“What now?” Donan demanded.
The boy just pointed. His eldest wasn’t thrown off easily. He couldn’t be with so many siblings and a big farm to help manage. He had dreams too. Of being a librarian, which seemed a sad dream to Donan, but if that’s what the boy wanted, he wouldn’t stand in his way, but still . . . The look on his face.
Donan walked outside and froze. Now his eyes went wide. His wife always said that his eldest looked just like him, so the pair probably looked like matching tapestries at the moment, wide-eyed and pale. Both of them shocked into confused silence.
“What’s going on out here?” he heard his wife ask. She pushed past her husband and son and gasped.
“Where did they come from?”
There were so many. All of them children. Undernourished and desperate. Frightened and alone.
His wife did what she always did when faced with the unexplainable. She took care of it.
“Tommy lad, get as many blankets as you can find and then go to Lady Sheela’s house and tell her we’ll be bringing some guests over. Tell her I won’t care about her complai
nts!”
She turned to their eldest. “Listen. I need you to take Bessie and ride to—”
“No,” Donan quickly cut in. “We can’t send him there.”
“We have no choice. We can’t handle this on our own. Look at them. It’s not about how many. It’s about what’s been done to them. She’s the only one who can handle this.”
His wife was right, of course. Not that he’d admit that out loud.
“Go, Son,” his wife said, pushing her son toward their stable. “Go straight to Garbhán Isle and demand to see Queen Annwyl herself. Tell her exactly what’s happened here.”
CHAPTER 28
When word of Cyrus’s death spread, all those needy religious sects were gone in a blink. Some simply walked out the gate. Others just vanished. Only those who’d belonged in the area in the first place were still behind the castle gates. It didn’t matter, though. They’d been unneeded. Unnecessary. And had only taken up space.
As always, there were more important things to worry about than those who did nothing but pray and sacrifice their lives to air.
The door to the privy chamber slammed open and the king stormed in.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?”
Beatrix snorted. “It only took you two years.”
He came across the room toward her but the captain of her guard stepped between them and the king reared back in stunned rage.
“Have you lost your mind?”
The captain said nothing but he didn’t let Marius near her either.
“You need to understand something, dear husband,” Beatrix said, stamping her seal in hot wax. “You are king of this territory and, of course, that will never change. But everything else is changing. And I fear you are just not ready to keep up with that.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means”—she looked up from her scrolls and papers—“stay out of my way. You and I will get along a lot better if you do.”
“There is no way you can seriously think I would—”
“Ivan, please show the king out. I have a meeting in a few minutes and I need to get ready. We can talk more later tonight. About his new duties and what I expect of him.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
Ivan stood and walked past Beatrix. He gestured toward the door. “Your Majesty, this way, please.”
Marius looked back and forth between them, but he wasn’t quite sure what to do. He never was when he was faced with others’ confidence. But he knew Beatrix well enough to know that she never made a move without securing her situation.
He started toward the door, Ivan behind him. When he reached it, he stopped and asked, “Where’s my mother?”
“On a long trip. To see some distant family. I was concerned for her safety. What with my sisters making such a bold move in that attack.” Beatrix looked directly at her husband. “I knew you wouldn’t want her to be in danger. You do love her so.”
Marius left, Ivan went back to his seat behind her, and the captain continued to monitor her security.
“Any word on my tunnel?” Beatrix asked Ivan.
“We found some remains of the soldiers that went after your sister. All dead. Nothing yet on the tunnel, though.”
Beatrix nodded, continued writing. “And the other tunnels?”
“No evidence your sister found out about those.”
“Good. I need a new assistant, Ivan.”
“I will find you one, Mistress. Much more loyal.”
Beatrix put down her quill and said, “Can I admit something to you, Ivan?”
“Of course you can.”
“I usually don’t waste my time on anger and resentment. There’s so much to do, you understand.”
“Of course, my lady. You are very busy.”
“Exactly. But I have to say, when it comes to my sister Gemma . . . I hate that fucking bitch.”
* * *
Gemma rode through the gates and let out a sigh. She was glad to be home. They reached the castle and found Ainsley standing outside, holding their parents’ youngest.
“What’s going on?”
“He’s teething again. I was hoping walking him around would help.”
“I’m not talking about the baby. I’m talking about the state of our sister’s queendom.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
Gemma frowned. “What happened to your neck? Why is it all bruised and swollen?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Where’s Keeley?”
“Daydreaming on the ramparts again.”
“Give me the baby.”
“Why?”
“I need Keeley to stay calm when I talk to her.”
“Things went that badly?”
“Just give me the baby.” Once she was holding her youngest sibling, she stepped close to her sister and said in a low voice, “Look, I need you to find someone to take care of Kriegszorn. Someone we can trust.”
“But not care if they go missing?”
“That is not what I meant. Just find somebody.”
“Okay. Anything else, Lady-In-Charge?”
“As a matter of fact, Princess Demands-A-Lot, yes.” Gemma motioned to her team. “Make sure they get rooms, food, anything they need. Understand?”
“Does that include whores?”
“Why do you test me?”
“It’s my nature and you never say please. But I’ll take care of them.”
Gemma leaned in again and added, “Be extra gentle with Agathon there. The new one. He’s sensitive and easily startled. He’s been through hell with Beatrix, so . . .”
“Got it.”
Gemma tracked Keeley down to the ramparts just as Ainsley had said. She was gazing out over her queendom but Gemma couldn’t tell from her expression whether she was happy or sad. Or simply pensive.
“Keeley?”
Keeley looked away from the world outside her gates and focused on Gemma. The smile that bloomed on her face made Gemma feel surprisingly happy.
“You’re back! And alive!”
Keeley smothered Gemma and the baby in a hug.
“I’m so glad you survived!”
“Same to you.”
Keeley stepped back and Gemma shoved the baby into her arms.
“Why did you give me the baby?”
“We need to talk.”
“Who died? It wasn’t you. Gods, was it Quinn? Please tell me it wasn’t Quinn.”
“It wasn’t Quinn. He’s gone off to find his siblings.”
“They’re running with the herd and then bathing in the river.” Keeley gasped and whispered, “Did you kill her? Did you kill Beatrix?”
“No! I didn’t.” She shrugged. “I did try. Very hard. Very, very hard.”
“Gemma.”
“I said I didn’t kill her, so let’s move on. But you were right, Keeley. About her. She was doing something very bad.”
“What was she building? How bad was it? Was it a giant tower? A giant evil tower?”
“What she was building was only part of the bad.”
Keeley studied Gemma. “What are you talking about?”
Gemma moved close to her sister and gently stroked the baby’s head. “She was using slave labor to build her tunnel, Gemma. Child slaves that she had taken from the barbarians her armies killed.”
Keeley shook her head and moved a few feet from Gemma. She finally sat down, her back against the wall, the baby tucked against her chest.
Gemma sat next to her.
Keeley didn’t bother denying what Gemma had told her because she knew Gemma would never lie to her about something like that. Not now, not ever.
So they just sat there like that. Neither speaking. Gemma put her head on Keeley’s shoulder and Keeley just stroked the baby’s back.
They did speak once, though. But only once.
When Keeley finally said, “We can never tell Daddy.”
And Gemma replied, “I know.”
; * * *
“This is going to kill Keeley,” Laila said as she moved out of the river to stand beside Caid, her tail flicking back and forth.
“She’s strong enough to handle it,” Caid said. “But I think we’ve finally found the one thing she can never forgive her sister for.”
“Where was this tunnel going?”
“We’re not quite sure,” Quinn said, finger-combing his wet hair off his face with his hands. “Although we’ve all got some solid guesses.”
“Guesses? You didn’t ask?”
“There was some anger there, when the soldiers began running out of the tunnel. And once those mystical doorways opened . . . the witches and virgins simply went to work. So no, Sister, we did not ask.”
“You know what we may have to worry about, though?” Caid suggested. “A test attack on us from Marius. We should be ready for that.”
“A test attack?”
“Yeah. He may send some troops here, hoping that we lost so many men in our clash with Cyrus, we’ll be too weak to fight back.”
“You’re right.” Laila motioned Cadell and Farlan over with a wave. “We’ll get everyone ready for that just in case.”
“Even if they do, the war monks are fresh and ready,” Quinn reminded them. “They stayed behind to protect the territory and can handle a fresh battle.”
“Speaking of which,” Laila asked, “did you lose anyone?”
“Nope. We all came back safe and sound. Just some wounds. But nothing missing. Gemma got a bad burn, though. But again, the witches and virgins are working on that. Oh, and before you hear it from anyone else . . . Gemma’s madly in love with me.”
His onetime battle unit gazed at him for a very long time until Laila rubbed his arm and said, “Awwww, my dear brother, don’t you worry. We’ll find you someone.”
“You don’t believe me?”
Laila scrunched up her nose as if she’d smelled something strange but didn’t want to admit it. “Gemma? Really?”
“Yes. We’ve been together. It was glorious.”
Caid just laughed. “You and Brother Gemma, the war monk? You’re such a bad liar.”
