Shocked, Keita gawked at Brannie. Not that she blamed her cousin for being so surprised. Brannie couldn’t remember the last time she’d let a gods-damned human sneak up on her.

To protect her cousin, Brannie was about to make a move anyway, but somehow she ended up facedown on the ground, vomiting and praying for sweet death.

* * *

“Branwen!”

Keita yanked herself away from the Eastland Rider who gripped her arm and ran to her cousin’s side. She turned her over.

“Fuck,” she growled, grabbing the hem of her dress and tearing off a bit to quickly clean Brannie’s face.

She leaned in close, lifted her cousin’s eyelids, opened her mouth, checked her nostrils.

Keita was just checking her fingers when she noticed there was blood on her wrist. She pulled up her chain mail shirt, tugging out her arm until she found the wound.

She sniffed, recognized the scent, but refused to panic. If she panicked, Brannie would die.

Looking around, Keita stood. One of the men stepped toward her but she pointed at a smarter-looking fellow and ordered, “I need the pallavi root. Now. Find it.”

“Uhhh . . .”

“Was I unclear? Move!”

Startled into action, the man began to search the ground for what she needed. She also grabbed some other ingredients and began to shred and tear until the man handed her a small root.

She used her thumbnail to shred several pieces off, and mixed it with the other materials in the palm of her hand.

Snapping her fingers, Keita ordered, “Ale. Now.”

Someone handed her a canteen of ale and she added several drops to the mix in her hand. She cupped her hands and brought them close to her mouth. She used a bit of her flame to activate her little poultice. Done, she spread the concoction on Brannie’s wound and then placed a small bit under her cousin’s tongue.

She stood. “You,” she barked at one of the bigger men. “Get her on her horse and let’s move. I need to get her to a shaman or witch. Now.”

Fed up, the leader of the team stepped forward and pointed his finger at her. “You don’t seem to under—”

Keita grabbed him by the hair, yanking his head to the side and forcing him to bend at the waist.

“You do what I tell you,” she growled, “or I will kill all of you!”

* * *

Batu the Iron Hearted relaxed in his tent, surrounded by his pillows and concubines, while a musician played songs to keep him calm.

As leader of the Dark Mountain Tribes, he would always get the best of what his people had. But as the ruler of the strongest and most brutal tribes on the Steppes, a leader not afraid to take that which the Empress believed belonged to her, he could really enjoy his time in this world.