“I thought you were dead!”

“That’s your excuse?”

“You would have done the same if the situation were reversed.”

“I wouldn’t have to. Your mother adores me.” He looked at Brannie. “And how did you get here?”

Brannie stretched her neck, trying to loosen the tight muscles. “How do you think?”

“Oh, ignore her. She’s been so difficult lately.” Keita moved back from the bars. “We need to get him out,” she said to Brannie.

“Why haven’t you gotten yourself out?” Brannie had to ask.

Ren pointed at the gold torc. “This is magickal. It’s kept me in human form and my magickal skills quite weak. I’ve been trapped like this for ages.”

Brannie looked over the cage door. “You best step back.”

Ren and Keita moved to the back of the cage. Not because they were in danger from her flame but so that pair could whisper through the bars while Brannie shifted to dragon again. Unleashing her flame on the lock, she pulled with both claws, tearing the door open once she’d softened the gold.

With the door open, Brannie realized that Ren and Keita weren’t talking, they were arguing.

“You sent Batu to my mother’s house?” Only an Eastland royal dragon would call the Empress’s Palace my mother’s house. “What were you thinking?”

“There will be an alliance.”

“He hates my mother!”

“Would you leave it to me? Now, let’s go. We have a war to end!”

Keita flounced off toward the exit and Ren turned to Brannie. “Has she been like this the entire time?”

“The entire time!” Brannie rubbed her forehead. “To be honest, I really thought all of us would be dead by now.”

“Oh, don’t worry. There’s still time for that to happen. Especially when Keita’s involved.”

* * *

Annwyl backed away from the false image of her father, and the faces of all the men she’d killed in her life. Their heads were back on, but she recognized them. They could be real. Those men she’d killed. She clearly remembered condemning many of them to whatever hell would have them.

But her father . . . her father had to be false. How could he be anything else?

She hadn’t killed her father. She’d never been brave enough. Someone else had done her the favor. But then her brother had taken over and things didn’t get better. Not for her.

Actually, not for anyone.

“What are we doing, Da?” an angry voice demanded from behind her and Annwyl recognized that voice, too. Without even looking, she recognized that voice. “You said—”

“Shut up, boy! Me and the great Annwyl the Bloody are talking. Don’t you see that?”

And that’s when Annwyl knew. She wasn’t being haunted by those she’d killed. It wasn’t her brain torturing her with her past.