He hugged her tight. “I’m fine,” he told her. “I’m fine. I’m just glad you are. I didn’t know where you were, but I had to take care of the troops or—”

“It’s all right.” She reminded him, “I can take care of myself. I may not handle a sword like my cousins, but I’m still a Battle Witch.”

Brastias’s name was called; his officers needed his assistance. But she could feel that he didn’t want to let her go, which was all she really needed to get her through the next few hours.

“Go,” she said, forcing herself to pull away. “Go and know that I love you.”

He still gripped her hand and kissed the back of it before finally releasing her.

When Morfyd returned to her niece, crouching in front of her, Rhian placed her hand on Morfyd’s shoulder and leaned in.

“This is bad,” she whispered, her eyes no longer bleeding, her sight perfectly clear.

“I know.”

“And Auntie Annwyl—”

“Yes.” Morfyd cut Rhian off, not wanting the troops to hear about their queen until the chaos had calmed down and Brastias had better control of the situation.

“Auntie Morfyd . . . there’s only one thing to do. You know that.”

“We can’t. They will hear.”

“It’s not like we have much of a choice.”

Rhian, as always, was right.

Morfyd closed her eyes and, using her mind, she called out.

Mother ...

Chapter Four

Without wings or clothes and on their human feet, the small group made it several miles from their enemies. It was at times like this that Branwen wondered how humans did it. How did they go on, day to day, without wings, practically hobbled by their tiny feet? It wasn’t that she had to use her wings all the time—it was knowing that she could that made all the difference.

But now, in order to avoid alerting any of the Zealots lurking in the trees—probably on the lookout for enemy dragons—they had to stay on the ground. They had to move silently. On their tiny human feet.

She wouldn’t call all this hell, exactly, but it was close.

Thankfully Caswyn eventually woke up and was able to at least drag his feet along, his arm over Brannie’s shoulders. She was grateful for that bit of help. After two, three hours, the big bastard had gotten heavy.

Five hours in, the enemy legions behind them, Brannie stopped.

“What are we doing?” Aidan asked, Uther limping not far behind. He’d quickly gotten fed up with being “made to feel weak!” But Aidan had kept close, helping when needed to keep his friend moving on their long, wingless journey.

“I think this is a good place to turn around and head back.”

“Head back?” Aidan frowned. “Head back to where?”

“To our troops. To Izzy and Éibhear. To everyone.”

“That does not sound like a good idea, Branwen.”

Brannie focused on Aidan, her gaze narrowing. “You want to run away?”

“We already ran away. But if we’re going back, I want to take a more logical course than the one that will lead us directly into the arms of our enemies.”