It was morning. The two suns up outside the stables. The nearby horses in the other stalls restless.

Brannie listened beyond that, ignoring the sounds she recognized to focus on what was more strange to her.

She heard it. Muffled sounds coming into the small courtyard. She closed her eyes and listened harder. Yes.

Muffled hooves. The Daughters of the Steppes muffled their horses when they were planning a late-night attack.

She motioned to Aidan, her index and middle finger together, waving forward twice.

He nodded and slipped off her. She grabbed the unimpressive sword of the guards Keita had killed the day before and got to her feet.

Aidan was already gone, disappearing into the stables to make his own way out. He didn’t make a sound, but that was his way. Unlike the Mì-runach that she’d known over the years—her cousin Éibhear included—Aidan didn’t go screaming into battle, covered in dirt and blood and cutting down all those in his way. He didn’t choose a time to move like a jungle cat as his brethren did. Instead he moved like that at all times, whether in battle or merely walking down the road toward town. Often striking the killing blow before his enemies knew they were under attack.

Standing outside the stall she’d slept in, Brannie briefly thought about the two other Mì-runach down at the end of the large building. She decided against waking them. No matter how injured they still were, they would go out of their way to join the fight, if there was one.

Then again, how often wasn’t there a fight when someone muffled their horse’s hooves?

Brannie walked to the doors and eased one side open just enough to be able to look out. Her lip curled.

They were Zealots. One of the squads Salebiri had been sending out to scorch the land, Brannie guessed, based on the way their cloaks were singed at the edges. Some even had burn scars on their hands and faces, as if they hadn’t moved away from the flames they’d begun fast enough.

There were about twenty, all human from what she could tell.

It still shocked Brannie to no end that there were dragons who’d involved themselves in this foolishness. Insane. Why devote one’s self to a single mad god when there were so many nicer ones to choose from?

Five more Zealots came from inside the castle, pushing the royal family out into the courtyard. Keita was not among them, so Brannie could only hope that her cousin’s skill at survival had kicked in and she was hiding somewhere safe.

A priest was helped down from his horse and, with a beautiful smile and missing eyes, he spread his arms wide and cheerily called out, “May your sight shine bright, Lord Breeton-Holmes! Salutations and great joy to you!”

Lord Breeton-Holmes didn’t answer. The poor man was so terrified, all he could do was stare blankly at those who’d invaded his tiny home.

It wasn’t like Breeton-Holmes was a danger to anyone. He had no army. Showed no sign he wanted to be anything more than a royal with a small castle and shiny horses that were basically useless for any kind of real work. But for the last few months the Zealots had been attacking these small royal estates and forcing the inhabitants to either join their cause—usually by sacrificing at least one eye—or suffering greatly for choosing to stay loyal to their own gods and to Annwyl.