“She’s our mother.”

“Then why don’t you do it?”

Her brother, covered in blood, looked away from the corpse he was trying to raise. “I’m busy.”

“Busy failing. You can’t raise human dead. Accept it!”

“It takes practice!”

“Oy! You two!” General Brastias—or, as Talwyn used to call him when she was a little girl, Uncle Bra-Bra—motioned to both of them. “One of you idiots get your mother. No one watches her back!”

“Does anyone need to watch her back?”

Brastias grabbed one of their enemies by the neck and bent him over at the waist. He buried his sword into the back of the man’s exposed neck, killing him instantly. And not once did he take his disapproving gaze off Talwyn.

Always her! Why not Talan? How come her mother’s care always fell to her?

She cut the throat of another soldier coming at her and quickly looked over and through the battling crowd, trying to find her oh-so-precious mother.

One would think the ruler of the entire Southland regions could take care of her bloody self.

But after all these years of war, somehow Talwyn had become the overseer of all things that involved Queen Annwyl of the Garbhán Isle. Or, as she was more commonly known, Annwyl the Bloody, the Mad Bitch of the Southlands.

Talwyn just called her “Mum.” Mostly.

Finally spotting the queen, Talwyn saw that her mother was doing what she still did best. Killing anything near her that did not wear her colors.

The queen brought one sword down on her opponent, cutting into him from the shoulder through the torso at an angle, until he was in two pieces. She turned and slashed her sword again, taking a head. Turned once more and slashed. Turned and slashed. Over and over, cutting a swath through the battling men.

Her mother wasn’t like most queens. She didn’t stay in the safety of her castle and get information relayed to her from messengers on horseback. No. Talwyn’s mother was always knee-deep in the muck and blood and body parts. She hated her nickname, but the woman had truly earned it.

Talwyn sneered. What were her brother and uncle so worried about? If there was one being in this world who could take care of herself, it was Annwyl the Bloody.

She was about to tell the worried males just that when her mother suddenly stood tall, ignoring the enemies at her feet, begging to be finished off so that they could go to their god as a martyr.

That was usually something Talwyn’s mother took great joy in providing to her enemies, and Talwyn didn’t think she’d ever seen her stop in the middle of a bloodbath.

So why was she stopping now?

Annwyl lifted her head, gaze scanning above the heads of the soldiers battling before her. What was she searching for? It wasn’t prey. They were all around her.

“Mum?” Talwyn called out. “Mum!”

Her mother either didn’t hear her or ignored her completely, something she was known to do when she was in one of her rage-fits. But when that was happening, Annwyl the Bloody was usually hacking at anything that moved. Not standing and staring.