Now she was in the thick of it. And Beatrix had to admit . . . this was exhilarating.

Prince Marius walked into his tent along with his men and his mother.

“Explain to me, woman, why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

“I don’t know why you’re upset, my king. I thought it was common among royals to kill their siblings. Besides, wouldn’t killing me now just be kind of boring when I could be your queen instead?” Beatrix asked, examining the maps stretched out over the wood table in the middle of the tent.

“I don’t want to be rude, Lady Beatrix, but you are not pretty enough to be my queen. Or anyone else’s.”

“Marius!” Maila gasped.

“It’s all right. I’m not pretty at all,” Beatrix admitted. “I know that. And words about it don’t hurt me. Besides, I’ve compensated for my lack of beauty with something more important.”

“Intelligence?” he asked, mocking.

“Ruthlessness.” Beatrix pointed at one of Marius’s generals. “Did you know that he’s been communicating with your brother? The Devourer?”

“Lying whore!” the general yelled.

Beatrix put her finger to her lips and whispered, “Shhh.” Her gaze moved back to the prince. “But he is not your worry. He just wants to keep his options open should you fail. I, personally, admire that kind of planning.”

Marius sighed. “Mother, I don’t think this is going to work out. . . .”

Maila shook her head because she had no idea what was going on. She thought she did, all smug and ready in the carriage, but the Old King’s whore was nothing more than a means to an end. Just like killing Keeley had been.

“Your real concern,” Beatrix went on, “are those two.” She pointed at two of his other generals.

“She is mad,” one of them said, laughing.

Beatrix pulled out the parchment she had tucked into her dress and began to read, “My dearest Lord Cyrus, as we wait for your word on our next move, I can tell you with assurance that your brother’s army grows weaker by the day. There are many among them we can turn to our side without much effort—”

“Who wrote that?” Marius demanded.

Beatrix held the parchment up for the prince to see. “Do you not recognize the seal, my lord?”

“That’s a lie!” the young general yelled out. “You did this, witch!”

“I am no witch. I am no royal. I’m just a farmer’s daughter with nothing to do but find out information. And keep it . . . until I need it.” She shook the letter. “This is a year old. And it’s not the only one I have . . . from each of them.”

Marius pulled his sword. “You cunts!”

“No, my prince! She lies . . . you cannot . . . you cannot . . .” The young general looked at each of them. “What are you all staring at?”

The prince pointed with his weapon. “You bleed.”

The young general touched the blood that poured down his chin, not realizing that the blood also came from his eyes, his nose, his ears.

“What have you done?” the older general, also bleeding from every orifice, asked Beatrix.

“I’ve killed you. Had your chainmail poisoned . . . so I never had to raise a finger.”

The older general took a step. “You vile cu—”

He dropped. Before he could finish and his partner fell on top of him. Both dead. Their blood still pouring out of them.

The prince faced her again, his sword still out, aimed at her. Beatrix smiled. “My lord . . . can we speak alone?”

The chorus of “no” was loud and came even from his mother, but Marius waved them off.

“I’ll be fine.”

“My son—”

“You brought her, Mother. Now let me talk to her.”

The Dowager Queen and remaining generals left the tent.

Beatrix dropped into a chair and gestured to another on the other side of the table. The prince put his sword back in its sheath and sat.

“I know I’m not what you were hoping for.”

“You’re right there. A beautiful woman of royal blood with a dowry and her father’s soldiers would be what I’d expect.”

“No worries about the soldiers . . . your dukes and lords will give you all the soldiers you request. And we both know you’d get tired of any woman who graced your bed more than once.”

“True. But what can you provide that others cannot?”

“The world.”

One eyebrow went up. “The world?”

“While other little girls played with dolls and learned to tend house, I’ve been planning to get everything there is to be taken. While you and your brothers bicker over your father’s puny territories, you could be advancing into the mountains.”

“For what?”

“Slaves. Warriors. Dwarves. Elves.” She gave a little smile. “Centaurs. Do you have any idea how much those creatures would sell for?”

“Centaurs? And what would all this gold made from enslaved centaurs be for?”

“To take your kingdom where even your father never dreamed.”

“Where’s that?”

“The Dark Lands.”

He briefly went pale, his gaze locked on her. “Woman, are you mad?”

“Don’t tell me you’re frightened.”

“They have dragons there.”

“Probably not that many. And I’ve done lots of research. Those things can be killed.”

“And then there’s that human queen. The crazy one?”

“The more insane, the easier to destroy. Her people are probably dying for her to be burned in a cleansing fire.” She leaned in, resting her elbows on the table. “The Dark Lands are there for the taking.”

“And you’re the one who’s going to help me with that?”

“The gods talk to me. Tell me what’s possible.”

“So you’re a seer then?”

Beatrix waved his words away. “Hardly. I can’t see the future. Or the past. I have just been blessed to see the possibilities. Of what could be.”

Prince Marius glanced off, silent. Then he shook his head.

She pressed her hands flat against the wood table. “The Witches of Amhuinn were playing games. They confirmed I would be queen. Then they said my sister would be too.” Beatrix let out what she knew to be a sad-sounding sigh. “My sister believed them. She took me to one of the chambers. To talk, she said. But she attacked me. I grabbed a blade . . . next thing I knew . . . she was dead on the floor.”

“You really didn’t think your sister would want to be queen?”

“Every woman wants to be queen, my lord. But we’re family . . . family is all.” She brushed at nonexistent tears. “Honestly, though, I think it was the witches who killed her. They toyed with her until she was crazed. I truly think for their own cruel amusement.” She tapped the table with her index finger. “How many others are they going to tell this tale? First my sister . . . then who? One of your dukes with a large army? A king in a nearby land?” Beatrix raised her gaze to Marius. “Or maybe that mad bitch in the Dark Lands.”

He stood, walked to his tent opening but he didn’t leave, simply clasped his hands behind his back.

“And what do you suggest we do, Lady Beatrix,” he asked, “for such an affront . . . to a future queen?”

“The only thing we can do, my king.” She dropped back into her chair. “Destroy the obstinate little cunts before they have a chance to do any more damage.”

Spying some biscuits across the table, Beatrix reached for the plate and added, “It would also be nice if we can take as many of their books as possible.”

Marius slowly turned his head to look at Beatrix over his shoulder.

“I’m an avid reader,” she admitted before taking a bite of a delicious biscuit.

CHAPTER 13

For hours the witches tended Keeley; younger witches following orders, often running in and out of the chamber while the older, more powerful witches cut into Keeley, sewed organs, and closed her, only to open her up again. All while chanting ancient healing spells and calling on their gods.

Gemma silently called out to Morthwyl. Well, at first, she chanted softly but when Keran asked, “Are you going to bring Keeley back to life so her corpse can kill Beatrix?” she stopped and did it silently. But war gods were moody, at best, and didn’t always come when called. They often demanded a sacrifice or, even better, a battle to get their attention and rewards.

Hours turned to days. Two days specifically. And Gemma was moments from giving up all hope.

She looked across the passageway and watched the two centaurs. They were still in their human forms and sat close to each other on the floor. When Caid sadly laid his head on his sister’s shoulder and she stroked his hair, Gemma began to wonder how attached the centaur had become to her sister. But Keeley had that way, didn’t she? With people. With animals. And, like their father, with centaurs.

Finally an elderly witch walked out of the chamber. She wiped her bloody hands with a white linen cloth and stopped in front of Gemma and Keran.

“Your sister lives,” she announced with no preamble. “The gods must have heard our prayers.”

“More like she’s too pissed at whoever did this to her to die,” Keran said.

“Whatever it is, so far it’s working.”

“So far?” Gemma asked.

“Your sister was nearly disemboweled. She’s lucky to be breathing at all.”

“So what do we do now?” Keran asked.

“We wait for my sister.” Gemma got to her feet. “The next move will be hers.”

“As you like.” The witch glanced around. “Now I’m going to check on your sister one more time and get some sleep. You lot should too. If she wakes up”—and Gemma felt that “if” like a knife to her gut—“it won’t be for quite a while.”