“With us, with us,” Quinn mocked, rushing behind the women in his human form.

Caid gritted his teeth. “Fuck.”

Worried his brother would make everything worse—because he usually did—Caid shifted to human and followed, but when he saw Keeley heading for the tribal chieftain’s tent, he picked up his speed. This was the one place Keeley really should not go.

He reached her and attempted to grab her arm, but she slipped through his fingers and was in the tent before he could stop her.

Laila growled; both she and Gemma entered the tent together, with Quinn laughing at Caid as he went in after them all.

“Gods-dammit,” Caid muttered before he followed them.

Laila had moved in front of Keeley, her hand pressed to Keeley’s chest to prevent her from going any farther.

“What’s going on?” the chieftain asked, gaze moving between her children.

“Mother,” Laila said, facing Gaira. “I beg your indulgence.”

Quinn sat on a nearby table. “Your indulgence is being begged, Mumsie.”

Giving that warm smile their mother seemed to reserve for Quinn, she said, “My darling son”—she motioned to his bare legs—“pull down your kilt and close your knees, dear. I don’t need the world to see your cock and balls.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Laila gestured to Keeley. “This is Keeley Smythe, Mother. The true—”

“Queen. Yes?”

Keeley moved past Laila, no longer waiting for his sister to speak for her. “I’m not queen yet, but I need to be.”

“So you can become rich and powerful like the previous Old Kings or so you can kill your sister for what she did to you?”

“I already told that centaur with eight legs that I will not kill Beatrix.”

“What do you mean you’re not going to kill her?” Gemma demanded.

“Eight legs?” his mother asked. “You met a centaur with eight legs? Here?”

“She’s our sister,” Keeley replied to Gemma first. “I’m not going to kill her and neither are you. And he didn’t give me his name,” she said to his mother, “he just said he was a god. He was very large, so I believed him.”

“Why won’t I kill our sister? She deserves to die.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” his mother tried again, “but you spoke to Ofydd Naw? Our war god?”

“He didn’t give me his name. And killing our sister will just put a curse on this family!”

“Beatrix is a curse!”

“And she’s still our sister!”

Caid cringed again when his mother put her hands to her temples. A sure sign she was getting one of her “aching heads” as she called it.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you two bickering ninnies! But am I the only one disturbed that our gods are stopping by to say hello to a human?” His mother eyed Keeley coldly. “A human blacksmith,” she sneered.

Gemma jumped in front of her sister as Keeley pointed her finger and informed their mother, “Blacksmithing is the most ancient and noble art in the world!”

“Keeley,” Gemma implored, “let it go.”

“You’re just lucky our mum isn’t here. She’d tear your skin off.”

“I’m sorry,” his mother said, a small smile turning up the corners of her mouth.

Keeley frowned. “Are you?”

“Of course. I shouldn’t have insulted you. But in spite of the fact that a god came to you—”

“Gods.”

His mother blinked. “Pardon?”

“Gods. I met gods. As in plural.”

“You met someone other than Ofydd Naw? Who else?”

Keeley shrugged. “Not sure about the name, but he was a giant version of my wolf friends.”

Laila’s eyes grew wide. “Your wolf friends . . . ? Do you mean the demon wolves we can’t get rid of?”

“They’re still wolves.”

His mother scratched her cheek. “That’s Maelgwn. The other gods use him when someone makes them angry. They’ll send him up here to destroy whole cities or entire races of people, depending on how pissed off they are.”

Really? Keeley shrugged. “He let me rub his belly.”

* * *

The entire tent was silent until Gaira looked at Laila with those light eyes and sweetly said, “May I speak to you for a moment, dear?”

“No, thank you,” Laila attempted but her mother grabbed her by her hair as she walked by and dragged Laila from the tent.

“What kind of mad human did you bring to our territory?” Gaira demanded, shoving Laila away and shifting to human so she could easily pace in front of her daughter.

“She’s not mad. Just different.”

Gaira stopped pacing. “She rubbed the belly of a demon god.”

“Demon wolf god.”

“What difference does that make?”

“To her it makes all the difference. As far as she’s concerned . . . they’re wolves and therefore, they are more animal than evil being.”

“Despite the eyes of flame?”

“She just doesn’t put her hands near that area . . . so they don’t get burned.”

Gaira moved in close and reminded her, “You do understand that one day you’ll be taking my role? As chieftain. You get that, yes? Which means you’ll be responsible for all these people. Not just the ones who can wield a sword, but the ones who farm, who heal, who make pretty jewelry. You do understand that?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then you understand bringing mad human women into their midst is stupid . . . yes?”

“Just talk to her.”

“I tried. She bickered with her War Monk—another discussion we’ll need to have one day—sister and talked about rubbing the belly of a demon god.”

“And Ofydd Naw came to get her. To send her back here to battle her own sister. Or did you forget that part, Mum?”

“Don’t call me ‘Mum.’ We’re not peasants.”

“I know it’s hard for you to not look down on others, but I’ve fought beside Keeley. I’ve seen her with her family. I’ve seen her with her workers. I’ve seen her challenge the Witches of Amhuinn. Can she win against Beatrix? I really don’t know. But I think if we give that bitch Beatrix even the slightest chance, she will destroy all of us.”

* * *

“Tell me what you need, blacksmith,” the leader of the centaur clans, Chieftain Gaira, asked Keeley as they walked through her tribal lands together.

“I need an army.”

“You’ll have to give me a very good reason to assign my warriors to you.”

“No, no,” Keeley felt the need to insist. “I need an army.”

“Are you saying my warriors are not good enough for you?”

“No. I’m saying I need a big army. Big. Beatrix has access to at least half of the Old King’s armies. Cyrus the Honored has the other half.”

“So what you truly need are allies.”

“I do, but I’m nobody.”

Gaira stopped, wagged her forefinger at Keeley. “Ah-ah-ah. Never say that. You are the true queen prophesized by the Witches of Amhuinn.”

“Who are no longer here to verify it.”

“They’re not dead. Just moved. If you want allies, you need to be that true and prophesized queen. You need to make potential allies promises that you’ll one day be able to deliver on.”

“That means gold? Because I don’t have gold.”

Gaira shrugged. “Mhmm. Not all promises mean gold. Sometimes they mean . . . marriage. Perhaps marry a duke or baron with a substantial army?”

Keeley couldn’t help but pull her lips back in a grimace.

“I . . . I can’t do that.”

“Looking for love, are you?”

“It would be nice.”

“Well,” Gaira went on, “I have another option. It’s a little . . . dangerous. And I’m sure my children would disagree with me out of fear for your safety. But it might be an option for you. Maybe the only option you actually have if marriage is off the table.”

“It is.”

Gaira began walking again, and Keeley moved with her.

“Well then, there are more races in the Amichai territories than just centaurs. And at least with one of those races, you might have more in common than you might think. . . .”

Following the Chieftain’s train of thought, Keeley froze, gawked at Gaira.

“Do . . . do you mean the Amichai dwarves?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

When Keeley clasped her hands together and bounced up and down on her toes, Gaira added, “So I guess you’ve heard of them . . . ?”

Keeley replied to that by squealing and jumping around the chieftain. She couldn’t help herself! The Amichai dwarves!

Gaira nodded. “All right then . . .”

* * *

Caid stared at his mother. “Why would you tell her that?”

“Why wouldn’t I? It’s a very good idea.”

“It’s a mad idea. Mad. The dwarves will crush her bones. The elves will strip her flesh. And the barbarians will make her into soup.”

Gaira moved past him, wrapping a scarf around her neck as the evening became cooler. “Stop being so dramatic. None of them are that bad.”

“No, they’re worse.”

“She needs allies.”

“Human allies. Not dwarves and elves that loathe humans.”

“The barbarians are mostly human . . . like.”

“Mother, be serious.”

Gaira turned away from the large mirror she’d been looking into and now gazed at her son.

“Why are you so worried about her?”

“You sent us off to protect the future queen of the Hill Lands. She’s that future queen.”