Gods, Keeley had so much more to learn when it came to being a blacksmith.

They walked down a long stretch of black cloth until they reached the throne of King Mundric. He sat upon his metal throne and Keeley wanted nothing more than to shove him out of the way so she could take a long look at it. How had they made it? It appeared to be built from a single sheet of steel but she knew better. The seams were just invisible. But she wanted to find them, look at them, then ask a thousand questions about how the dwarves did that and what kind of iron they used and—

“You need to pay attention,” Gemma snarled low against her ear, “and stop staring at their bloody throne!”

Keeley cringed, knowing her sister was right. She didn’t realize she’d already been introduced to the king until Laila cleared her throat.

She looked away from that amazing throne and saw that Caid and Laila were staring right at her, waiting for her. Actually . . . so was everyone in the throne room.

“King Mundric,” she said, nodding at him.

Now Keeley noticed that King Mundric had vicious scars all along his right side. Burn scars, starting from the right side of his head, all the way down and disappearing under his armor. But she guessed that those scars kept going since his badly burned right hand was wrapped tightly around a steel walking stick.

He sat on the edge of his throne, gazing at her with his left eye since his right was damaged, his left arm resting on his knee.

Mundric was an extremely wide dwarf. Wide. And despite the scars, muscular. His neck was like that tree trunk she and Caid had slept against their first night of this trip.

After gazing at her, he motioned to Laila and Caid with his left hand. Just a small wave, but they seemed to understand. They gestured to the others, who all moved off to the side so Keeley stood alone in front of the king—and everyone else.

Now she really did want to vomit.

Before she could choke down the bile building in the back of her throat, the king rammed the end of his walking stick against the floor and his dwarven guard moved in front of her entire travel party and locked their spears in such a way that none of them could get to Keeley if she needed help.

“Dammit, Mundric! What are you doing?” Laila demanded, shifting back to her centaur form and causing all the dwarves behind her to make a mad run for it before she could start kicking them with her back legs.

“Quiet, woman!” Mundric barked, his voice low like Unroch’s.

“I’m not a woman, I’m a centaur! And if you betray our alliance, the tribal lords will find out about it.”

Mundric ignored Laila, who was pushing against the spears that blocked her, and motioned Keeley to move closer.

She didn’t get too close, making sure not to go up the few stairs to his throne. He had armed guards on either side of him.

“So . . . you’re the Blacksmith Queen.”

That confused Keeley a bit. “Well . . . I’m a blacksmith and now a queen. But Blacksmith Queen implies that I’m queen of all the blacksmiths, which I’m not. But yes.”

Now the king appeared confused and he glanced to his left at Unroch, who could only shrug.

With a quick shake, the king focused on her again. “You brought a War Monk with you? Was that to threaten us?”

“No. She’s my sister. That’s Gemma. And be glad. I thought she was a nun. Can you imagine any woman giving up her life to—”

“Do not start that again!” Gemma bellowed at her.

* * *

Caid briefly closed his eyes. They were all going to die, but at least they’d die in such a way that the tale would be told for ages.

A dwarf guard pressed the tip of his endlessly sharp spear against Laila’s throat and warned, “Go back to your human form, horsey, or I’ll run ya through.”

Caid heard Quinn growl, always defensive when their sister was even looked at the wrong way, much less actively threatened. But he caught Quinn by his hair and kept control of him before he could shift.

“Stop. Think. For once, Brother.”

Caid’s words calmed Quinn down but the way he sucked his tongue against his teeth told Caid that with even a tiny bit more provocation Quinn might start causing more damage to the dwarf-centaur alliance than anyone could imagine.

Laila shifted to her human form and the spear returned to its locked position with another spear, no longer close to her throat. Caid let out a breath and moved his attention back to the king and Keeley.

“So, you are a blacksmith,” the king was saying to Keeley.

“I am.”

“Have you made anything legendary?”

“Not that I know of.” She pulled her hammer from the leather holder strapped to her back. “Made this hammer, though. Love me hammer.”

The king studied it from where he sat on the throne. “It’s cute,” he finally said.

Caid grimaced and Gemma let out an “Uh-oh.”

Keeley slammed the head into the floor—the sound ringing around the stone throne room—and leaned her weight on the handle.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she snapped.

“I think,” the king said, “you’re just tellin’ everyone you’re a blacksmith, so you can claim to be one of the people. Humans are stupid like that. They’ll believe anything.”

“I don’t lie, King Mundric. I have no reason to. I’m from a long line of blacksmiths. Some of the best blacksmiths in history.”

When the entire room erupted into laughter, Caid whispered to his brother, “Get ready to move. Preferably before she starts killing everybody.”

Because Keeley took her blacksmithing more seriously than almost anything. Anything except her family, of course.

“I don’t see what’s so funny!” Keeley barked out, looking around the room.

“If you’re such a mighty blacksmith family,” Unroch annoyingly suggested, “you should know the Old Songs.”

“Old Songs?” Laila desperately whispered at them. “What bloody Old Songs?”

“The songs we were taught as children,” Gemma whispered back. “They’re blacksmith songs.”

“Of course I do,” Keeley replied, with way more confidence than Caid was feeling. Just because her family of human blacksmiths had their “old songs” didn’t mean they were the same Old Songs as the dwarves’. Especially when the dwarves had their own gods-damn language.

Mundric grinned and it was not pretty.

“Then sing one,” he ordered.

Keeley frowned and Caid felt his heart drop into his stomach.

“I’m not much of a singer,” she confessed. “How about if I recite the words?”

“Anyone can learn the words. The question is whether you know the words and the tune. So sing.”

Keeley let out a breath, bent her neck one way, then the other. Both times her body making loud cracking noises.

She cleared her throat. Once. Twice.

“In times long by when blood did pourrrr!”

And . . . oy. She hadn’t been joking. She had a terrible singing voice. And the song was not made for bad singers. Because it was slow and a bit boring. But Keeley, gods bless her. She kept going.

“A hammer and anvil, I did score.

A hammer and anvil, I did roar!

To bless the gods, the gods, the war gods

I’m covered in blood from war gods!

For the blood of war is our way!”

“Ow,” Laila muttered, sticking her finger in her ear and wiggling it around after Keeley had hit that last high note.

Caid thought it was over. But it wasn’t. Because the tempo changed. Abruptly. Into a fast-moving jig that didn’t sound any better than the earlier dirge.

“I used my hammer

To beat that iron, finesse that steel

Make that spear, craft that bow

For the blood of war is our way!”

The king rammed his spear against the floor again and Keeley stopped singing—thank the gods!—as he struggled to get to his feet. Unroch attempted to help but the king angrily waved him off.

Once he stood, he made his slow way down the three stairs to the black cloth and walked along it until he reached Keeley. While she stood much taller than the Dwarf King, he was definitely wider. Caid couldn’t figure out if he wanted to see them in a fight or not. If nothing else, a fight between those two would definitely be interesting.

When Mundric only stared at her, not speaking, Keeley cleared her throat once more and reminded him, “I told you I was not the best singer.”

The king raised his walking stick and Caid readied himself to attack. Because he looked as if he was about to strike her.

But he didn’t. Instead, he sang out, “In times long by when blood did pourrrr!”

“Oh, gods,” Laila gasped. “We’re going to have to hear that thing again.” Only this time, it was two equally bad voices singing.

And they did. From the very beginning, they both sang that stupid song. Only now, the king’s musicians joined in and the other dwarves sang along. It was a nightmare!

But only in the sense that none of their group wanted to hear that gods-damn song again. Other than that, the whole thing couldn’t have gone better. Especially when the king and Keeley began to dance with each other, hooking arms, and moving around to the “old song.” The king couldn’t move well but Keeley kept that in mind, giving him ample time and keeping things loose.

“Huh,” Quinn said to them, sounding shocked. “I did not see that coming.”

CHAPTER 22

They were released and Laila had to fight her urge to slap Mundric’s face.

Rude bastard. To take her and her brothers prisoner while rudely “testing” their choice of queen.

Laila knew her mother would have handled things brilliantly—as she would no doubt remind Laila as soon as she heard about this affront—but Laila wasn’t sure what to do. She felt repercussions were necessary, but she also knew they needed armies at their back or they’d have no chance against Marius and Beatrix.

So, when Laila saw Quinn reaching out to grab one of the dwarves to slam him into the wall, she slapped his arm down.