“He can’t just”—Vigholf shrugged—“open one?”
“He can, but if it’s not precisely done, it could dump them anywhere. It’s too great a risk.”
Rhona stepped closer. “Them? Who is he taking with him?”
Keita looked back at Ren.
“Tell them everything,” he pushed. “You might as well.”
Keita nodded and said, “As we speak, several of the Western tribes Annwyl tried to wipe out have teamed together and are riding toward Garbhán Isle. They know Annwyl and most of her army are not there and they want to destroy the castle and kill her offspring for revenge. And the reason we didn’t tell you earlier is because we’re hiding all this from Fearghus and Briec. Because you know what will happen if they find out their offspring are in danger. They’ll rush off with most of the army to protect them and leave the Lightnings and the rest of my mother’s army to fend for themselves. So I decided this was the best idea.” Keita clapped her hands together. “But we’ve got it all covered and we’ve got you two to protect us all the way home . . . so there’s no need to worry!”
Vigholf watched Rhona closely, ready to catch hold of her before she could grab Keita in a rage. But Rhona merely stared at her cousin until she said, “Yeah, all right.” She sighed a little. “We should get horses then, for when we’re not flying.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Vigholf cut in, shocked Rhona was just accepting what Keita had spewed. “How do you know all this, Keita?”
“Auntie Ghleanna—”
Vigholf held up his hand, stopping Keita, and asked Rhona, “Which one is she again?”
“General of the Seventh and Ninth Legions, sister to me mum. Likes to remove heads during battle by slamming two broadswords together against someone’s neck.”
“Oh! Right! Ghleanna.”
“Anyway,” Keita went on, “Auntie Ghleanna found a messenger sneaking through our territory to get to the Irons. She brought him back to me and I found out some . . . things.”
“What does that mean?”
“Don’t ask her that,” Rhona warned him.
“Why wouldn’t I ask?”
“Because she means she tortured him until he begged for death and told her whatever she wanted to know,” Rhona replied, apparently accepting of all that as well.
He looked at Keita. “Does Ragnar know you tor—” Vigholf stopped himself. “Wait. Forget I asked.”
“Forgotten,” Keita happily chirped.
“But why are the Western Tribes attacking now?” Vigholf asked instead. “Annwyl’s been out of Dark Plains for five years now.”
“The messenger had a letter for Overlord Thracius from his daughter Vateria. While her father is in Euphrasia Valley, she rules Quintilian Provinces and the Sovereigns, and according to the letter she has paid the Tribesmen to attack Garbhán Isle and kill Fearghus and Briec’s offspring.”
“The messenger had a letter?” Rhona asked.
“ Aye.”
“That just happened to spell out Vateria’s entire evil plan in detail?”
Keita grinned and Rhona shook her head.
“She’s a piece of work that one,” Rhona murmured.
“She wanted the messenger intercepted,” Vigholf reasoned. “Thinking your brothers would find it, rush off to save their offspring, bringing the entire Cadwaladr Clan with them.”
Keita nodded, laughed. “Leaving you poor barbarian Northlanders to the mercy of the exquisite military might of the Irons. He’d destroy all of you first and fly right into the Southlands to face a broken Southland army. Not a bad plan really. Because that’s exactly what my brothers would do . . . if I hadn’t gotten to the messenger first.”
“But wait . . .” Vigholf studied the princess. “If you knew all that from the letter—why did you torture the messenger?”
The royal gave a very small shrug. “I was a wee bit bored. . . .”
“I keep telling you not to ask her questions,” Rhona sighed out, “but you insist.”
Annoyed Rhona was right, Vigholf snapped at her, “Have you nothing to say about any of this?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“She just told you that your cousins’ offspring are in danger, that she has some ridiculous scheme involving portals and this foreigner, and that she might be taking us into the middle of a pitch battle with barbarians, but she hadn’t warned us of that possibility before we left.”
“Yeah . . . and?”
“I’d think a little rage or something would be in order. Some ranting, arms flailing.” Vigholf needed some emotion from her. Something.
“And I do all that . . . what does it change?”
“Change?”
“Yeah. What does it change? Nothing. Will I still have to follow orders and escort my cousin and Ren to Garbhán Isle anyway?”
“Well—”
“Of course I will. Will Keita ever stop being a spoiled, entitled brat who does whatever she wants and gets away with it because we’re all terrified of her mother, who’s a homicidal queen?”
“Uh—”
“Doubtful. So what’s the point?”
“Well—”
“Exactly. There is no point. Now get those two fed and I’ll get us some fresh water from the stream. We can decide whether it’s safe enough now to fly or if we should get horses instead when I return.”
She walked off and all Vigholf could do was watch her until Keita stood beside him.
“When she gets like that,” Keita confided, “it’s best just let her go. You can never win.”
“She didn’t even let me get a word in . . . and she answered her own bloody questions. Why ask them then?”
“That’s Rhona’s way. Don’t let it bother you.” Keita tugged the sleeve of his chain-mail shirt until he gazed down at her. “You don’t think I’m entitled, do you?”
“Of course not,” Vigholf lied.
“Because if I am, it’s only because I deserve it! I deserve everything I want. Don’t you agree?”
Rather than lying even more, Vigholf handed Keita his pack. “Here. There’s beef in the bag. You two eat. I’ll be right back.”
Rhona filled up her flask with water and thought about next steps. Should they stay on foot or risk taking to the skies? After hearing the truth about this trip, she thought flying might be the wisest move. But she worried about Ren’s strength. Flying could be tiring, even for dragons and Ren didn’t even have wings! He just sort of... flew. And if human forces on the ground attacked them while they were in the air, would Ren be able to dodge, much less fight?
Analyzing, she stood and asked the Lightning who’d been standing silently behind her. “Horses or flying?”
“What?”
“Should we get horses or fly?”
“I’m not good with horses.”
“What do you mean you’re not good?”
“I mean, they get my scent and they bolt.” He shrugged.