everything that she had eaten or drunk in the last twenty-four hours.
“Ohhhh!” Keeley and Gemma cried out, quickly moving farther away from their cousin.
When she finished unloading her insides onto the ground, Keran nodded.
“Gods, I needed to do that.”
“But did you have to do it there?” Keeley asked.
“At least I didn’t do it on the children.”
“Oh, that’s nice.”
Keran laughed and walked over to the well. She pulled up the water bucket . . . and poured the entire thing over her head.
Once she was soaked and more awake, she returned to them and gazed into their faces for a moment before asking, “So . . . are we going to discuss your sister being future queen or pretend it’s not happening?”
* * *
For two people who didn’t look that much alike and seemed to have nothing in common except their parents, Keeley and Gemma did have moments that reminded Keran that they were, in fact, sisters.
Like now. Both of them gawked at her, eyes wide, then simultaneously went into full-blown panicked lying.
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re insane.”
“There’s nothing going on.”
“What did you hear?”
“Have you been snooping again?”
“There’s nothing going on!”
They abruptly stopped yelling and looked at each other, both leaning back. One sizing up the other and vice versa.
At the same moment, they both asked, “You know?” Then, “How do you know?” Which led to, “Who told you?”
Keran snorted and scratched a scar on her scalp. She had a lot of scars.
“You two,” she complained. “Who cares how you found out? Does any of that matter? I think our real concern should be Beatrix being queen.”
When the pair only stared at her, Keran let out a very long sigh. “So we’re going to play this game now, are we? You can’t seriously be thinking—”
“With the right advisors—”
“Oh, Keeley, come on! I know she’s family and all but you can’t be serious.” Keran motioned to Gemma. “And what about you, nun? Are you just going to stand there and let this happen?”
“She’s our sister.”
“What are you talking about? You don’t even like her!”
“That’s not the point,” Keeley cut in. “She’s family. Our family.”
On horseback, he charged over the hill that led to the farm. He held the reins of two other horses, bringing them along with him as he screamed in warning. It took a second for Keran to remember him.
“They’re coming!” Samuel desperately bellowed. “They’re coming!”
* * *
Keeley saw the boy she’d rescued come over that hill and heard the words he was screaming . . . and she knew. She just knew.
“They’re coming for Beatrix.”
“They’ll burn this farm down and kill everyone.” Gemma said out loud what the three of them already knew. It was the way of the Old Kings. They left no witnesses to what they’d done, and Keeley doubted his remaining sons would be any different.
“Gemma, the children.”
Gemma didn’t even speak, just ran to the house.
“Keran. Go to the stables,” Keeley ordered her cousin, motioning with both her arms for the boy to head to the stables as well. She didn’t want him riding over the main field in front of the house. “Let the Amichais know what’s happening and let the horses out.”
“You’re worried about the horses?”
“We’ll need those horses to get everyone out of here, and if they’re trapped in a burning stable—”
“You’re right, you’re right,” Keran said, charging off toward the stable.
Keeley reached down and grabbed hold of the steel handle of her hammer. She hefted it onto her shoulder and started to walk across the field. Ready to challenge anyone who came over that hill to attack her family. If nothing else, she hoped to give the children enough time to get away.
But a panicked screech came from the trees on her right and she started running, taking her hammer off her shoulder and carrying it by her side.
She entered the small forest, already knowing what had made that sound, her heart dying a little in her chest. As she passed a large boulder, she saw the wild gray stallion stumble, three arrows protruding from his beautiful neck.
Keeley ran to her friend, reaching him as he dropped to the ground. He landed on his side, the sounds of his suffering tearing through her.