The Blacksmith Queen (The Scarred Earth Saga, #1) - G.A Aiken Page 0,109
they were eye to eye, “you can stop being a spoiled little nightmare and fight by your sister’s side to secure her crown and the safety of your family. Of course, that means you’ll need to start trusting her judgment. As hard as that may be for you.”
“But as long as Beatrix lives—”
“She will keep coming for you and your family. I do not deny that. For some reason she’s trying to wipe all of you out. The memory of you . . . offends her, I guess. I’m not sure why, but Keeley knows. But to go after Beatrix right now? Keeley knows better. She’s learning to play the game. Beatrix’s game. Because Prince Marius’s army will be waiting for you with open arms if you make this very predictable move. And even a War Monk can’t fight an entire army by herself.”
Gemma hated that he was right and that he felt the need to pat her on the head like a dog.
As he patted, he noted, “You are surprisingly short considering the size of your sister.”
Gemma jerked away from his hand and started back up the stairs, punching him in the side as she passed.
“Owwww! Evil viper!”
* * *
Unroch watched the Smythe sister return to the throne room, the centaur Quinn behind her, rubbing his side and wincing.
Making sure to catch the attention of his head guard, Unroch motioned to the human females. Keeley Smythe might have been made queen by the Witches of Amhuinn but anyone who could batter away at Soiffart’s Anvil and not destroy her arms in the process was someone to be feared. And her sister? Well . . . she was a War Monk. Nothing else needed to be said about that.
So Unroch wanted his men ready for anything should the sisters decide to turn on the king and queen.
At first, the sisters did not speak. Queen Keeley kept her back to her sibling. The War Monk dropped her travel bag to the floor and leaned against the table. The cousin was eating.
Finally, the War Monk seemed unable to take any more of the silence and asked, “So, what do you want from us . . . my queen?”
Queen Keeley glanced over her shoulder at her sister. They stared at each other until the War Monk silently mouthed, Bitch.
Unroch tensed, ready for the fight that would ensue. But the human queen merely mouthed back, Asshole.
And when the queen looked away from her sister, there was a small smile on her face.
“Well, Sister,” the queen said for all to hear, “I have been thinking that I need a place to live. I mean, as queen.”
The War Monk frowned so harshly that Unroch thought she’d explode and storm out yet again.
But, when the queen faced her and added, “Perhaps a chunky nun can help me secure such a place,” the frown faded, replaced by a small smile. Then a much bigger smile.
“A queen does need a place to live,” the War Monk practically purred.
“Then, my friends,” Queen Keeley announced, “let us get ready.”
King Mundric did offer his army to Queen Keeley, but the human only said, “Not yet, my friend,” and then handed him the most important resource the gods had ever given Unroch’s people: Sichar’s gold.
After that, the centaurs and humans moved quickly to gather up what they needed for whatever they were going to do next. The human queen paused only to yell, “Keran!”
“I’m awake!” the guild fighter barked, jumping up from the royal dining table. “I’m awake! What are we doing? What’s happening?”
Once they’d all left the throne room, Unroch examined Soif-fart’s Anvil.
“By my cock!” he exclaimed to his king and queen, smoothing his hand across the metal. “She dented the fucking thing!”
“That’s not possible,” the king argued; he and the queen now stood over the anvil and gawked at it along with their general and several of the shocked guards.
“My ancestors made this themselves,” the queen gasped. “With the best of our steel given to us by the gods . . . it’s indestructible. This should not be possible.”
“It’s a dent, my lady. A small dent, but it’s a dent. That human dented it with that hammer she made herself.”
“He’s right,” Mundric said. “That . . . woman dented it with her pathetic little hammer.”
Unroch blew out a breath. “I do not envy her enemies, my liege.”
CHAPTER 28
Lar s watched the chunky nun approach the closed gates with her two mules.