LITMIR.BIZ

      “Good. You’re awake.” Annwyl looked up into the face of a woman. A witch, based on the precise, but brutal scar that marred one side of her face. All witches were marked in such a manner on order of her brother. The face behind the scar looked as if it might have been beautiful once. “You must have fallen asleep after he left.” She pulled the fur covering off Annwyl’s body. “Let’s get you up.”

      Annwyl slowly swung her legs off the bed and, using one arm, pushed herself up.

      “Careful now. Don’t want to open up that wound again.”

      Annwyl nodded as she sat quietly, waiting for the nausea that suddenly descended upon her to pass.

      “You’re very lucky, you know.”

      “Am I?”

      “Most other dragons would have made you a meal. Not a guest.”

      Annwyl nodded slowly, “I know.” She looked at the witch again. “I have seen you before.”

      “Aye. I help at the village when I can.”

      “The healer. I remember now. I had no idea you befriended the dragons.”

      “They have my loyalty.”

      Annwyl looked at the woman’s scars. Not surprising she risked life among the dragons rather than of men. “Did my brother do that to you?”

      “He ordered it. He is not a friend to the Sisterhood.” The woman wrapped a robe around Annwyl’s bare shoulders.

      Her brother hated all witches. Mostly because they were women. And he absolutely hated all women. “He’s always been afraid of that which he does not understand.”

      “Does that include you?”

      Annwyl laughed as she slowly pushed herself off the bed. The laugh sounded bitter even to her own ears. “My brother understands me all too well. That’s why both of us have struggled to take any ground.”

      “I see you did not escape his punishment.” The witch motioned to the wounds on the young woman’s back. The raised flesh healed but still an angry red.

      “That’s not from him.” Annwyl pulled the robe tight around her body. Velvet and lush, she loved the softness of it against her battle-hardened skin. She wondered what rich baron the dragon took this from as he tore his caravan apart and ate the occupants.

      The woman put her arm around Annwyl’s waist and helped her to a table laid out with food and wine. “Your name is…Morfyd. Yes?” Annwyl lowered herself into a sturdy chair.

      “Yes.”

      “Did you help heal me as well?”

      “Yes.”

      “Well, thank you for your help, Morfyd. It is greatly appreciated.”

      “I did it because the dragon asked. But betray him, lady—”

      “Don’t threaten me.” Annwyl easily cut in without even looking up from the food before her. “I really hate that. And you need not remind me of my blood debt to the dragon.” Annwyl sipped wine from a silver chalice and stared at the woman. “I owe him my life. I’ll never betray him. And don’t call me ‘lady.’ Annwyl will do.”

      Carefully placing the chalice on the wood table, she found Morfyd staring at her. “Something wrong?”

      “No. I’m just very curious about you.”

      “Well,” Annwyl grinned, “I’ve been told that I’m fascinating.”

      Morfyd pulled out the only other chair and sat across from Annwyl. “I have heard much about your brother. It amazes me you still live.”

      Annwyl began to eat the hearty stew, desperately trying not to think too hard about what kind of meat it contained. “It amazes me as well. Daily.”

      “But you saved many people. Released many from his dungeons.”

      Annwyl shrugged silently as she wondered whether that was gristle she currently chewed on.

      “No one else would challenge him. No man would step forward to face him,” Morfyd pushed.

      “Well, he’s my brother. He used to set fire to my hair and throw knives at my head. Facing him in combat was inevitable.”

      “But you lived under his roof until two years ago. We’ve all heard the stories about life on Garbhán Isle.”

      “My brother had other concerns after my father died. He wanted to make sure everyone feared him. He didn’t have time to worry about his bastard sister.”

      “Why didn’t he marry you off? He could have forged an alliance with one of the bigger kingdoms.”

      Annwyl briefly thought of Lord Hamish of Madron Province and how close she came to being his bride. The thought chilled her.

      “He tried. But the nobles kept changing their minds.”

      “And did you help them with that?”

      She held up her thumb and forefinger, a little bit apart. “Just a little.”

      For the first time, Morfyd smiled and Annwyl found herself warming up to the witch a bit.

      Annwyl pushed her nearly empty bowl away from her and drank more of the wine. It shocked her how well she ate. Shocked her that she still breathed.

      “Make sure you finish off the wine. I have added herbs that will heal you and stave off infection.”

      Annwyl stared warily into her wine chalice. “What kind of herbs?”

      Morfyd shrugged as she stood, picking up Annwyl’s empty bowl. “Lots of different ones. It’s my own potion. It works quite well. It can also heal rashes and gout. And prevent a woman from becoming with child. But I guess that doesn’t matter to you.”

      Annwyl glanced up from her wine. “Why do you say that?”

      “Because you’re a virgin.”

      Annwyl froze. That couldn’t be just an assumption. She’d lived with a male army for well over two years; everyone assumed she’d lost her virginity ages ago.

      “How did you…know that?”

      “He told me.”

      Annwyl knew the witch meant the dragon, and that’s when the fury built up in her chest. A fury she never could control. “Dragon!” She bellowed his name so loudly, Morfyd stumbled back away from her.

      The ground shook as the dragon returned to her. “What? What is it?”

      Annwyl forced herself to her feet, her hand against her recent wound. “How did you know? And tell me true.”

      “Know

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