Page 28 of Bound By Deception

Bree took these words in, following close at her handmaid’s heels. “You don’t know what he did?”

“No, Mistress.”

“And what normally happens to those who fall from the High King's favor?”

The maid cast her a hasty look over her shoulder. The lass reminded her of a frightened fawn at times, easily startled. “His Highness can be … harsh … with those who anger him,” she admitted, her voice dropping. “Perhaps Damhan feared his wrath for some reason … and decided it was best to disappear.” The handmaid’s face shuttered then, her mouth clamping shut, as if she realized she’d been too candid. She then turned away once more and hurried down the steps.

Bree’s brow furrowed.

She’d pushed things as far as she dared—Mirren was wary now—but she intended to continue this conversation.

At the foot of the steps, they turned right, their booted feet scuffing on damp, mossy stone as they made their way along a hallway that had been carved out of the rock. Around ten yards in, they passed another stairwell, narrow and steep, that plunged into the darkness.

“Where does that lead?” Bree asked, slowing her step and peering into the shadows.

“To the dungeon,” Mirren replied. “Fortunately, Eldra doesn’t reside there.”

Bree frowned once more. If she had to guess, Bryce was either dead or a prisoner. He could be locked up down there—she needed to investigate as soon as she was able. She’d have to be careful though; she couldn’t have her husband catch her sneaking around.

They continued along the hallway, eventually reaching a heavy curtain. Halting before it, Mirren cleared her throat. “Are you there, Eldra?”

“Aye,” a woman called back. “Come in.”

Mirren nodded to Bree. “You go on, Mistress,” she murmured. “I shall wait out here.”

Brushing past her handmaid, Bree pushed aside the curtain and stepped into a large chamber with a high, rounded ceiling. And in its center, two women were working at a bench.

One of them was statuesque and of middling age with silver-blonde hair. She wore mauve robes—the color of healers in the mortal realm—and was vigorously mashing herbs with a pestle and mortar. Her companion was a young woman with curly auburn hair; she was dressed in a fine ankle-length tunic with a fur cloak about her shoulders.

Princess Lara.

Bree abruptly halted. “Apologies … I’m intruding.” She hadn’t expected to see the princess rubbing shoulders with the healer.

“Don’t mind me.” Lara held up the plant with yellow flowers that she was shredding. “I’m just preparing woundwort.” Seeing Bree’s awkwardness, her mouth quirked. “I enjoy learning of the healing arts … luckily, Eldra indulges me.”

“Knowledge of such things isn’t lost on anyone,” the healer replied, her full lips curving. Her gaze, the color of a winter sky, fixed upon Bree. “How can I assist you?”

The woman was clearly Marav, yet there was a regal bearing and directness to Eldra that reminded Bree of a Shee female. “I get headaches from time to time and can feel one looming this morning.” She raised a hand and rubbed her temple, feigning a wince. “They can sometimes be bad enough to send me to bed … and I was wondering if you could provide me with something to take the edge off the pain.”

Eldra’s grey-blue eyes lingered upon Bree a moment, assessing, before she nodded. “I will make you a tincture now.” Putting aside her pestle and mortar, the healer went to a shelfand started sorting through the vials, bottles, and wooden boxes stored there.

Meanwhile, Lara gave Bree a sympathetic look. “My mother is afflicted by headaches,” she said. “They can be crippling to some folk.”

Bree nodded, suddenly at a loss for words. It felt odd to be conversing with the High King’s daughter. Lara’s father had been responsible for hunting and slaughtering many Shee during his reign. He had his enforcers out regularly, scouring the land around barrows. Just eight turns of the moon earlier, they’d attacked a group of Shee in the far north of the Uplands, near Darkmere Barrow. Four Shee scouts had been captured and, according to Mor’s spy in Duncrag, dragged back to Albia’s capital for a public execution.

Bree’s people had always traveled between the two realms. They never usually strayed far from their barrows, remaining on the fringes of Albia, but Talorc mac Brude wished to drive them from it altogether. If the High King had his way, every last barrow would be destroyed—but fortunately for Bree’s kind, the mounds were heavily warded and could withstand even the strongest druidic magic.

Aye, the High King was a scourge to the Shee, and yet this young woman wasn’t responsible for it. Even so, Bree was on edge around her.

The princess was observing her intently now—too intently. “How are you settling in?”

“Well, thank you, Your Highness,” Bree murmured.

“It must be quite an upheaval … to move to Duncrag … and to marry a man you’ve never met.”

You have no idea, princess.

Bree forced a brittle smile, wishing Lara would turn her focus elsewhere. “Aye, Your Highness … but I’ve waited a long while for this day. I’m honored to be part of your household.”

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