Page 8 of Bound By Deception

It was a sheltered spot, one that would offer travelers protection against the elements. All the same, she knew what lived amongst ruins such as these. It wasn’t a safe place to camp overnight.

The back of Bree’s neck prickled. A warning.

Urging her pony forward alongside Gavyn, she glanced across at him. “The powries are watching us,” she murmured.

His gaze glinted. “Aye, of course they are … vicious wee bastards.”

They rode on, leaving the ruins, and the hungry gazes of the murderous imps that lurked there, behind them.

The light was swiftly fading when Bree and her escort made camp off the road, on the fringes of a beechwood. There, the Ravens unsaddled and rubbed down their horses. After seeing to her own mount, Bree picked up Fia’s two saddle bags and carried them over to where one of Gavyn’s warriors was lighting a fire. There, she settled down on the soft grass.

It was time to find out a little about the woman she was to impersonate.

Bree opened the first of the bags and pulled out the contents: neatly rolled tunics and shifts, and a lovely soft woolen wrap. Even in the murky light, she could see it was a beautiful color—that of the sea in summer.

This was clearly a cherished item, perhaps a gift for Mid-winter Fire from one of the other maids of Albia, or from family. The clothing smelled of lavender, and amongst the contents of the pack, Bree found a small cloth pouch filled with the sharp-smelling flowers. At the bottom of the bag, there was a pair of slippers and a few pairs of woolen tights. Everything was scrupulously clean and folded neatly.

Bree’s brow furrowed.Neat. She’d need to remember that.

Hauling the other saddle bag over to her, she repeated the process she had for the first. Only, this bag was far more interesting. Underneath a woolen robe, she found a small leather-bound diary with letters in a tidy bundle. This was a good find—for Bree needed to learn more about Fia mac Callum. Nevertheless, it was getting too dark to read now.

With a sigh of frustration, Bree put the diary aside and withdrew a bone-handled hairbrush and a hand-held looking glass from the pack.

For the first time, she glimpsed what she’d become.

The light was poor, and her reflection was a little distorted, the silver tarnished with age, yet Bree saw herself clearly enough.

A stranger stared back at her.

She’d once had flaxen hair and golden eyes like her brother, but now—although her features still belonged to her—everything had been dulled. Her eyes were hazel rather than dark gold, with strange round pupils, and her hair, although thick andwavy, was the color of oak. Her face was rounder, and her skin had a pinker tone with a scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

She wasn’t ugly. She just appeared … ordinary.

Mouth pursing, Bree put the looking glass away. Digging deep into the bag, she retrieved a clay bottle of lavender-scented oil and a large block of lavender soap. Fia had certainly loved this scent; the herby, woodsy perfume filled the air now.

Finally, Bree pulled out a leather-wrapped parcel. Unwrapping it, she cast a jaundiced eye over figurines of four of the five Gods that mortals worshipped—The Mother, The Maiden, The Warrior, and The Hag—all intricately carved out of rosewood and varnished. Unsurprisingly, there was no figurine of the fifth God. The Reaper represented death. It was bad luck to have his likeness drawn, carved, or sculpted.

Bree hastily rewrapped the figurines. These Gods meant nothing to her. The Shee knelt before their Ancestors and The Great Raven. Nonetheless, she was Fia now, and once she arrived at Duncrag, she’d need to put these idols on display.

With a sigh, Bree began to repack the saddle bags.

“Find anything useful?” Gavyn sank into a cross-legged position next to her, casting a jaundiced eye over the bags and their contents.

“Possibly,” she replied, putting away the last of the items she’d examined. “There’s a diary and letters … they should give me an idea of what Fia mac Callum was like.”

“For what it’s worth, she was plain of face and as timid as a fawn,” Gavyn replied. “The lass froze when we killed her escort and didn’t even try to run when I came for her.”

Bree’s heart sank at this news. “Iron bite me,” she muttered. “How am I to pretend to be such a mouse.”

Gavyn snorted, and Bree cut him a sharp look. She’d already weathered her brother’s scorn; she wouldn’t put up with her ex-lover’s disdain as well.

Sighing, she then scrubbed a hand over her face. Just the thought of pretending to be sweet and meek wearied her. “Mor wants me to find out what happened to Bryce Elmsong as well,” she admitted after a pause.

Gavyn raised a tawny eyebrow. “She thinks the healer is still alive?”

“Possibly,” she replied. “Although if he’s being held prisoner, I’m to find out what he’s revealed and deal with him. The Marav likely have no idea that we can take their true form … it’s a weapon best kept hidden.”

“That’s wise … but what if he’s merely walked out?”

---