Page 80 of Bound By Deception

Reaching the yard below, Bree struck out toward the gates, basket looped over one arm. She greeted the guards as she passed through, flashing them a smile, even as nausea churned in her belly.

She had to keep moving. She couldn’t let her conscience bother her. In all her years as the Raven Queen’s assassin, she’d never struggled with remorse.

Until now.

Aye, she needed to remind herself that the High King was planning an unprovoked assault on her people, and that Cailean was his weapon. From now on, she’d be a fool to think about the chief-enforcer with anything but hatred.

She’d changed her plans though. There was no need to track the High King’s enforcers and warriors. She knew where they were going. North, like her. The Hallow Woods lay just a short ride beyond The Ring of Caith.

But Bree was done with the Marav now. She had to focus on getting back to the stones in time for the morning of Mid-summer so she could go home.

Home.

Her already churning stomach clenched then. What was waiting for her there? A brother who disliked her. A queen who would need to be appeased. The silver acorn Bree had just given to Eagal would please Mor greatly. Nonetheless, Bree wasn’t supposed to return home yet.

Mor had made it clear her spy was to remain at Duncrag untilshedecided otherwise.

Bree walked briskly down The Thoroughfare, weaving her way through a flock of unruly goats that a shepherd was attempting to drive up the road. Farther down, she passed the open doors of ironsmiths. Steam billowed from the forges, andthe acrid tang of forging metal greeted her, mingled with the reek of open drains nearby.

Screwing her nose up, Bree hurried on. Even after nearly three moons living at Duncrag, the smells inside the fort were an assault on the senses.

Halfway down the hill, she stopped at a stall and bought some bread rolls, along with some cheese and dried plums. A few yards on, she purchased a skin of ale and then a pouch of salt.

Bree had taken note of Mirren’s use of salt to ward off malevolent spirits. Her journey north would take five days, and this time, she didn’t have a Shee escort to protect her. She needed to prepare herself.

Reaching the bottom of The Thoroughfare, she ducked into the stables behind an ale-hall. There, she surprised a lad who was mucking out stalls and clubbed him over the back of the neck with a broom. He crumpled onto the straw-strewn floor, and she dragged him into an empty stall. She hadn’t killed him, although the lad would eventually awaken with a splitting headache.

Moving quickly now, Bree tossed her basket into the back of an empty stall and shouldered her pack. She then saddled the only pony stabled here: a stocky, feather-footed garron.

They rode out onto The Thoroughfare, and she pulled up her hood, just in case anyone recognized her. They’d surely wonder what the chief-enforcer’s wife was doing, dressed for travel and riding a garron.

Pony and rider crossed the wide dirt-packed clearing at the bottom of the hill, and Bree urged her mount toward the gates. Moments later, they were past the guards and trotting down the causeway, to where a wooden bridge spanned the River Lethe.

Exhilaration swooped through her then, like a diving swallow.

She’d made it.

Bree had come close to failing numerous times since adopting her new identity. Making a living as an assassin wasn’t easy, yet the life of a spy had turned out to be a far greater challenge.

She’d always thought she had nerves of steel. Now, she wasn’t so sure. Aye, Mor wouldn’t be happy to see her back so soon, but Bree had still managed to deliver vital information to her queen.

It had to be enough.

Itwouldbe enough.

Duncrag was now behind her, and Bree didn’t look back.

34: A CHAFING CONSCIENCE

THE MISTY RAIN was still falling when Bree urged her pony into the woods. The day’s end was near. They’d ridden northwest, keeping to the road for the most part. However, as the gloaming settled, she decided to look for a safe place to rest overnight.

In truth, she was concerned someone would come after her and had spent most of the day glancing over her shoulder. The two dead guards in the dungeon, a prisoner with his throat cut,andthe disappearance of the chief-enforcer’s wife would cause a stir. And sooner or later, they’d learn that a pony had been stolen.

Suspicion would likely fall upon her.

Luckily though, the first day’s journey hadn’t given Bree any unpleasant surprises. The only faery creature she’d spotted was a skulking wulver in the shadows of coppicing limes where she’d stopped at noon. She’d been watering her pony in the burn by the road when she spied the creature.

Wulvers were shy. Indeed, this one—a wolf’s head upon a gangly body clad in filthy rags—loped away as soon as it saw her.