Page 87 of Bound By Deception

Bree ground out a curse, squeezing her eyes shut. Finally, her reckoning had come.

Many years earlier, when she’d become the Raven Queen’s assassin, Gil had warned Bree that her choice—her rebellion—would one day have its price. Full of arrogance and desperate to free herself from her father, she’d sneered at Gil’s comment.

But she wasn’t sneering now.

Was this punishment for all the lives she’d taken? Aye, she’d killed Mor’s enemies without hesitation, not caring whether they deserved death or not. It was cruel, yet fitting, then that the Washerwoman had denied Bree her wish.

If she wanted to save her husband’s life, she’d have to sacrifice herself. That was the truth of it. If she went to Cailean now and told him the truth, she’d be done for.

She swiveled to where The Ring of Caith loomed above her. The day was fading, the sky deepening to the color of a bruise, and the stone circle had an ominous look now: a king’s broken crown.

It was her only way back home, back to her old life, but she wouldn’t be taking it.

Bree gathered up the saddlery and stalked over to where Flint grazed a few yards distant. The pony lifted his head as she approached, his eyes gleaming in the half-light.

Sucking in a deep breath, she tried to calm the violent thudding of her heart.I can’t believe I’m doing this. Reaching out, she slid her hand down Flint’s muscular neck to his shoulder. She then swung the saddle onto his back and deftly cinched the girth before slipping on his bridle. “Sorry about this, lad,” she muttered. “But there’s one last trip I must make.”

Mounting the garron, she urged him forward. Flint lurched into a jolting canter, and they circled the base of the hill. Chunks of turf flew out behind the pony’s heavy hooves, and then they struck out north, toward The Hallow Woods.

37: DEEP INTO THE WOODS

THE MOON SAILED high overhead as Bree reached the southern edge of The Hallow Woods. Since leaving the standing stones, she’d ridden over bare hills and jumped the meandering burns between them. The sight of the dark tree line, looming before her, made her pulse race.

Are you sure about this? There’s still time to turn around.

Bree’s lips thinned.

No, she wouldn’t retrace her steps. Her encounter with the Ben Neeya had shattered something inside her—something she couldn’t put back together.

Instinct drove her now, fatalism settling deep into her bones.

Once she warned Cailean and told him who she really was—for she’d decided that she wouldn’t hold back—he’d likely kill her.

Are you prepared to die to save him?

The question had drummed constantly in her chest as she’d ridden north from The Ring of Caith—and the answer was still ‘aye’.

Recklessness had dug its claws into her now. It was both liberating and terrifying to give up her hard-won control, to rush headlong toward her doom.

It was a fitting end for her, she supposed, for Bree had never done anything in half-measures.

As soon as she entered The Hallow Woods, silence descended. The chill, high-pitched Whistle couldn’t penetrate here, but as Flint slowed to a trot along the overgrown path leading through the trees, a shiver crawled over her skin. The garron snorted, and Bree leaned forward, soothing him with her hand. She wasn’t afraid of this place, having roamed amongst The Slew that dwelled here many a time.

Unlike the superstitious Marav, the Shee didn’t fear the Unforgiven.

However, she wasn’t Shee any longer, and Bree wondered if The Slew would turn on her.

Inhaling deeply, she straightened her spine. Fortunately, the woods weren’t large. It wouldn’t take her long to reach the High King’s army. She guessed they’d make camp a few furlongs south of Dunmorth Barrow, biding their time.

A huge grassed-over cairn that rose like a hill in the heart of the woods, the barrow’s narrow doorway led into a chamber where a king of the Ancients rested. The Marav feared the cruelwights who dwelt within these places, and hated barrows, for they were Shee portals. Druid magic couldn’t protect them here.

Bree’s mouth pursed then. She was saving those who intended to cut down the Shee in cold blood. She was possibly condemning her own people to death—all to save one man. The cruel irony wasn’t lost on her.

Once I tell him the truth, he’ll order a retreat, she tried to reassure herself.If I do this, I’ll prevent bloodshed on both sides.

Her stomach cramped then. Aye, she could tell herself that, but she had no idea how the chief-enforcer would react, or what he’d decide in the aftermath.

Just a few yards into the woods, the first of the graves loomed from the undergrowth, frosted by the moonlight: pitted grey stones, some of them as tall as her, etched with lines of odd markings. This was the burial ground of the Ancients, the people who’d inhabited Albia before the Marav—back in the mists of time, when Bree’s great grandparents had been younglings.

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