Page 88 of Bound By Deception

The gravestones and markers had once sat upon a vast meadow, yet with time, trees had grown up, their roots toppling some of the stones, while others leaned drunkenly.

Bree’s gaze traveled over the dark foliage surrounding the moss-covered graves, and the ivy and vines that crept over them. Nettles and ferns covered the woodland floor, creeping out over the path that wended its way through dark sycamores and twisted oaks.

And between the stones, shadows unfurled, moving like mist in the moonlight. The Slew were waking up.

Bree’s pulse quickened, and Flint sidestepped, tossing his head.

“Steady,” she whispered, stroking his neck once more. “They won’t touch you.”

Ancestors, she hoped she was right.

The chill around her deepened, and goosebumps pebbled her skin. Soon, the shadows, shapes that vaguely resembled the distorted bodies of men and women, swirled around her, their hands stretching out, fingers clawing at her.

For most of the year, The Slew lurked in graveyards—except for the night of Gateway, when they took to the skies like a swarm of corvids, shrieking their rage as they hunted for frightened Marav to feast upon.

But Gateway, which was the night when autumn slid into winter, was still a few turns of the moon away.

Bree breathed through the fear that flickered within her now. No, she couldn’t let herself take that path. Her soul was still Shee, and her kind wasn’t afraid of the dead.

And so, she let them touch her without flinching. And all the while, she whispered a charm, one her mother had taught her when she’d been a youngling—to soothe her pony’s jitters.

Flint snorted once more, although the tension in his stocky body eased a little.

The Marav didn’t know it, but The Slew fed on fear—and they’d take those who succumbed to it. Even so, Bree’s skin crawled as the shadowy fingers brushed over her face and neck, plucking at the neckline of her tunic. Cruel, thin voices whispered in her ear, in a sibilant, long-dead tongue.

Keeping her gaze focused on the narrow, overgrown path ahead, illuminated by shafts of moonlight piercing the trees, Bree let The Slew slide over her, around her. She continued to breathe the charm as she rode, for Flint wouldn’t make it through the woods without panicking otherwise.

A short while later, the garron halted and tossed his head. Bree swung down from his back, keeping a reassuring hand onhis shoulder as she looked around her. This wasn’t a pinewood, and yet the air was heavy with the resinous scent of conifers, blended with the acrid tang of ash. Druidic wards were in place just ahead of them.

“We’re here,” Bree murmured, gently leading Flint forward. “They’ve protected the path to keep The Slew out … but we can pass.”

They moved forward, and the air changed once more, warming slightly. Flint let out a low huff that sounded like a sigh. Bree led him under a spreading elm and stripped off his saddlery. “We shall say goodbye now,” she whispered, even as her pulse spiked. “If I were you, I’d wait until dawn before leaving the woods … The Slew are less vicious then.”

The pony whickered, and not for the first time, she wished she could touch minds with him. She hoped he was canny enough to linger within the wards until morning, where it was safe.

Bree stepped away from Flint then and was about to walk on when a large shape emerged from the undergrowth.

Her breathing caught.Skaal.

The fae hound’s eyes glowed, her long dark-green coat frosted by the silvery light filtering through the woods, as she prowled toward her. Bree noted then that the dog’s hackles weren’t raised. No growl rumbled in her throat.

To Bree’s surprise, Skaal moved close and nudged her in the ribs with her nose.

She exhaled slowly. She should have realized Cailean’s hound would be patrolling the area. Tentatively, she reached out and ruffled Skaal’s thick coat. “I’m here to help him,” she whispered. “But you know that, don’t you?”

Skaal gave a low whine, nudging her once more. There was urgency in the hound’s gesture. Aye, it was marching toward midnight now. She needed to move.

Without a backward glance, Bree slipped through the trees. Pulling up the hood of her cloak, she flitted from shadow to shadow. She compressed her lips into a grim smile as she walked. Once again, despite that she was one of the Marav now, parts of her old form still clung to her. The Shee knew how to move unseen, how to become one with the darkness.

A useful skill indeed, for she passed sentries on the way in. Two of them were enforcers, and she gave them a wide berth, choosing to pass closer to the king’s men instead. She’d heard that the warrior-druids had excellent night vision, much like the Shee did, and she wouldn’t risk being seen.

Even so, it took her longer than she’d have liked to make her way into the tents that had been erected amongst the ancient graves.

And as she crept forward, the faint drone of a man’s voice, singing what sounded like a dirge, reached her.

Bree’s skin prickled, and she halted and dropped to a crouch. They’d brought a bard with them. She couldn’t see him, yet the druid was nearby, holding vigil throughout the night.

Giving herself a shake, Bree pressed forward. The bard wasn’t focused on her tonight, but on keeping the encampment safe from The Slew that pressed around the wards.

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