Page 10 of Ashes of Betrayal

Confiding in Gil had been idiotic.

Aye, she pined for the man she’d left behind. Knowing that Cailean lived and breathed on the other side of the veil, where she couldn’t reach out and touch him, was slowly breaking her apart. How she longed to hear his voice, to watch him eat supperwhile they bantered. How she yearned to see her husband stalk across the yard before Duncrag broch, Skaal at his side, to watch shadow and light chase each other in his eyes.

But admitting it to herself was one thing—telling her brother was another.

She was losing her mind.

Leaning her palms upon the windowsill, she continued to stare at the fiery sunset.

Gil had surprised her earlier. His reaction to her shame revealed that he was a better person than she would ever be. And he was loyal. More loyal than she deserved.

Throat tight, she dragged her gaze from the sky, lowering it to the meadows far below her tower, to the swathe of pavilions.

She didn’t know when the army would mobilize, but surely it would be soon.

Her breathing grew shallow.

I must be with him.

Bree’s fingertips dug into the slippery moonstone ledge. And as the heavens faded to indigo and then black, the hearths on the meadow below glowing like fireflies, she let her choice settle deep into her bones.

And it felt right.

She’d been wrestling with the decision for a while now. She could tell herself that she had to warn Cailean, yet the news she’d bring to Duncrag wouldn’t surprise her husband. He knew about the brewing conflict between the Marav and the Shee.

The truth was, they had little time left, for soon war would sweep across Albia. But she’d take whatever The Great Raven gave them.

She’d see him again, even if it was the death of her.

A heady mix of hope and despair wrapped itself around her chest as she turned from the window and went to the table whereher large collection of steel blades lay. Deftly, she strapped them on.

Despite that she hadn’t worked since her return to Sheehallion, she wore her hunting leathers and high boots. As she trained daily, these were the garments she’d always been the most comfortable in. Readying herself took just moments, for Bree was used to traveling light. Before leaving her chamber, she cast a cloak around her shoulders—Fia’s blue mantle—and grabbed her quiver and bow.

And then, without a backward glance at the chamber that had been her home for the best part of two centuries, Bree departed. She descended the thousand steps from her quarters before stalking through a network of corridors and exiting the keep.

Outdoors, standing within the inner ward, she breathed in the sweet, balmy air.

Nearby, guards stood rigidly to attention. However, they ignored her.

The irony wasn’t lost on Bree. Ever since her return, she’d chafed at being treated like a ghost. But now, the fact that no one cared where she went or what she did made it even easier to slip away.

Not halting to consider her choices, she strode under an archway into the outer ward.

More guards stood before the closed gates, their scale armor gleaming silver in the moonlight.

“Let me out,” Bree ordered as she approached.

The guards both regarded her frostily before sharing a long look.

Watching them, she bristled. It was an effort not to let her hand stray to the pommel of her longsword, to issue a silent warning to them. She might no longer kill for the Raven Queen, but these two would mind her.

Moments passed, and then, reluctantly, the guards moved, opening the gates just wide enough for Bree to slip through. She did so without thanking them, stalking down the causeway beyond. To her right spread the meadows, where a sea of tents, the smoke from cookfires blurring the night sky like mist, lay.

Bree whistled. The sound, high and shrill, carried through the balmy night air.

And then she waited.

Her heart was racing now, yet every sense was sharp, and the heaviness that had dogged her steps for the past two moons lifted. Her belly now pitched as if she were on the deck of a ship in high seas. She couldn’t believe she was doing this—that she was walking away from her home. Her people.

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