Nonetheless, the fine hair on the backs of her arms prickled as she walked along the passage that led through the heart of the barrow. The dawn light only reached inside a few feet, and after that, the darkness was impenetrable. It was always tempting to bring a torch, to light the way, but that was ill-advised.
The wights that dwelled here didn’t like to be disturbed. Aye, they suffered the Shee passing through their resting place—whereas none of the Marav with their heavy tread, bright torches, and rough voices had ever managed it. These barrows, tombs of the Ancients, resisted druidic magic too, something else that kept the Marav away.
The buzzing in Bree’s ears increased, the deeper she walked into the barrow. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation, yet it wasn’t like when she’d passed through The Ring of Caith. That had been painful, especially on the second occasion.
Her boots whispered on smooth stone as she walked, and the air became ice-cold. Behind her, the gentle thud of Tivesheh’s hooves broke the silence, and the hot blast of his breathing feathered across the back of her neck.
Bree touched his mind.Just a little longer.
The dead are waking up.
Aye, but they won’t touch us.
Around her, the hiss and wheeze of labored breathing filled the darkness, followed by the rattle of bones.
“Sleeping dead, let us pass,” Bree murmured once more. “We tread lightly.”
She kept walking, ignoring the thin whispers that now echoed against the stone, and gradually the chill of the tomb eased. And then, up ahead, light beckoned.
Bree quickened her pace, hurrying toward it, and moments later, she emerged into a grey Albian morning.
Mist wreathed through the surrounding oaks and elms, which were all losing their leaves, and the clouds hung low overhead. Wonder wreathed up as she cast her gaze around, taking in the fiery cloaks of gold, bronze, and red the trees wore this time of year.
It struck her then that she’d never ventured into Albia in this season.
Gateway, the Marav celebration that heralded the start of winter, was no more than a moon’s turn away now. Behind the barrow, she spied the dark waters of Loch Caith. Tivesheh drew up next to her and tossed his head, clearly relieved to leave the suffocating darkness of the barrow behind.
Raising her face to the soft rain, Bree’s breathing hitched. A savage joy twisted deep inside her chest.
I’m back.
Her time away from Albia had felt like an eternity. She was now breathing the same air as Cailean mac Brochan, and just three days' journey away from setting eyes on him again.
Bree’s breathing quickened, anticipation drawing a tight knot in her stomach.
Cailean was in there.So close now.Shades, sheachedto see him again.
Sitting astride Tivesheh, she looked up at the broch perched at the summit of the promontory. Made of stacked stone, windowless, and shaped like a beehive, Duncrag cast a shadow over the surrounding hills.
But things weren’t as she’d expected at Albia’s capital—for a large army, one that equaled the size of that before Caisteal Gealaich—camped on the hills outside the fort.
The knots in her belly twisted.
Mor hadn’t been the only one making plans. The High King had also been busy.Bothsides were preparing for imminent war.
Talorc mac Brude had reacted swiftly when he’d learned that the warband he’d sent north—to slaughter his enemies—had been massacred. That the heir to his throne was dead. Over the moons Bree had resided in this fort, she’d marked the High King’s complex relationship with his only son—both close and combative.
She wouldn’t have been surprised if grief, and an intricate web of guilt, had added fuel to the need for revenge.
Bree’s brow furrowed. She had no sympathy for the High King of Albia. After all, he’d persecuted her people for years—and if the bastard had his way, the Shee would be banished from this realm forever.
And yet, you’ve fallen for his right hand. Something twisted deep in her chest. Aye, she had, and she wasn’t sorry.
It was early morning, not long before sunrise. Ever since leaving Golval Barrow, she had been careful. They’d traveled swiftly, but once they left The Uplands behind and entered thelowland area known as The Wolds, she’d slept during the day and journeyed at night.
It was safer to travel shrouded by darkness, for a white stag with a rider would only draw unwanted attention. The Marav didn’t ride stags and elk as her people did. As one of the Marav, she’d have been cautious of traveling after nightfall, for that was when the most dangerous of the faery creatures roamed. But as one of the Shee, they left her alone.
Sliding down from Tivesheh, Bree glanced around. She’d deliberately stopped a safe distance from the fort, on the edge of a birchwood. They were far enough away from the tents that spread out beneath Duncrag. Nonetheless, she’d been cautious. Amongst the silvery trunks of the trees, she caught sight of flickering lights.