Page 5 of Ashes of Betrayal

He stilled at the sound of her voice before casting a narrow-eyed look down at her. “Bree,” he replied coolly. “Back so soon?”

“That’s right.” She held up the ewer and goblets, even as she noted the tremor in her hands. “Care to celebrate with me?” Her chest clenched then. She had little to celebrate this afternoon, save avoiding the pit, although here she was pretending otherwise.

Gil’s tawny eyebrows drew together. “What …now?”

“Aye … we should hurry up though” —Shades, it was hard keeping her mask in place— “you don’t want the wine to get warm.”

Nearby, grey-robed males and females cast the queen’s assassin censorious looks. Meanwhile, Gil wore a pained expression as he slid down the ladder and turned to face her. “We don’t drink or eat down here,” he told her sternly.

She forced a brittle smile. “In that case, take a break and we’ll have our drinks upstairs.”

A short while later, brother and sister sat on the terrace outside Gil’s quarters. The mid-afternoon light was dazzling, and kites wheeled across the cloudless arch of the sky. From here, they had a view east over the meadows that stretched down to a glittering estuary. The scene was lovely, yet Bree barely noticed it.

Fidgeting, she crossed and uncrossed her legs, trying to get comfortable in her seat. Brilliant sunshine reflected off the white stone, and her eyes smarted as she poured the wine. “Iron,” she muttered. “Everything is so bright.”

Gil gave a soft snort. “Compared to Albia, you mean?” He screwed up his face then. “That foul place.”

It isn’t as awful as you think, she corrected him silently.Aye, Albia is grey and misty, yet it has a beauty that steals your soul.However, she said none of this. There were some things her brother wouldn’t understand.

Bree still couldn’t relax. Her booted foot kicked rhythmically against a table leg.

Meanwhile, Gil observed her, his expression wary.

She didn’t blame him. As younglings, she’d been protective of her younger brother, but with the passing of the years, and the centuries, he’d grown wary of her. He hadn’t approvedof her choice of profession, and she’d sneered at his lowly one. Fellshadows were warriors.Violencewas in his blood, not scholarly pursuits. She wasn’t sneering now though. It surprised her to realize that three turns of the moon apart from Gil—living amongst the Marav—had made her view him in a different light. He wasn’t weak, just different from her.

Picking up her goblet, she held it aloft. Shades, she wished her hands would steady. “To surviving Duncrag.”

Still eyeing her as if a powrie had just leaped over his balcony and was sitting across the table from him, Gil lifted his own goblet. “I thought the queen wanted you to stay a while?”

“She did … and she’s not happy to see me back … but the situation took a turn, and I had to leave.”

He raised an eyebrow. “The chief-enforcer wasn’t charming then?”

“No,” she replied quietly, even as her stomach twisted. Every time she thought of Cailean—and the last time she’d seen him—it felt as if someone had kicked her in the guts.

“I heard about the attack you warned us of … you saved many lives,” her brother said after a pause. “Everyone in Caisteal Gealaich is talking about it.”

Bree nodded, even as queasiness washed over her.And condemned many Marav to death.Of course, Gil wouldn’t care about that. And she shouldn’t either. But curse her, she did. She cared about many things that had once left her cold. “Aye, but Mor was tempted to throw me to the wyrm, all the same,” she replied huskily. “I think I’ll lie low for a while.”

He grimaced at this and took a sip of wine.

She followed suit, sighing at the crisp sweetness. She then raised the goblet to her lips again and took a deep draft. Damn it, she needed something to take the edge off. She was aware then that her brother was watching her steadily, his golden eyes—thesame hue as her own, with slitted cat-like pupils that were so different from those of the Marav—slightly narrowed.

“You’re on edge,” he observed after a beat.

She snorted, even as anxiety fluttered through her. “Aye … well, it wasn’t an easy job, and I’ve just weathered Mor’s wrath.”

“It’s more than that though,” he replied, his gaze drilling into her. “What happened to you in Albia?”

She took another gulp of wine, welcoming the warmth that pooled in her belly. “Maybe I was humbled.”

He huffed a laugh. “You?”

“Aye … me.”

“What was it like … living among the enemy?”

“Difficult,” she replied, before adding. “And surprising.” Nerves fluttered once more. She couldn’t open up to her brother. No one here could discover her shame.

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