Page 51 of Ashes of Betrayal

She nodded, a muscle in her jaw feathering. “Of course. Do what you must.”

Cailean sighed. That wasn’t the response he’d hoped for, and he was about to reply, to attempt to reassure her, when a thin shriek cut through the air. Skin prickling, he glanced up at the sky, where the last rays of light were fading. Dark clouds boiled overhead. The Whistle gusted across the fort, making the flames of the brazier that burned a few yards away gutter.

But that noise wasn’t the wind. It sounded as if The Slew had already taken wing.

The lass emerged from the ale-hall then, wrapped in a fur-lined cloak, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

Stepping back from him, Bree murmured an oath under her breath. She then gestured to the ominous sky. “Go on. And I’d hurry before the night is crawling with things you won’t wish to meet.”

23: IRON AND STEEL

NODDING TO THE red-robed sacrificer, Cailean rose to his feet. As he did so, he noted that the strength had returned to his limbs. He was himself again.

He helped Evina, the serving lass from the ale-hall who’d partnered him, up as well. Above, the full moon played hide-and-seek with dark clouds, yet the blood-letting had been successful. The silvery glow of Cailean’s tattoos faded now, as did the rush of elation that the ritual brought.

They stood upon a grassy mound on the eastern edge of the fort, where a circular stone had been embedded into the earth. The sacrificer, a woman Cailean’s age, her auburn hair woven into intricate braids, had been much easier to deal with than Gregor mac Hume. Back at Duncrag, the chief-sacrificer had never missed an opportunity to undermine his rival.

Ever since the early days of their training back on the Isle of Arryn, they’d rubbed each other the wrong way. It was a relief to have this ritual led by someone who didn’t take vindictive pleasure in slicing Cailean as deeply as possible across the palm. The wound she’d made on both their palms had already healed, although he could still feel it tingling.

Earth magic now burned fiercely in his veins once more.

Evina’s gaze was slightly glazed as she steadied herself against him.

“Time to get indoors,” the sacrificer warned, casting a frown at the sky. “I’d walk home fast, if I were you, mac Brochan.”

Aye, just like the guards at the gate, this sacrificer knew who he was. Tomorrow, the overking would likely send for him; there would be no getting around it. All the same, he had importantpersonalbusiness to attend to first—and he wouldn’t be waylaid.

“We will,” Cailean assured her.

The sacrificer turned then, robes billowing, and gestured to the two other druids who’d stood behind her during the ritual, chanting. All three of them hurried away down the slope to the turf-roofed cottage where Cailean had found them earlier.

“Come.” Cailean set off, drawing Evina with him. “Let’s get you home.”

A torpor filtered over him then, a familiar tiredness dragging at his limbs. It was different from the exhaustion that warned him his earth magic was fading though. As always, after blood-letting, all he wished to do was sleep.

“That was … surprising,” Evina said dreamily, cutting him a coy look under long lashes. “So …” Her voice trailed off there as she struggled to find the right word to describe the experience.

“Intense?”

“Aye.”

“I appreciate you joining me,” Cailean said, injecting a brisk note into his voice. The lass had flirted with him all the way to the sacred mound. He didn’t want to encourage her further.

“That woman you were with earlier,” Evina said then. “Why couldn’tshepartner you this eve?”

“She wished to,” he answered, his tone cooling. “But … it isn’t possible.”

Evina waited for him to elaborate.

He didn’t. Truth was, he’d hated choosing someone else besides Bree to partner him. His gut clenched then. They’d never be able to share this again.

Leaving the druidic compound behind, Cailean led Evina through a network of wynds in-between tightly packed cottages, byres, and walled gardens where vines crept over lichen-encrusted stone. Upon the southern edge of the fort, the beehive-shaped broch rose up above the turf roofs beneath it. King Ailean resided there, and on previous visits, he’d hosted Cailean, putting on a feast to welcome the High King’s chief-enforcer.

Not tonight though. Gateway provided a welcome distraction.

A wooly sensation clouded his mind then, a response to blood-letting that only rest could take away. He’d be himself by morning though—and ready to take on Eilig.

They made their way through the deserted wynds as The Whistle whined in their ears and tugged at their cloaks. Above, the dark sky looked as if it were boiling now, and when Cailean glanced up, he spied black shapes fluttering across the face of the moon.

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