Page 55 of Ashes of Betrayal

Eilig dragged his gaze over him, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “I’ve followed your career over the years,” he drawled. “Your sister is so proud.”

Is. Cailean’s heart kicked against his ribs. “Enya’s alive?”

The fight master’s smile widened, malice flickering in his eyes. “Aye … she’s borne me three sons.”

Cailean’s blood started to roar in his ears. The Reaper take him, he wanted to draw his broadsword and cut Eilig’s head off right now. The fire that smoldered in his belly flared hot. Aye, he wanted reckoning for every beating. Every humiliation. For his mother, father, and sister. For the innocence Eilig had stolen. For the family he’d ruined.

“Draw your sword, Eilig.”

The fight master gave an incredulous laugh, the abrasive sound drifting over the arena. Meanwhile, the four slaves had stopped sparring. Gazes sharp, they were now watching the two men who stood around five yards apart.

The fight master’s attention strayed over Cailean’s shoulder, to where Bree was standing, glamored as a Marav woman. “Who’s this pretty thing?” he murmured, licking his lips.

Cailean didn’t reply. Moments passed, and when it was clear that he wouldn’t be making introductions, Eilig shook his head mockingly. “It’s a bit late for retribution,lad.” The fight masterdrew the sword strapped to his back in one smooth, easy movement.

Cailean’s lip curled. Suddenly, the years fell away, and he was thirteen, dripping blood into the dirt as Eilig loomed over him, fists raised, daring him to rise. “It’s never too late,” he said softly.

He then drew his own blade and lunged.

25: WELL ALONE

ARMS STILL FOLDED across her chest—to prevent herself from grabbing one of the knives under her cloak and flinging it straight into the fight master’s throat—Bree watched the two men face off.

The slaves moved back to look on from the spectator benches, while Bree remained by the gate, forcing her feet to grow roots. Underneath her apparent calm, she itched to join the fight.

She’d seen the look Eilig had flashed her, and she still seethed. A blade to the gullet would wipe the insolent grin off his face.

Bree ground her teeth in frustration.You promised Cailean you wouldn’t interfere.

And she wouldn’t. Not yet.

Eilig still wore a smirk though, even as he swung his blade to block his opponent’s first strike. Bree had to hand it to him, the man’s arrogance was impressive. Most people wouldn’t look so confident with Cailean mac Brochan bearing down upon them.

Her husband moved with fluid grace—in contrast to the fight master, who favored his left leg badly.

Both warrior-druids fought with heavy broadswords, a blade that had to be wielded two-handed. Despite that Eilig was hampered by his sore leg, he was brutal and precise, expendingno more energy than necessary. It became evident early on that they were evenly matched.

Bree’s gaze narrowed. Indeed, their fighting styles were eerily similar. It made sense, for Eilig had taught Cailean to fight. All the same, the realization put her on edge.

They moved around the arena, each giving ground reluctantly.

Fighting with broadswords wasn’t a dance like it was with a longsword. The blade that hung at Bree’s hip would be wielded differently. There was more play, more parrying and feinting. But the two warriors swung their blades like clubs, the clang of iron splitting the air every time they collided.

Bree’s heart started to pound as she watched the duel unfold.

He favors his left,so make use of it.

Don’t give any ground.

Make another downward cut.

Shades, she had to bite her tongue. It wasn’t like her to stand on the sidelines. She liked to be in the thick of things.

And yet, she’d given Cailean her word.

Meanwhile, the fight drew out. It wasn’t long before sweat gleamed on both men’s faces. Cailean’s black cloak billowed out around him as he moved, sawdust kicking up beneath his boots.

And gradually, the smirk slipped from Eilig’s face.

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