Page 59 of Ashes of Betrayal

The Upland king had always reminded him of a spider. He was a swarthy man with a short, thick body and long gangly limbs. A shock of black hair crowned a large head, and deep-set brown eyes tracked Cailean as he approached. Beside him sat Queen Dalria, a pretty, if petulant-faced, woman who wore her golden hair in two long braids.

“Mac Brochan,” the king greeted him sourly. “Since when do you arrive in Cannich and not announce yourself?”

“Apologies, sire,” Cailean replied. “But I was on leave and am here visiting kin.”

King Ailean pursed his lips at this response, his dark brows knitting together. “With the High King’s imminent arrival here, I imagined he’d sent you ahead.”

Cailean didn’t reply to this grumble. He merely halted a few yards back from the high seat and waited for the king’s questions. Of course, he wouldn’t be able to answer any of them.

Impatience thumped in his chest as the moments slid by, and his belly started to ache.You have made a Gods-damned mess of things, mac Brochan. He knew how lust for revenge blinded people yet had thought he was different. He wasn’t.

He really was the same as his High King.

The overking’s wolfhound, a lean dog with a wiry coat that sat beside its master, began scratching itself then. Scowling, mac Nairn kicked it. The hound yelped, stopped scratching, and slunk away.

“Our High King is being secretive,” the overking muttered, tapping his long fingers upon the carven armrest of his chair. “And I don’t like it. He tells me to ready my army … to recruit as many hill-tribe warriors as I can get my hands on … but refuses to tell me why.”

Cailean shared the overking’s confusion. However, he couldn’t admit such to him.

Mac Nairn heaved himself forward then, his gaze spearing Cailean’s. “Why is he marching north? Does he know something I do not? Do the Shee plan to attack us?”

“I cannot say, sire.”

“Cannot … orwillnot?”

Cailean remained silent. Curse mac Nairn, he had nothing useful to offer, after all. His gut cramped then, as the memory of the look on his sister’s face moments before he left the cottage intruded. Her anguish. Her grief. Striking off Eilig’s headhad been satisfying indeed, but in killing the fight master, he’d ruined Enya and her sons’ lives.

Gods, he wished he could claw back time and change what he’d done.

Retribution had initially tasted so sweet, but now it was bitter enough to choke him.

“Why would he bring the armies of Duncrag, Braewall, and Baldeen north?” the overking went on, oblivious to the fact that Cailean was barely listening to him. “Unless he has gotten wind of something.” He paused then, resentment smoldering in his peat-colored eyes. “I tire of being the last to know, whenever there is something afoot. I’m an overking, not some rabble-rousing chieftain.”

“Our High King will be in Cannich soon,” Cailean replied, unable to prevent his voice from hardening. “You’ll be able to take your grievances up with him then.”

Mac Nairn scowled at this response, a muscle bunching in his jaw.

Cailean wasn’t entirely unsympathetic.

The truth was that the High King didn’t treat Cannich’s ruler well. He didn’t like the power that the overking held, for The Uplands bred the strongest warriors in all of Albia and governed the various chiefdoms in the north.

In the past, before mac Brude’s time, The Upland overkings had risen against their High King a few times, and bloody wars marked Albia’s history. As such, mac Brude was wary of mac Nairn and had deliberately excluded him from meetings he held with his other two overkings.

“In his last missive, he said that he’s bringing his family north with him,” Queen Dalria spoke up then, her already high-pitched voice shrill with disapproval. “Does he expect us to provide accommodation for them?”

Cailean drew in a slow, deep breath, praying to the Gods for patience. Did he look like a courier? “I cannot say, Your Highness,” he replied coldly.

A tense silence fell in the hall. It was a large circular space dominated by one enormous hearth in the center. Servants and slaves moved quietly around the fringes, leery of disturbing, or vexing, their liege.

“And how far away is the High King?” the overking ground out eventually, his voice rough with anger now. “Surely, you can tell me that, mac Brochan?”

“Two days at most.” It was a guess, although, after his conversation with the warriors bound east the day before, it seemed probable. Like the overking, he was mystified by the High King’s behavior—although mac Nairn’s incessant questioning was starting to vex him. All the same, a sage voice whispered to Cailean to keep his temper in check. He couldn’t let his inner turmoil turn him reckless—not if he wanted to walk out of here without a fight. The overking’s warriors lined the hall, watching them. He could take them on, yet he’d done enough damage today. “As soon as he makes camp outside Cannich, mac Brude shall call upon you.”

King Ailean scowled. “I’m sure he will.”

Pacing the yard behind the ale-hall, Bree glanced up at the darkening sky. Dusk was settling. Where was Cailean?

When he’d assured her that his meeting with the overking wouldn’t take long, she’d thought him overly optimistic. Even so, she’d expected him earlier than this. And as the day drew out, and her husband didn’t appear, she started to worry.

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