Page 6 of Ashes of Betrayal

His eyebrows lifted, encouraging her to continue.

“They’re irrational, flawed, and overly emotional compared to us,” she continued, aware of her brother’s rapt attention. “Their lives pitifully short.” She shrugged, desperate to end this conversation now. “But maybe that’s what makes them live more intensely than we do.”

He inclined his head. “An interesting view.” He leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs under the table as he swirled his apple wine before him. “I never thought about it that way … and yet, it makes sense. When you live as long as we do, you must guard your emotions or you’ll burn yourself out, like a candle that flares too bright.”

“Perhaps,” she replied, wishing they could talk about something else. Anxiety was flapping like a caged raven under her ribs now. If Gil ever learned what she’d done—that she’d warned the chief-enforcer of the coming counterattack and saved his life—he’d look at her in an entirely different light.

Some secrets were too dangerous to share.

Silence fell between brother and sister. A sweet, musky scent, from the roses that climbed the walls of Caisteal Gealaich, wafted over the terrace then, and Bree drew the perfume deep into her lungs. It was the smell of Sheehallion. She’d missed it over the past moons, and yet it couldn’t unravel the tangle inside her.

“There’s definitely something amiss with you,” Gil said eventually. “Ever since we came up here, you can’t seem to sit still.”

Bree stopped kicking her foot against the table leg and cut him a frown. “There’s nothing wrong,” she lied, even as her pulse leaped into a gallop. She’d thought seeing her brother again would settle her—but she wasn’t in a fit state to converse with anyone right now. She was a twisted, knotted mess.

Gil’s tawny eyes glinted. “If you say so.”

4: CAST ASIDE

Caisteal Gealaich

The Realm of Sheehallion

Two moons later …

SWEAT RAN DOWN Bree’s back as she went through her drills. Blades out, she sliced at the air, swiveled, and high-kicked with her right leg. She then repeated the drill but led with her left leg this time. These daily training sessions, atop the castle walls, kept her sane. She pushed herself until her muscles trembled from fatigue, until her lungs burned from the exertion.

Until she stopped thinking.

And she’d reached that point now. Breast rising and falling sharply, Bree halted, sheathed her knives, and staggered across to one of the merlons that ringed the training terrace. She always chose this time of day—while most of the inhabitants of Caisteal Gealaich were consuming their noon meal—for she usually had this space to herself. A soft, rose-scented breeze feathered her skin as she leaned against the merlon.

The stone was warm from the sun, and for a few moments, she closed her eyes. The thud of her heart in her ears was nearly deafening, but after a while, it eased. Eventually, she opened her eyes once more and pushed herself upright.

And then she surveyed the army amassing beneath the fortress.

Steel scale armor glittered in the bright noon sun, gold and silver cloaks fluttering in the breeze. Even from up here, she spied the long hunting daggers, swords, and pikes the warriors who moved around the camp sported. Their steeds—elks, and stags—pawed the ground and bellowed at each other.

Bree’s chest started to ache then, not from over-exertion this time though, and she lifted a hand to rub at her breastbone. Her ribs felt as if an anvil sat upon them.

Muttering an oath, she dragged her other hand over her face. She’d hoped her longing for Cailean might fade. But it hadn’t.

Mor hadn’t called for her again since her return, and in the meantime, Bree had kept herself busy: training until she nearly dropped, and then taking Tivesheh out on long rides in-between, where she’d try to outrun herself.

She never managed to do so though.

Meanwhile, her people were readying themselves for war, and the Marav would likely be doing the same. No one told her anything these days, but she had eyes—and she’d watched over the past two turns of the moon as warriors poured in from every corner of the realm. The Raven Queen had raisedTheTannith—the Shee call to battle.

Mor had said Talorc mac Brude would pay for his long campaign against their people, and it seemed he would. Over two centuries had passed since the Marav and the Shee had locked blades in open battle—a war that had claimed the lives of both Bree’s parents. Since then, she’d watched relations worsen between the two races once more, waiting for the tipping point.

It had now arrived.

And Cailean will be in the midst of it.

Queasiness rose then. Aye, he’d be in the Marav front line.

Enforcers were deadly—and the High King had spent years readying himself for this battle—but Mor was gathering a huge force too.

As formidable as he was, it was likely Cailean wouldn’t survive the coming conflict, especially with so few enforcers left now. And all the while, she was stuck here. Useless. Cast aside. Split between two worlds.

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