Page 7 of Ashes of Betrayal

It galled her that she was unable to stop this, unable to save him.

“It’s been a while, Bree.”

She turned from the wall to see a tall, lithe male with long pale hair, clad all in black, emerge from the stairwell behind her.

Halting, Captain Frostshard sketched a mocking bow.

Bree fought the impulse to scowl. Crossing paths with Gavyn reminded her how little she cared about her ruined career. She never wanted to kill for Mor again. “Aye,” she replied coolly, trying to ignore the glint in her former lover’s storm-grey eyes. “I’ve been busy.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Doing what, exactly?”

Bree pursed her lips, refusing to take the bait. She didn’t want to talk about herself. “That’s quite an army down there,” she replied casually, gesturing to the view.

“It is.”

“She must be readying herself for an attack?”

He shrugged. “It’ll come soon enough.”

Pretending his deliberate vagueness didn’t vex her, Bree mirrored him with a shrug of her own. “Which barrows will you go through to enter Albia?”

A beat of silence followed this question. She’d asked it with an offhand tone, as if she didn’t care about the answer. However, the truth was sheburnedto know.

She checked herself then.What will you do with such knowledge? Warn Cailean?Her pulse quickened.Maybe.

Gavyn’s gaze sharpened. “Such details are reserved … for those in our queen’s inner circle.”

“What … you can’t share them withme?” She flashed him a smile, hoping it would soften him. He’d cared for her once; surely, a spark of that old affection remained.

Unfortunately, he was unmoved. “No.”

An awkward silence followed. Heat ignited in her belly, her temper rising.

Curse them all. She’d helped Mor. She’d risked her neck to give the Raven Queen what she needed so she could surprise the Marav in The Uplands, so they could ambush them at Dunmorth Barrow. She’d had victories because of Bree. But because her spy had disobeyed orders and come home instead of lingering at Duncrag and putting herself in even greater danger, Mor had now shut her out.

The rejection was galling, humiliating, and bitterness flooded her mouth.

“You’ve finished with the terrace, I take it?” Gavyn asked then.

“Aye,” she replied between gritted teeth, her gut burning.

“Good.” He crossed to the center of the space and began a series of stretches. He moved with the loose-limbed, supple grace that only Shee possessed.

Bree didn’t shift from her spot by the merlon, and eventually, Gavyn glanced at her over his shoulder. “Don’t mind me,” he said with a half-smile that made her want to punch him in the mouth. “Why don’t you move along now … and get on with your busy day?”

A golden gloaming was settling over the world when Bree sought out her brother.

Usually, when each interminable day ended, she retreated to her tower and soaked up to the chin in a hot bath to ease her sore muscles, a ewer of ice-cold wine within easy reach. But today, she broke with routine.

She found Gil with the other archivists, taking their seats in the dining hall on the lowest level of the fortress, where the lesser-ranking individuals at Caisteal Gealaich ate their meals.

Her arrival drew stares.

Ignoring them, she strode toward Gil’s table.

The archivists seated with him saw her coming and leaped up as if scalded, moving to another table. Meanwhile, Bree slid onto the bench seat opposite her brother.

Gil’s raised tawny eyebrows. “You’re popular these days.”

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