Page 78 of Ashes of Betrayal

Eldra made a sound in the back of her throat. “It’smugwortyou speak of.”

Bree’s heart lurched, hope flowering. “So, it grows here too?”

“Aye … although as it’s no longer in flower; the herb will be hard to find,” Lara replied. “Especially since it’ll be dark soon.”

Bree stood up with a swiftness that made both women take a rapid step back. Even weakened inside the stones, she was fast.The Marav weren’t used to the fluidity of Shee movements. “I’ll find it.”

The warriors guarding the perimeter of the camp, just beyond the ring of stones, stepped aside as Bree stalked past. She carried a flaming torch, for, indeed, the gloaming was deepening. Before long, night would smother the world.

Her stomach was in knots now, even as determination drove her forward.

She wouldn’t give up on Cailean. She couldn’t let him die. She had to make this right.

And as soon as she stepped beyond the wards, out of the circle where earth magic hummed like a hive of bees, the pressure on her skin eased and strength returned to her wobbly legs once more.

On her way out, she passed a tall figure robed in scarlet. Gregor mac Hume watched her, his face twisted into a scowl. She hadn’t spoken to the chief-sacrificer since her return, although like everyone, he’d have heard her story. Luckily for mac Hume, he’d remained with the rearguard; unlike the chief-bard and chief-seer, who’d both fallen alongside the High King in battle.

The chief-sacrificer, who’d just finished slitting open a hare and laying its entrails upon a large flat stone beyond the wards, would likely spend the night making sacrifices to the Gods. He’d be calling on their protection.

“Shee slut,” he growled as she strode by. “I knew at blood-letting there was something wrong with you.”

Bree ignored him, even as she recalled the look on the mac Hume’s face the night of the blood-letting moons earlier, once the ceremony had concluded. It was the only instance when she’d seen the chief-sacrificer appear unsure of himself.

Nonetheless, his hard gaze tracked her as she strode across the valley floor toward the line of trees north of The Ring of Ard.

Two sets of glowing eyes watched her from the shadows between the trees.

Bree drew the hunting dagger at her side. Of course, as a Shee, she was safer out here than any Marav. All the same, it was wise to be wary of the faery creatures—especially since some now followed the Raven Queen.

However, as she neared the trees, she saw that the glowing eyes belonged to two wulvers. They watched her from the shadows, shaggy wolf heads on the sinewy bodies of men. Both wulvers wore nothing but tattered breeches, and knife belts across their hairy chests.

Bree’s gaze narrowed. She’d seen plenty of wulvers over the years, although none of them had been armed. Despite their frightening appearance, they were usually timid unless provoked. Fortunately, there was no aggression in these wulvers’ stances or their gazes now—just curiosity laced with feral cunning. Wulvers had been mistreated by the Marav, especially under the reign of High Kings like Talorc mac Brude, who reviled all faery folk.

But Bree was one of the Shee, and the wulvers let her pass unchallenged.

Striding into the woods, she immediately set about searching for wormwood.

Lara, of course, was right. It was difficult to make out one plant from the next on the woodland floor in the fading light. Fortunately, both sunrise and sunset in Albia were slow, a gradual lengthening of shadows. Bree’s keen eyesight made her task easier as well. Moving carefully now, and sweeping her torch before her, she studied every patch of bracken, every growth of nettle and fern—just in case there was something else nestled amongst it.

In Sheehallion, wormwood grew everywhere. Eldra had assured her that mugwort was also relatively common here, yet as she searched, she found none.

Corpse candles flickered around her, seemingly friendly golden lights, beckoning the unwary. They didn’t affect Bree, although she’d never seen so many out. The woods glimmered with them.

A shriek cut through the trees then, one that made the fine hair on the back of her neck prickle. Something rustled in the bushes to her right, and she swiveled around, lowering herself into a crouch.

Instinctively, she knew the wulvers hadn’t followed her. Something else watched her from the shadows. She felt its malice, its hunger.

Bree flexed her fingers around the pommel of her dagger. “Come out and face me,” she growled, inclining her head. “If you dare.”

But whatever stalked her remained hidden.

Bree continued her search, although now the skin between her shoulder blades prickled.

On and on she walked through the woods, and as her search drew out and the gloaming deepened, desperation fluttered up.

There was no wormwood to be found.

Eventually, as the last of the light faded from the sky above the treetops, she came across a burn, a narrow stream that cut between moss-covered banks and slippery rocks. The sound of trickling water shattered the dusk’s watchful silence.

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