Page 79 of Ashes of Betrayal

Bree followed its course for a short while before she halted at the bank and breathed a curse, her voice catching. Time was running out for Cailean. With each moment she wasted out here, looking for this damned herb, he was inching closer to death.

She was about to fail him.

Crouching, she scooped up cold water and drank before splashing her face. The chill sharpened her wits once more, and her pulse started to thump in her ears. No. She wouldn’t. She’d circle back now toward the stones and take another route. And this time, she’d find that fucking wormwood.

Decision made, Bree was about to rise to her feet and turn on her heel when a voice, female and thin with age, intruded.

“You never made your wish.”

Bree’s gaze snapped up, even as she lifted her blade.

A crone knelt a few yards away, upon a swathe of bright-green moss. Wispy white hair framed a hollowed face and milky eyes. Her gnarled hands were in the clear water, washing what looked to be a white shroud.

A chill washed over Bree before she reminded herself that she wasn’t wearing white.

The Washerwoman wasn’t washingherclothes.

“What shall it be then?” the Ben Neeya spoke once more, revealing yellowed protruding teeth. “Choose carefully this time mind … for I won’t seek you out again.”

Bree wet her lips, allowing her pulse to settle. Her belly twisted then. She’d never thought the Ben Neeya would give her another chance. After the crone had denied her that wish—to spare Cailean mac Brochan’s life—when they’d met in the woods near The Ring of Caith on the eve of Mid-Summer, she’d run.

Her breathing grew shallow.

What a bitter irony that the Ben Neeya had found her now, when she was trying to save Cailean’s life—again. She couldn’t help but think that The Washerwoman was toying with her. The spirits and faery creatures that roamed Albia could be cruel.

“My wish is the same,” she rasped. “Spare Cailean mac Brochan’s life.”

Unlike moons earlier, when her heart had been conflicted—when she’d been torn between two worlds—there was no doubt within her now.

Moments passed, and the Ben Neeya threw back her head and gave a wheezing laugh.

Dizziness assailed Bree as she stared back at her.

Aye, the bitch was playing games again. She’d come up with another feeble reason to deny her. Heat washed over Bree then as anger bloomed. Cailean was dying, and she was wasting time bandying words with a vindictive spirit that fed off her desperation. She’d had enough of this game.

Straightening up, she whipped around, intending to stalk away, back toward the camp.

But then, a thick profusion of green caught her eye directly ahead. The plant’s tapered leaves gleamed in the light of her torch.

Bree’s breathing lodged in her throat, and she halted mid-stride.

A healthy growth of wormwood.

Bree whipped back to face the Ben Neeya. “Thank y—”

The words died on her lips, for The Washerwoman had disappeared. Just a moment earlier, she’d been kneeling there in the fading light, her hideous face twisted in mirth. But no longer. Bree stood alone on the banks of the burn.

Pulse racing, she turned once more and rushed to the wormwood. It was the root Eldra would need, and so she thrust into the damp, peaty soil with her blade, digging around the plant.

And as she worked, Bree gave a shrill whistle.

Another shriek cut through the trees, followed by an unsettling chattering sound. The undergrowth snapped.

Bree started to sweat. Her whistle wasn’t for them. She had more stalkers now, and they were closing in. She couldn’t linger here any longer.

Working as fast as she dared, for she didn’t want to leave any of the root behind, Bree continued digging.

Moments later, she rose to her feet, pulling the entire plant from the soil. To the left, she spied silhouettes. All of them were short, although some were broad and stocky while others were thin and wiry. They gripped steel blades. Eyes glinted in the light of her guttering torch.

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