Page 81 of Ashes of Betrayal

She was dimly aware of Eldra and Lara behind her, moving around the tent, speaking in whispers. Mirren brought her a bowl of soup, but she didn’t touch it. Torran had pulled upa stool on the opposite side of the pallet, a strong, watchful presence.

Together, with Skaal, they held a silent vigil.

Bree appreciated their company, and that no one tried to converse with her.

She couldn’t focus on anything except Cailean as she bathed his fever-racked body and watched for any sign of improvement.

But when his breathing started to deepen and the awful death rattle in his chest eased, Bree’s chin kicked up, her gaze fusing with Torran’s. “Do you think he’s improving?”

Brow furrowing, he gave a hesitant nod.

Eldra moved close then, placing a hand on Cailean’s brow. “The fever is drawing back,” she confirmed. “It’s a relief to learn about this antidote … it may come in useful in the future.”

Relief washed over Bree, and her eyes started to smart. Suddenly, her throat was so tight she couldn’t speak.

A hand squeezed her shoulder then. Glancing left, she met Lara’s gaze. The princess’s green eyes glistened, her face gaunt with fatigue and her own sorrows.

“He’s turned the corner now,” another voice whispered, and Bree looked right to see that Mirren had also moved close.

Torran flashed Bree a tired smile. “Aye, he’s tough. Cailean’s going to be fine.”

Her throat started to ache then. These people had all gathered with her at Cailean’s side.

She hadn’t expected this. She’d braced herself for them—those she’d befriended during her moons at Duncrag—to despise her now that she’d revealed who she really was and the truth of what she’d done.

But they didn’t.

“Mulled wine?”

“Aye … a large one. Thank you.”

Lara flashed Bree an arch look before nodding to Mirren, who ladled dark, spiced bramble wine from a pot, filling a wooden cup to the brim. “Pour me one too.”

The handmaid did as bid, carrying the wines across to where Bree and Lara sat before a glowing brazier. However, as it was made of iron, Bree had shifted her stool back to a safe distance.

It was late now, and a chill was in the air; outdoors, a crisp frost had settled.

However, despite that her limbs ached with exhaustion, Bree couldn’t relax. Cailean was over the worst of it now—Eldra was with him—yet her body still felt coiled, tense.

She wouldn’t be able to settle, not while they remained within the stone circle.

She thought about Gil then. She hadn’t seen her brother since before dusk, for Cailean’s plight had consumed her. She wanted to tell Lara about him, but she suddenly felt awkward. Guilty. Ashamed. Gil was here because of her. If she’d stayed in Sheehallion, Mor would have forgotten about her eventually. Instead, she’d drawn the Raven Queen’s eye, and Mor had lashed out.

No, she wouldn’t bring Gil up. Not tonight. To do so might put him in danger. Lara was tolerating her presence here, yet she didn’t want to push things. She needed to establish trust first.

Wrapping her fingers around the cup, Bree sipped her wine, sighing as warmth slid down her throat. Her gaze then met Lara’s. “I never thought to see you in The Uplands,” she admitted. “I can’t believe your father brought you and your mother north.”

The princess stared back at her, a nerve flickering under one eye. “The foretelling made him overconfident,” she replied huskily.

“Foretelling?”

“Aye.” Lara took a gulp of wine, her fingers clenching around her cup. “A moon’s turn ago, father was about to send hosts of warriors to defend Golval and Deeping barrows. However, his chief-seer told him not to. Instead, he foretold that we would face the Shee before the walls of Cannich just after Gateway … and that father would prevail.”

Bree frowned.That explains it. “That’s a bold prediction.”

Lara heaved a sigh. “Aye, well, Allaster mac Coll was given three signs. He dreamed of the Great Mare racing across the night sky above Cannich. Then the following day when he cast the bones, the Great Mare fell next to The Warrior … another sign of victory.” Lara paused then, grimacing. “And that evening, a mule in the stables gave birth to a foal … and my father was convinced that victory was his. After that, both the chief-seer and chief-counsellor urged him to travel north. Mac Coll’s dream was a portent that the battle would unfold in The Uplands.”

Bree fell silent after this admission. The portents the chief-seer had been given were powerful indeed. But they’d been wrong. She wagered that Talorc mac Brude had cursed Allaster mac Coll as he fell.

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