31 IN FOR THE KILL

TIVESHEH SPRINTED SOUTH. Trees passed by in a blur, branches whipping against Bree’s face. Crouched low over his withers, she was dimly aware of Skaal racing beside her. The fae hound was fleet, little more than flashes of moss-green through the dark of the trees. Behind her, the thunder of Feannag’s hooves warned Bree that Cailean was doing his best to keep up.

They cut through the woodland to rejoin the highway.

However, as Bree crested the last hill before a steep slope that angled down to where the road snaked through a pine-clad glen, she caught sight of a host of Shee warriors—at least two dozen of them—racing south on elks.

Drawing Tiv up, she leaned forward, her sharp eyesight scanning the group. Clad in black leather armor, their pitch-colored cloaks billowing behind them, the figures were distinctive. And just as distinctive was the swarm of stocky imps—with bobbing red caps upon their heads—crouched on the backs of mountain goats behind them.

“Iron,” she breathed, as her heart lurched into her throat. Even from this distance, she caught a flash of pale hair.

Gavyn Frostshard was leading them.

“Who are they?” Cailean pulled Feannag up next to her.

“Mor’s Ravens,” Bree replied. “Her personal bodyguard … the deadliest of all Shee fighters. And they’ve got over fifty powries with them.”

Cailean ground out a curse. “They’re going to reach the rearguard before us.”

“Aye.” Bree cut him a sidelong glance, seeing her own frustration mirrored on his face. “But not by much.”

Tivesheh ran as fast as The Sweeper, and yet he wasn’t fast enough to catch The Ravens.

Galloping on the road now, Bree caught sight of the camp ahead. Supply wagons—large wooden carts with hide awnings over them—had been parked in a wide circle around a carpet of tents. Riderless elks and mountain goats stalked outside the camp, waiting for the call of their masters.

The Ravens and their allies were already inside the camp.

Shouting, followed by terrified screams, cut through the damp air, and Bree’s stomach clenched.

Lara and Mirren were trapped in there. She had to get to them.

Stop here , she instructed Tivesheh. The stag skidded to a halt just yards before the wagons, and an instant later, Bree leaped nimbly off his back, drawing her blades as she went.

She sprinted toward the perimeter and had almost reached the nearest wagon, when she heard Cailean pull up behind her, and the thud of his boots hitting the ground. Feannag had made a valiant effort to keep pace with Tivesheh yet had eventually fallen behind.

Climbing the wagon with ease, Bree scaled the top and dropped onto the ground inside the encampment.

Her nostrils flared at the reek of iron in here. The Marav warriors defending this camp were heavily armed. She resisted the stench and tried to ignore her twitching muscles. She’d wade through a forest of iron to get to her friends. She’d lied to Lara and Mirren—deceived them as she had Cailean—but she’d make it up to her friends now.

She’d prove to them that they could count on her.

Cailean landed next to her then. He too had scaled the wagon easily, moving with a fluidity she’d come to recognize in him. The tattoos on his neck and arms glowed silver now, the smell of pine and ash catching in her throat.

Skaal leaped down next to Cailean, her hackles raised.

They’d jumped into the thick of things, for a few yards away, Marav warriors, clad in boiled leather armor and wearing domed iron helmets, were facing off against a cluster of powries.

Bree skirted around the skirmish, noting that the warriors were holding their own. She wouldn’t interfere. Instead, she and Cailean needed to get to Lara and the queen—before The Ravens found them.

Side-by-side, they wove through the press of tents, and in the meantime, the screams grew louder.

Bree’s breathing quickened.

Shit. She hoped she wasn’t too late.

Cailean scooped up a sword from a fallen Marav warrior and helped himself to the man’s fighting dagger as well.

Bree didn’t like having iron nearby, but he needed those blades.

They were getting closer to the heart of the camp now, where the bodies of the men and women who’d tried to fight off the Shee and powries sprawled, their blood seeping into the peaty ground.

Summoning his earth magic, he stalked forward, cutting his way through the swarm of powries descending upon him. They rushed at him and Bree fearlessly though, steel knives flashing.

Cailean met them with a snarl. These murderous imps wouldn’t stop him from getting to the queen and her daughter. All those years ago, he’d sworn fealty to the High King, but today, he’d show where his loyalty truly lay. To Queen Teva and Princess Lara: two women who’d been dragged into this war by a man who cared about nothing but his hatred for the Shee.

He was almost through the fray when a piercing scream drew his attention. He whirled right to see a lean, black-clad figure advancing on a woman he’d bailed up against the side of a tent. Three youths lay around the woman, all bleeding and clutching their wounds. However, their mother defended them still, gripping a fighting dagger.

Cailean’s heart bucked.

Enya . Her sons had tried to protect her and failed—and now she stood alone.

The Raven went in for the kill then, the slender blade he wielded flashing bright in the sunlight.

But suddenly, Cailean was there, his iron blade blocking the lethal swing. The Shee’s yellow eyes snapped wide, for Cailean’s speed had taken him by surprise. Not waiting for the Raven to rally, he kicked him hard in the knee, sending him reeling. An instant later, the Shee was on his back with an iron blade driving through his throat.

Yanking his sword free, Cailean whirled to face his sister.

Enya, pale and trembling, stared back at him.

“Cailean!” Bree shouted from up ahead. The ring of weapons colliding and Skaal’s snarls followed. His companions had moved on and needed his help. Nodding to his sister, he whirled away and plunged after his wife and the fae hound.

Together, the three of them cut their way forward, and a short while later, they emerged in the heart of the camp. Here, the Ravens had engaged the ring of Marav defending the royal pavilion—a large tent where a wolf banner hung from a pole.

However, when Cailean’s gaze settled upon the rip in the side of the tent, his breathing caught. The Hag’s curse. They’d already forced their way inside.

He cut Bree a look. Aye, she too had spied the gap. A nerve flickered in her cheek, her tawny eyes shadowing. “Shit,” she rasped.

Their gazes fused, and Cailean flashed her a hard smile. “We’ll save them. Ready?”

Bree’s eyes glinted, her jaw firming as she nodded.

With Skaal snapping and snarling behind them, they slashed their way through the Ravens, catching many of the Shee by surprise.

Moments later, they leaped inside the pavilion.

The bodies of guards littered the floor, their blood soaking into sheepskins. Slaves and servants cowered in the shadows. However, Mirren, wild-eyed and clutching a bleeding arm, crouched a few yards from where two Shee warriors—both tall and lean, one fair-haired the other dark—held blades to Queen Teva and Princess Lara’s throats.

Despite the grunts, cries, and clang of blades outside the pavilion, a heavy silence had settled within.

The magic in Cailean’s blood called to him, yet he leashed it a moment, his fingers flexing on the grip of the broadsword he held before him. I’ll kill these two whoresons.

And he would. But first, he had to ensure the queen and the princess were out of danger. The Raven Queen’s retribution against the High King had been vicious indeed. She’d taken Cannich and raised a terrifying army to take on the Marav. Cailean couldn’t stop what she’d started, but he could stop the Shee from murdering these women.

Teva was weeping, tears running down her pale cheeks, while Lara’s face was taut, fury burning in her eyes. Fortunately, though, the princess minded the blade that the fair-haired Raven held at her throat.

But at that moment, Lara’s attention seized upon Cailean, shock igniting in her gaze.

Aye, he was back from the dead.

Meanwhile, the Shee who held her captive wasn’t paying the princess, or Cailean, any mind. Instead, he stared at Bree. A muscle feathered in his jaw, disbelief flickering in his slitted eyes.

Bree returned his glare. “What’s this, Gavyn?” she demanded roughly.

His lip curled. “I don’t answer to you, turncoat.”

“He’s taking them hostage,” Mirren replied, her voice husky with pain.

Bree flashed the lass a quick, concerned look. The maid stared back, gaze glittering. There was no recognition in her eyes though. She didn’t know her friend in her Shee form.

Meanwhile, the blond warrior, Gavyn, edged backward, toward a second hole they’d ripped in the tent. “Time to go, princess.” All the while, he kept the flat of his steel blade against his captive’s throat. Green eyes wide, her defiance wavering now, Lara moved with him.

Queen Teva started to sob then, a keening sound that cut to the bone. Heat started to pulse in Cailean’s gut. Teva was a gentle soul who’d spent a sheltered life within the safety of Duncrag’s high walls. This was too much for her. A moment later, the queen’s captor slapped a rough hand over her mouth, gagging her. “That’s enough. Shut up.”

Cailean stepped forward, earth magic rising in a burning tide inside him. A silvery glow lit up the tent then. “You’re not taking them.”

Both Ravens’ faces tightened, their nostrils flaring.

Druidic magic swirled through the pavilion, the air pungent with resin and campfire.

The dark-haired Raven’s step faltered, his lean face draining of color. But that didn’t stop him. Still gripping the queen close, the Shee drew nearer to the hole in the tent.

Cailean ground his teeth. He wanted to unleash himself on them, yet if he did so, the queen and princess would likely die. These two pricks might have been instructed to take the High King’s wife and daughter captive rather than kill them, but Teva and Lara were still in danger. The dark-haired Raven had a glint in his eye now that warned Cailean and Bree not to make any sudden moves.

Even so, every passing moment galled him. He wanted to act, to cut these two Ravens down.

Gavyn’s companion snarled a curse then.

Queen Teva had somehow managed to bite his hand. Fear had turned her savage.

Cailean’s stomach swooped. It was a brave if reckless move.

“Bitch!” An instant later, the warrior sliced his blade deep across the queen’s pale neck, steel flashing.

Blood spurted, and Lara’s scream pierced the air.

Cailean snarled a curse and leaped forward. However, the Raven thrust the choking woman at him, and Cailean had to drop his weapon to catch her.

The Shee warrior then pivoted nimbly on his heel and dove for the gap in the tent.