32 SAVE HER

HE NEVER REACHED safety.

Thud . A knife drove between the fleeing warrior’s shoulder blades.

He gave a wheezing cry and staggered, falling against the side of the tent. Deep shudders wracked his body as he twisted and clawed, trying to reach the embedded knife, to pull it free.

Lowering Teva to the ground, Cailean slammed his hand over the queen’s sliced-open throat. However, he couldn’t stem the blood that pulsed between his fingers. Teva’s eyes were wide, terrified, as she flailed under him.

He cut his gaze right then, to where Mirren had risen to her feet. The iron blade she’d just hurled had sunk deep.

His attention didn’t linger on her though, for at that moment, Gavyn hauled Lara through the gap.

Bree dove after him.

Jaw clenched, Cailean let the queen sink back onto the sheepskins. He’d removed his hand from her throat now, and their gazes locked. Teva’s eyes glistened. They both knew there wasn’t anything he could do. His gut twisted in response. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Go,” she mouthed, blood dribbling down her chin. “Save her.”

Mirren moved to the queen’s side then; the lass would stay with Teva while she died—but Cailean couldn’t linger here any longer.

He launched himself to his feet, scooping up his sword as he went. He then drove his broadsword through the chest of the Shee who thrashed on the ground. For Teva, you shitweasel.

Yanking the blade free, he plunged outside.

Smoke and heat slammed into his face as he emerged from the pavilion.

He glanced around him, panic rising. Where was Bree? The attackers had set the camp on fire. Tents blazed around him, while powries streaked past, flaming torches in their clawed hands.

One lunged for him, and he skewered it on his blade. The powrie screeched before disappearing in a flash of light, its torch rolling onto crushed grass.

Moments later, Cailean waded into the battle that raged just yards away. Marav warriors converged on their attackers, driving them back from the royal pavilion. The Ravens and their imps had done a lot of damage, yet the tide was turning against them. And now that they had the princess, the attackers were retreating, heading toward the perimeter.

And in the midst of it all, Bree stalked Gavyn. Her long braid flying as she pivoted, ducked, and slashed, his wife fought her way through the press. Each step brought her closer to her quarry.

Cailean’s heart lurched at the sight of her. She was magnificent. A warrior to the core. But she was also surrounded.

Gavyn was dragging Lara backward, while his warriors closed in, forming a protective ring around him. An elk emerged through the wreathing smoke then, between two crumpled tents. The beast, a leggy male with vast pronged antlers, snorted, pawing the ground, awaiting its master.

Cailean’s heart started to kick violently against his ribs as he began slashing his way through the fray.

No, the whoreson wasn’t going to abduct Lara and carry her back to the Raven Queen. Gods knew what Mor would do to her.

“Give it up, Gavyn!” Bree shouted as she cut down the last Raven who stood between them. “You’ll never get the princess onto that elk’s back. The moment your knife slips. I’ll have you.”

“Fuck off, traitor!” he snarled back. However, Cailean spied desperation in his silvery eyes. He knew Bree was right.

Sensing that the tide was turning, Lara’s tear-stained face twisted. She started to struggle then, heedless of the blade still at her throat. It pierced her skin, blood trickling down her neck, yet she fought on.

Cailean cut his way toward Bree and Lara, scattering powries as they tried to bring him down. Just a few yards separated them now, but it suddenly seemed vast.

The Shee and powries were still withdrawing, but not fast enough.

He was aware then that a handful of Marav warriors had also managed to fight their way in next to him. The High King had left a decent force behind with the baggage train, and although they’d initially been caught off guard, they rallied now, tightening the noose.

Meanwhile, blood continued to slide down Lara’s throat, staining the neckline of her tunic.

Gavyn snarled curses at her, but she was beyond listening. Beyond caring. She’d just seen her mother slain and faced being carried away. He wouldn’t take her alive.

Cailean admired her spirit. But by the Warrior’s bloody blade, if Lara didn’t cease fighting, she’d shortly follow her mother to the Otherworld.

The elk stood behind them now, tossing its head and warning the Marav away with its antlers. However, Gavyn would never get Lara onto its back without making himself vulnerable.

And when he did, Bree would be on him.

Realizing that the game was up, Gavyn yanked his blade away from the princess’s throat. He used Lara as a shield then, thrusting her at Bree while he leaped nimbly onto his elk’s back. “Ravens, fall back!” he bellowed.

Bree pushed Lara behind her and leaped forward, her blade slashing.

Gavyn and his mount were too quick. They bounded away through the smoke, followed by a wave of screeching powries. Some of the Ravens also followed, although the stragglers were forced to turn and fight.

The princess was in the middle of it all, undefended.

Cailean cursed, pushing forward to put himself between her and danger.

Cringing as blades clashed around her, Lara dropped to her knees, covering her head with her hands.

Meanwhile, Bree had joined the fight against the remaining Ravens, who now backed toward the perimeter. Freedom wasn’t far off—a gap between the wagons where the others had fled. The thunder of elk hooves departing on the road beyond shook the smoky air.

Bree fought on, her long steel blade flashing. Arrows flew now, for some of the Ravens had drawn longbows. But she held fast, heedless of the danger.

And as a Raven drew back an arrow, aimed directly at Bree’s chest, dread washed over Cailean. She hadn’t seen it, her attention riveted upon the warrior she was currently fighting.

He was at the princess’s side now, yet he had a choice. Lara or his wife. He couldn’t protect them both.

Cailean didn’t think. The decision was instinctual.

His tattoos flared white-hot as he leaped forward, closing the gap with unnatural speed, and flung himself between the archer and Bree.

Thud.

The loosed arrow hit his flank. The force of the impact knocked him sideways, straight into Bree, and the pair of them tumbled to the ground.

The roar of angry shouts assaulted his ears then, just as searing pain bloomed down his left flank. Grunting a curse, he pushed himself off Bree to see a flood of Marav warriors rush past them, descending upon the Ravens.

“Cailean!” His wife was staring at where the yew arrow, fletched in raven feathers, protruded from his side. Bree’s eyes were wide, alarmed, and following her gaze, he saw why.

He gritted his teeth as the burn in his side grew hotter. Shit . It had gone deep.

Heat swept over him then, and a strange tingling began in his limbs.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, even as his speech slurred. His mouth felt as if it were stuffed with wool. Suddenly, he couldn’t speak at all, couldn’t think.

Fuck . The arrow must have been poisoned.

His mouth worked as he tried to tell Bree. However, she was nothing but a blur, and the words she gasped made no sense at all.

Agony punched into him then, and darkness dropped like a veil.

“Is he alive?”

Breathing hard, Bree looked up to find Lara standing over her and Cailean.

Blood still trickled down the princess’s throat, although she paid it no mind.

Frankly, Bree couldn’t believe Lara still breathed. She’d been sure Gavyn would slit her throat, as his companion had done with Teva. Instead, he’d spared her. Aye, he was a vicious bastard—and had killed without compunction before—but something had stilled his hand this time.

The reason didn’t matter, she supposed—what did, was Lara had survived. Her gaze was currently riveted upon Cailean. He lay on his back, passed out cold.

Bree’s heart lurched. This was her doing. She’d been so caught up in the battle that it had consumed her. Hunting Gavyn had turned her feral. Yet the bastard had escaped. In the meantime, she’d left Lara undefended and put herself in harm’s way.

And as a result, Cailean had taken an arrow that was meant for her.

“The arrow’s poisoned,” she replied, a chill washing over her. Shee poison, Nightbane especially, was lethal.

Lara breathed a curse. She shifted her attention to Bree, gaze narrowing.

“Your neck?” Bree asked, trying to ignore the burgeoning hostility in the princess’s eyes. “Is the cut deep?”

Lara raised a trembling hand to her throat. “I don’t think so,” she replied huskily, even as her fingers came away red. She was shaken by her ordeal, although impressively calm. Bree wasn’t surprised; she’d always sensed Lara was strong.

Mirren approached then, moving to the princess’s side. The lass’s face was ashen, her hands blood-stained.

Both women now stared at Bree, clearly trying to decide who and what she was.

Exhaling sharply, she drew in a deep breath. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”

Lara’s eyes widened, while next to her, Mirren murmured an oath. “Fia?”

“My real name’s Bree.” She paused then before adding. “I’m a Shee assassin who was sent to spy on the High King.”

Both women blinked, confusion shadowing their eyes.

“I will tell you everything later,” Bree assured them when neither Tara nor Mirren answered. “But first” —she nodded to the arrow that protruded from Cailean’s side— “he needs a healer.”

Lara’s face tightened, yet she nodded. “Aye … we must seek out Eldra … if she’s still alive.”

A horn blew then, a deep, mournful sound that shook the air.

Lara gasped, relief flaring in her green eyes. “Father.”

Bree’s heart lurched into a gallop. Iron smite her. The last thing she needed was to face Talorc mac Brude right now. She might be able to convince Lara she was a friend, but the High King wouldn’t see past the fact she was Shee.

However, with Cailean lying on the ground next to her, she wasn’t going anywhere.

And so, as the first standards appeared through the clearing smoke, she steeled herself for what was to come.

Figures appeared on horseback, a smaller group than she’d expected. A man, tall and lanky with short fair hair, clad in enforcer black, led them. Once Cailean’s second, Torran mac Rab now led the High King’s enforcers. Blood splattered, his handsome features pale and strained, he drew up his horse, surveying the broken tents and churned-up ground littered with bodies.

His gaze widened as it settled upon Cailean’s prone body and Bree crouched beside him. Torran’s hand strayed to the dagger at his hip, even as his gaze met Lara’s. “What happened here, Your Highness?”

“The Shee attacked us.” Her voice faltered. “The queen is dead.”

Torran’s face went rigid. “Your Highness, I—”

“Didn’t you meet the fleeing Shee and powries on the road?” She cut him off, taking a step forward, her gaze dragging over the company with the chief-enforcer.

Torran shook his head. Bree counted only three other enforcers and barely more than thirty warriors behind him.

A tremor shivered through Lara, and she wrapped her arms around herself. “What happened?” she whispered. “Where’s my father?”

Torran stared back at her, a nerve jumping underneath one eye. “It’s over, Your Highness. Our army is beaten. The Shee hold Cannich.”

Lara stared back at Torran, swaying slightly on her feet. “The High King?”

“He fell, princess … as did your husband.”

Bree stilled at this news. Mor had done it. She’d achieved what no other Shee ruler ever had: she’d taken control of part of Albia. Her belly churned then as the significance of this moment settled deep into her bones.

The conflict between Shee and Marav was only beginning.