33 AMONGST THE STONES

SHARP NEEDLES PRICKED Bree’s skin. She coughed, the odor of pine resin and ash catching in her throat. Grey standing stones, their rough sides pitted with age and covered in lichen and moss, surrounded the princess and her entourage.

Shades, this was the last place she wanted to camp for the night. And yet it would be the safest spot for the Marav.

Once Torran and the other survivors joined them earlier, the rearguard had packed up swiftly and set off south. Dragging wagons after them, they couldn’t move fast, and Bree found herself constantly looking north, expecting to see a wave of Shee surge into view; but as the day wore on, none did.

And finally, they’d stopped here—at The Ring of Ard.

One of the three stone circles of Albia, these standing stones sat in a narrow glen, shadowed by pine-clad mountains to the north and the east. Ferns and gorse carpeted the valley floor, yet the area around the stone circle was clear, almost as if vegetation couldn’t thrive in its proximity.

It was safe enough to make camp within the stones this evening, for they’d passed Gateway, and Mid-Winter Fire was still a turn of the moon away. Even so, every fiber of Bree’s being screamed for her to run as they lurched to a halt inside the circle.

Fighting it, she took slow, deep breaths.

Of course, the earth magic was at its thickest at the heart of the ring of stones, so Lara and her protectors would shelter here. The rest of their ragged army put up their tents around the edges.

Climbing from the wagon, Bree flexed her hands at her sides.

The earth magic pushed against her, abrasive and aggressive. Indeed, her usually strong limbs felt weak and shaky inside the circle. The urge to turn on her heel and flee reared up, yet she pushed it down.

She wouldn’t leave Cailean.

The day was drawing to a close now, the last rays of sun bathing the pitted surface of the standing stones.

Pulse racing, she cut her gaze from the monoliths, her attention settling upon the prone figure lying upon his back in the wagon. Her husband’s face was pale and sweaty. Cailean hadn’t awoken since taking that arrow in the side. His skin was hot to touch now, and blood soaked through the heavy bandage that wrapped about his naked chest.

Reaching out, Bree clasped his limp hand in hers. “Fight, mac Brochan,” she whispered. “Don’t let it beat you.”

Her breathing grew shallow then. This is my fault .

Cailean’s eyelids flickered, and he mumbled something incoherent in reply. Her chest constricted. She hated feeling this powerless. How she wished they had access to Shee healers. Eldra was talented and had extracted the arrow and done her best to make him comfortable before they set off south, but her own people had greater knowledge of the healing arts.

Nightbane killed swiftly. Without the druidic magic that flowed through his veins, Cailean wouldn’t have lasted this long.

The healer’s assistants appeared then, men and women clad in mauve robes. Wordlessly, eyeing Bree as if they expected her to spring at them, they hauled Cailean off the back of the wagon.

Bree moved to help, but they shrank away.

Jaw clenched, she stepped back, letting them carry her husband toward the healing tent.

Unsurprisingly, she wasn’t popular amongst the people here.

Before they’d set out earlier, Bree had explained herself fully, while Lara, Torran, and many others listened. And when she’d finished her tale, she’d braced herself to be taken prisoner. However, Lara hadn’t given the order.

All the same, she’d watched Bree warily, and the gazes of the other Marav surrounding her had bordered on hostile. Aye, Bree had tried to save their queen and princess, but she was still one of the enemy.

Indeed, a group of warriors setting up a tent nearby was currently glaring at her.

Bree ignored them. All she cared about right now was saving her husband’s life.

Her gaze traveled then to where four black-clad figures were dropping ward stones around the perimeter: Torran and his enforcers. It was a wise precaution, just in case the earth magic that swirled around the stones wasn’t enough to keep the Shee at bay.

Bree’s pulse fluttered. Hopefully, it would be.

Nonetheless, there was a watchfulness in the air this evening, almost as if the surrounding woodland had eyes.

Turning, she made to follow Eldra’s assistants and Cailean into the healing tent. However, a male voice forestalled her. “Bree!”

A man was walking toward her. Tall and lean, his light-brown hair shaved close to his scalp, he sported a black eye and bruising to his face. Tribal tattoos inked his pale skin. The man was clad in a plain grey tunic and leggings and walked barefoot.

An iron collar circled his neck.

Bree’s brow furrowed. “Aye?” She didn’t recognize the slave—and yet the voice was familiar, as was his stride. Nevertheless, she didn’t have time for this. Cailean was inside the healer’s tent now, and she had to join him.

The slave’s swollen mouth curved into a thin smile. “You don’t know me then?”

Bree’s breathing hitched.

He had hazel eyes and a scattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. Even with a battered face, the man reminded her of someone—of her own reflection in the looking glass when she’d been a Marav woman. This slave could have been Fia’s brother.

The man halted before her, although the prickling cold of the iron around his neck made her want to take a step back.

Despair clutched her by the throat before she croaked. “Gil?”

“Aye.”

Bree stared at him, her heart suddenly pounding so loudly that she could hardly hear herself think. “What are you doing here?”

He swallowed. “Mor has named you a traitor to our people.” His gaze guttered. “And I was punished for it.”

Her stomach flipped over as she took in his battered face. “What happened?”

Gil’s mouth twisted. He then gestured to the tall stones that loomed over them. “She sent me through The Ring of Ard at Gateway … and her Ravens were waiting. They beat me senseless and left me on the road. The High King’s army found me. They took me to be a hill-tribe warrior and slapped a slave collar around my neck.”

Bree cursed, viciously.

Gil grimaced, wincing as his split bottom lip started to weep. His gaze roamed her face then. “I was there … earlier,” he said after a pause. “When you burst into the tent with that enforcer. I saw it all.”

Bree swallowed, wishing her throat didn’t feel as if someone had it in a chokehold. Her legs, already weak from being surrounded by earth magic, trembled now. “And?”

A groove etched between Gil’s eyebrows, making him look remarkably like the Shee male she remembered. “I never thought you’d betray our people.”

Bree’s chest constricted. “Neither did I,” she whispered. “But alliances sometimes change.” And they had. She’d found something in Albia worth fighting, and dying, for.

Brother and sister stared at each other, and all the while, pressure built under Bree’s breastbone.

Gil jerked his head toward the healing tent. “And you did it … for him?”

“I did.” Stepping forward, she put her hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry, Gil.” And she was, desperately. Her actions had made her brother an outcast. They both knew she couldn’t fix this.

His hazel eyes glittered, his body tensing under her grip. “So, am I.”