39 A STORM OF ARROWS

Golval Barrow,

The Realm of Albia

Two days before Mid-Winter Fire …

brEE DREW TIVESHEH up before the barrow and inhaled a lungful of gelid air. Sliding off her stag’s back, she sank up to her ankles in soft snow. Cailean dismounted next to her while Skaal halted, shaking snow off her thick coat.

It was a three-day ride to Golval Barrow from Duncrag, although the snow had made the trip harder going. They’d been wary during the journey, for the Shee were abroad these days. But Golval Barrow was a safe enough spot, for it lay near the border between The Uplands and The Wolds—far from where the Shee were currently gathered.

The barrow rose before her, its rounded surface gleaming white in the weak sunlight. Behind it, the waters of Loch Caith were pale, iced over. There wasn’t a whisper of a breeze this evening, and this close to the barrow, there was no sound of birdlife. The world was frozen, dead.

“Are you still sure you want to do this?” Cailean asked, drawing her attention. “You can change your mind, you know?”

Bree turned to him, their gazes meeting. “I’m sure.”

And she was.

Moving close to him, she slid her hands under the thick fur mantle he wore, her arms locking around his torso. She sighed then; compared to hers, his body was a furnace. As beautiful as it was, the winter was taking its toll on her. She’d shivered her way through the past moon and a half, since returning to Duncrag. The Marav didn’t enjoy the bitter season either, but for a Shee, who was used to living in sunshine and warmth, it was torture.

The cold drilled deep into her bones and never left.

It was another reason why she had to do this—as a Marav, she’d be able to put up with this chill easier. She thought of the Shee that now lived in The Uplands, where winters were bitter indeed. They’d all be suffering by now.

Reaching up, Cailean brushed a lock of hair that had come free of its braid off her cheek. “I still don’t like it,” he muttered. His breath steamed before him in a cloud. “I don’t want you going anywhere near the Raven Queen.”

“It’s just two days,” she reminded him. “Ride to The Ring of Caith and wait for me.”

A nerve flickered in his cheek. “And what will I do, if you don’t walk through the stones at Mid-Winter’s dawn?”

“I will,” she replied firmly.

His blue eyes had turned stormy now, and she could tell he wanted to argue with her. But there was no time.

“I’ll see you soon,” she whispered, leaning in and brushing her lips over his.

Cailean’s arms went around her, and he hauled Bree against him for a passionate kiss. He bent her over his arm, his mouth mating with hers, and when they pulled away from each other, they were both out of breath.

“Ride swiftly, Bree.” His expression turned fierce as he stepped back, taking the warmth of his body with him. “And don’t you dare let them catch you.”

A short while later, Bree walked through the barrow, Tivesheh’s hooves thudding in the darkness at her back. It was winter, and the wights in here slumbered deeply. She passed through the veil without hearing a whisper from them.

Even so, misgiving feathered through her. Aye, she was confident she could reach The Ring of Caith and pass back through the veil without drawing Mor’s eye. But if she didn’t reappear at dawn of the winter solstice, her husband might do something reckless.

Something that would cost him his life.

He hadn’t said he’d go looking for her if she didn’t arrive at the appointed time. But the glint she’d seen in his eye before she’d turned and walked into the barrow warned her that he would.

And if he walked through the stones, he’d die.

Stepping into the warmth of a Sheehallion morning, she sucked the scent of sweet grass and wildflowers into her lungs. A faint longing tugged at her then, for her past life, before she recalled how she’d spent most of her time here.

Hunting and killing for the Raven Queen.

No, the assassin was dead. Instead, she protected the High Queen of Albia. She was softer these days, more given to laughter—and she was no longer alone in the world.

She had people who cared about her, and soon, she’d return to them.

But for now, she had to focus on getting to The Ring of Caith without anyone spotting her. If they ran swiftly through the day, they’d reach the stone circle with time to spare before sunrise on the solstice.

Leaping up onto Tivesheh’s back, she leaned forward and stroked his neck. The next two days will be grueling, she warned him. Are you ready to run hard?

Always. The stag tossed his head. I will go as fast and as far as you ask me, Bree.

Her chest constricted. This would be their last ride together. When she went through the stones this time, she wouldn’t be coming back. She wasn’t looking forward to saying goodbye to Tiv; they’d been through so much together. But just like the Shee female she currently was, her white stag didn’t belong in Albia.

Tivesheh sprang into a bounding run, sprinting over rolling meadows as the last rays of the rising sun turned the sky the color of salmon.

Things started to go wrong later that day.

They’d paused to rest for a short while on the banks of a gently flowing burn, and Bree was helping herself to handfuls of sweet raspberries from bushes nearby, when Tiv snorted.

Glancing up, she turned, her gaze traveling north to where a grassy ridge rose against the cerulean sky. A row of figures riding stags was silhouetted there. Even at a distance, she marked the weapons that bristled on their backs, the quivers of arrows. Warriors. She wasn’t sure where they were heading. However, she wasn’t inclined to find out.

“Right,” she muttered, crossing to her stag and vaulting onto his back. “Time to go.”

She’d been planning to ride in that direction, but, instead, they’d be taking a detour, which would unfortunately slow them down.

And then, a short while later, as Tivesheh sprinted through a hazelwood, Bree spied a large raven sitting upon a branch.

It watched, unblinking, as they approached, and a chill slithered down her spine.

Eagal. Mor’s messenger.

The bird gave a victorious caw, and her heart lurched.

Shit.

They raced by the tree where he perched, although Bree twisted afterward, looking over her shoulder—only to see the raven take wing, heading southeast.

Toward Caisteal Gealaich.

Shit!

We won’t be able to rest tonight , Bree warned the stag, crouching low over his withers. Something tells me, we’ll have company soon.

Then I shall run faster.

And with that, Tiv flattened into a wild gallop.

They traveled through the night, stopping only briefly so that Tivesheh could catch his breath. All the while, Bree’s sharp senses strained for any sign of pursuit.

And as the first blush of dawn lightened the eastern sky, she heard it.

The shrill call of a hunting horn.

Her pulse lurched. Twisting in the saddle, she looked south. Her belly dropped like a stone when she spied outlines on the horizon.

Elks with riders crouched low over their withers.

Mor had sent her Ravens after Bree. There were around a dozen of them—too many for her to take on alone.

Run, Tiv. Run!

She hated to push her big-hearted stag any further, for Tivesheh had traveled long and fast. He was tiring now, his speed slackening. But he just had to hold on a short while longer.

Just until they reached The Ring of Caith.

And there it was in the distance, the ancient stones reaching up to the heavens like bent fingers atop a grassy knoll.

And the sun was about to touch them.

She had to get there for when it did.

However, the ground thundered now. Tivesheh was slowing, and the elks were gaining on him.

Thud. Thud.

Yew arrows flew past her, embedding into the ground or skidding along the grass. Only Tiv’s evasive gait, in which he zig-zagged wildly, prevented one of them from hitting either Bree or her stag.

Panic bloomed then as they dove through a storm of arrows.

She cut another look over her shoulder.

Gavyn was leading the group, pale hair streaming behind him and face savage.

Like his companions, he’d drawn his longbow, and he was now reaching for a fresh arrow.

Bree’s heart lurched into her throat. Any moment, one of those deadly shafts would find its mark. She couldn’t let her brave stag be injured.

Goodbye, Tiv. Flee fast!

She’d wanted to say farewell to him properly, as he deserved—but suddenly, she’d run out of time.

She launched herself from his back, dropping into a smooth roll across the dew-laden grass.