4 CAST ASIDE

Caisteal Gealaich

The Realm of Sheehallion

Two moons later …

SWEAT RAN DOWN Bree’s back as she went through her drills. Blades out, she sliced at the air, swiveled, and high-kicked with her right leg. She then repeated the drill but led with her left leg this time. These daily training sessions, atop the castle walls, kept her sane. She pushed herself until her muscles trembled from fatigue, until her lungs burned from the exertion.

Until she stopped thinking.

And she’d reached that point now. Breast rising and falling sharply, Bree halted, sheathed her knives, and staggered across to one of the merlons that ringed the training terrace. She always chose this time of day—while most of the inhabitants of Caisteal Gealaich were consuming their noon meal—for she usually had this space to herself. A soft, rose-scented breeze feathered her skin as she leaned against the merlon.

The stone was warm from the sun, and for a few moments, she closed her eyes. The thud of her heart in her ears was nearly deafening, but after a while, it eased. Eventually, she opened her eyes once more and pushed herself upright.

And then she surveyed the army amassing beneath the fortress.

Steel scale armor glittered in the bright noon sun, gold and silver cloaks fluttering in the breeze. Even from up here, she spied the long hunting daggers, swords, and pikes the warriors who moved around the camp sported. Their steeds—elks, and stags—pawed the ground and bellowed at each other.

Bree’s chest started to ache then, not from over-exertion this time though, and she lifted a hand to rub at her breastbone. Her ribs felt as if an anvil sat upon them.

Muttering an oath, she dragged her other hand over her face. She’d hoped her longing for Cailean might fade. But it hadn’t.

Mor hadn’t called for her again since her return, and in the meantime, Bree had kept herself busy: training until she nearly dropped, and then taking Tivesheh out on long rides in-between, where she’d try to outrun herself.

She never managed to do so though.

Meanwhile, her people were readying themselves for war, and the Marav would likely be doing the same. No one told her anything these days, but she had eyes—and she’d watched over the past two turns of the moon as warriors poured in from every corner of the realm. The Raven Queen had raised The Tannith —the Shee call to battle.

Mor had said Talorc mac Brude would pay for his long campaign against their people, and it seemed he would. Over two centuries had passed since the Marav and the Shee had locked blades in open battle—a war that had claimed the lives of both Bree’s parents. Since then, she’d watched relations worsen between the two races once more, waiting for the tipping point.

It had now arrived.

And Cailean will be in the midst of it.

Queasiness rose then. Aye, he’d be in the Marav front line.

Enforcers were deadly—and the High King had spent years readying himself for this battle—but Mor was gathering a huge force too.

As formidable as he was, it was likely Cailean wouldn’t survive the coming conflict, especially with so few enforcers left now. And all the while, she was stuck here. Useless. Cast aside. Split between two worlds.

It galled her that she was unable to stop this, unable to save him.

“It’s been a while, Bree.”

She turned from the wall to see a tall, lithe male with long pale hair, clad all in black, emerge from the stairwell behind her.

Halting, Captain Frostshard sketched a mocking bow.

Bree fought the impulse to scowl. Crossing paths with Gavyn reminded her how little she cared about her ruined career. She never wanted to kill for Mor again. “Aye,” she replied coolly, trying to ignore the glint in her former lover’s storm-grey eyes. “I’ve been busy.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Doing what, exactly?”

Bree pursed her lips, refusing to take the bait. She didn’t want to talk about herself. “That’s quite an army down there,” she replied casually, gesturing to the view.

“It is.”

“She must be readying herself for an attack?”

He shrugged. “It’ll come soon enough.”

Pretending his deliberate vagueness didn’t vex her, Bree mirrored him with a shrug of her own. “Which barrows will you go through to enter Albia?”

A beat of silence followed this question. She’d asked it with an offhand tone, as if she didn’t care about the answer. However, the truth was she burned to know.

She checked herself then. What will you do with such knowledge? Warn Cailean? Her pulse quickened. Maybe .

Gavyn’s gaze sharpened. “Such details are reserved … for those in our queen’s inner circle.”

“What … you can’t share them with me ?” She flashed him a smile, hoping it would soften him. He’d cared for her once; surely, a spark of that old affection remained.

Unfortunately, he was unmoved. “No.”

An awkward silence followed. Heat ignited in her belly, her temper rising.

Curse them all. She’d helped Mor. She’d risked her neck to give the Raven Queen what she needed so she could surprise the Marav in The Uplands, so they could ambush them at Dunmorth Barrow. She’d had victories because of Bree. But because her spy had disobeyed orders and come home instead of lingering at Duncrag and putting herself in even greater danger, Mor had now shut her out.

The rejection was galling, humiliating, and bitterness flooded her mouth.

“You’ve finished with the terrace, I take it?” Gavyn asked then.

“Aye,” she replied between gritted teeth, her gut burning.

“Good.” He crossed to the center of the space and began a series of stretches. He moved with the loose-limbed, supple grace that only Shee possessed.

Bree didn’t shift from her spot by the merlon, and eventually, Gavyn glanced at her over his shoulder. “Don’t mind me,” he said with a half-smile that made her want to punch him in the mouth. “Why don’t you move along now … and get on with your busy day?”

A golden gloaming was settling over the world when Bree sought out her brother.

Usually, when each interminable day ended, she retreated to her tower and soaked up to the chin in a hot bath to ease her sore muscles, a ewer of ice-cold wine within easy reach. But today, she broke with routine.

She found Gil with the other archivists, taking their seats in the dining hall on the lowest level of the fortress, where the lesser-ranking individuals at Caisteal Gealaich ate their meals.

Her arrival drew stares.

Ignoring them, she strode toward Gil’s table.

The archivists seated with him saw her coming and leaped up as if scalded, moving to another table. Meanwhile, Bree slid onto the bench seat opposite her brother.

Gil’s raised tawny eyebrows. “You’re popular these days.”

She pulled a face. “Don’t start.”

He smirked. “If I want some time on my own … I just need to invite my sister to supper.”

“You didn’t invite me.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Their gazes met, the moment drawing out as servants appeared bearing platters of soup, cheese, and bread. Since her return to Caisteal Gealaich, she and her brother hadn’t spent much time together. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have a lot of time on her hands. However, Gil had a way of probing into things best left alone.

Her emotions were close enough to the surface these days without him stirring her up. Nonetheless, this evening, she wished to talk to him.

Maybe he knew what Mor was planning.

Gil broke their stare first, picking up a ewer and filling the empty goblet in front of Bree. “Mor still hasn’t called for you, I take it?”

“No.”

“Just give her time … our queen’s focus is elsewhere at present.”

A female servant placed a tray in front of Bree before darting away. Glancing back at her brother, she found him watching her.

“So, to what do I owe this visit?” he asked finally.

Frowning, she helped herself to a bread roll, ripped a piece off, and dipped it into the soup. “Aren’t I allowed to look in on my little brother?”

Gil raised an eyebrow, his expression easy to read. You never cared before.

Popping the bread in her mouth, Bree chewed and swallowed; these days, she ate more out of habit than enjoyment. “Have you heard any whispers about what Mor’s up to?” she asked finally.

To her disappointment, her brother shook his head. “Archivists are always the last to know.”

“No word has reached you about when and where the attack will come?”

His features tightened. “None.”

Curse it . Swallowing her frustration, Bree hurriedly veiled her expression, for Gil was giving her one of his penetrating looks.

Around them, conversation filled the cavernous dining hall. Nonetheless, she caught the sidelong glances and whispers of those nearby. Having the Raven Queen’s ‘shamed’ assassin join them was indeed causing a stir. She ignored them.

“What will you do now?” Gil asked, still observing her over the rim of his goblet.

Bree’s belly clenched, and she cut her gaze away. “I don’t know,” she admitted softly.

Shades, she’d once been so sure of herself, so secure of her place in the world. Yet now, she was adrift and battling with a longing that threatened to drag her down, like an aughisky—a vicious water spirit—into the depths of a deep, dark loch.

“But you can’t linger here forever, hoping Mor will forgive you.”

“I know.” Steeling herself, she looked at him then, her skin prickling under the directness of his stare. “But where would I go? I gave my life to serving my queen, to killing for her. Who am I, if I’m not her assassin?”