5 PINING

GIL’S EXPRESSION SOBERED at his sister’s admission. “Shades,” he murmured. “I didn’t realize you were so unhappy.”

Bree’s fingers clenched around the stem of her goblet. “Aye, well … I’m not in the habit of showing my underbelly to anyone.”

He gave his head a rueful shake. “I can’t believe you are now.”

Bree swallowed. “You’ve all I’ve got, Gil … and let’s face it … we aren’t close.”

Aye, that was the truth of it. Three centuries she’d lived, and a strained relationship with her brother was all she had to show for it.

And a broken marriage to the chief-enforcer .

Her throat constricted painfully.

Shit. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to speak about how she was faring. She was in danger of losing her hard-won control.

But now that she’d started talking to her brother, she couldn’t hold back the tide. “Ever since I came home, I feel as if I don’t belong here any longer.” She broke off there, pushing aside her bowl of soup. “Living in Albia changed me … and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“There is something up with you.” Gil’s tawny eyes narrowed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were pining .”

Bree’s heart started to pound. Iron flay her, how had he guessed?

Her brother shook his head ruefully, before taking what looked like a fortifying gulp of apple wine and fixing her with a level stare. “Come on then … you might as well be frank with me.”

Dizziness swept over her. “I’ve got nothing to say,” she whispered.

He snorted. “Don’t make me pry it out of you.”

“There’s nothing—”

“It’s the chief-enforcer isn’t it,” he cut her off, his patience faltering. “You’ve bonded with him.”

The dining hall wheeled around Bree, and she gripped the edge of the table to steady herself. “No.” Her voice was unnaturally high and panicked.

“Aye, you have. There’s no point in lying to me … it’s now written all over your face.”

“Iron,” she gasped. “Please, tell me it isn’t.”

Her brother’s silence was damning. “Ancestors, Bree,” he said eventually. “What have you done?”

The sweat that bathed her body chilled.

If only he knew.

Silence fell between them, while the rumble of conversation ebbed and flowed like surf upon a shingle shore around them. Their exchange had turned treasonous. Fortunately for her, none of the other archivists were sitting close enough to overhear. “I didn’t mean to,” she whispered. “I couldn’t stand him at first … but then, somehow, with the passing of the days, and the turns of the moon … things changed.”

Dizziness assailed Bree once more. She couldn’t believe she was admitting this.

Gil had gone silent again. Bree’s admission made her feel sick. It was foolish to be this vulnerable.

Flexing her fingers around the stem of her goblet, she slowed her breathing and waited for his anger to splinter the heavy silence that now swelled between them. But Gil didn’t speak, and finally, she cleared her throat. “Will you tell the queen?”

Her brother’s mouth thinned. A moment later, he folded his arms across his chest. “No.”

“Why not?”

His eyebrows drew together. “Is your opinion of me really that low?”

She stared back at him, nausea churning in her gut.

Gil muttered a curse under his breath and pushed himself up from the bench seat, rising to his full height. His grey robes made him look older, more censorious. For the first time, he reminded her of their father. “We’re blood, Bree,” he replied. Leaning forward, his gaze seized hers. “Do you think I want my sister thrown to the wyrm?”

She stared back at him. “But I’ve done something unforgivable,” she said huskily. “I’ve fallen for a man who has hunted and killed countless Shee. You should hate me.”

Gil raked a hand through his mane of golden hair. He abruptly sat down once more, another oath gusting out of him. And then, to her surprise, he reached out and caught her hand, gripping it tightly in his. “Of course, I don’t,” he muttered before grimacing. “However, I do question your taste.”

Alone in her tower, watching as the sun slid behind the mountains to the west, the sky ablaze, Bree waged a silent battle—with herself.

Confiding in Gil had been idiotic.

Aye, she pined for the man she’d left behind. Knowing that Cailean lived and breathed on the other side of the veil, where she couldn’t reach out and touch him, was slowly breaking her apart. How she longed to hear his voice, to watch him eat supper while they bantered. How she yearned to see her husband stalk across the yard before Duncrag broch, Skaal at his side, to watch shadow and light chase each other in his eyes.

But admitting it to herself was one thing—telling her brother was another.

She was losing her mind.

Leaning her palms upon the windowsill, she continued to stare at the fiery sunset.

Gil had surprised her earlier. His reaction to her shame revealed that he was a better person than she would ever be. And he was loyal. More loyal than she deserved.

Throat tight, she dragged her gaze from the sky, lowering it to the meadows far below her tower, to the swathe of pavilions.

She didn’t know when the army would mobilize, but surely it would be soon.

Her breathing grew shallow.

I must be with him.

Bree’s fingertips dug into the slippery moonstone ledge. And as the heavens faded to indigo and then black, the hearths on the meadow below glowing like fireflies, she let her choice settle deep into her bones.

And it felt right.

She’d been wrestling with the decision for a while now. She could tell herself that she had to warn Cailean, yet the news she’d bring to Duncrag wouldn’t surprise her husband. He knew about the brewing conflict between the Marav and the Shee.

The truth was, they had little time left, for soon war would sweep across Albia. But she’d take whatever The Great Raven gave them.

She’d see him again, even if it was the death of her.

A heady mix of hope and despair wrapped itself around her chest as she turned from the window and went to the table where her large collection of steel blades lay. Deftly, she strapped them on.

Despite that she hadn’t worked since her return to Sheehallion, she wore her hunting leathers and high boots. As she trained daily, these were the garments she’d always been the most comfortable in. Readying herself took just moments, for Bree was used to traveling light. Before leaving her chamber, she cast a cloak around her shoulders—Fia’s blue mantle—and grabbed her quiver and bow.

And then, without a backward glance at the chamber that had been her home for the best part of two centuries, Bree departed. She descended the thousand steps from her quarters before stalking through a network of corridors and exiting the keep.

Outdoors, standing within the inner ward, she breathed in the sweet, balmy air.

Nearby, guards stood rigidly to attention. However, they ignored her.

The irony wasn’t lost on Bree. Ever since her return, she’d chafed at being treated like a ghost. But now, the fact that no one cared where she went or what she did made it even easier to slip away.

Not halting to consider her choices, she strode under an archway into the outer ward.

More guards stood before the closed gates, their scale armor gleaming silver in the moonlight.

“Let me out,” Bree ordered as she approached.

The guards both regarded her frostily before sharing a long look.

Watching them, she bristled. It was an effort not to let her hand stray to the pommel of her longsword, to issue a silent warning to them. She might no longer kill for the Raven Queen, but these two would mind her.

Moments passed, and then, reluctantly, the guards moved, opening the gates just wide enough for Bree to slip through. She did so without thanking them, stalking down the causeway beyond. To her right spread the meadows, where a sea of tents, the smoke from cookfires blurring the night sky like mist, lay.

Bree whistled. The sound, high and shrill, carried through the balmy night air.

And then she waited.

Her heart was racing now, yet every sense was sharp, and the heaviness that had dogged her steps for the past two moons lifted. Her belly now pitched as if she were on the deck of a ship in high seas. She couldn’t believe she was doing this—that she was walking away from her home. Her people.

All to be with one of the hated Marav.

If Mor discovered where she’d gone—and she likely would, for the Raven Queen had eyes everywhere—she’d put a price on her head.

Was she ready for this?

Bree glanced over her shoulder at where Caisteal Gealaich’s curtain wall reared above her.

Aye, she was.

Worry fluttered up then like a sack of released moths. What about Gil?

Her gaze continued to linger upon the great fortress where she’d lived for most of her three hundred years. Surely, Mor wouldn’t punish him for her misdeeds? Gil was a talented archivist. She wanted to say goodbye to him, but there was no time.

It was safer though, for her to leave without Gil knowing, as Mor would question him.

Tensing, Bree turned away from the walls. Urgency coiled in her belly. She had to leave. Now.

A pale shape appeared ahead then, emerging from the darkness. A great white stag.

Relief weakened her limbs. Tiv. Her mind touched his. Are you ready for another adventure?

Always.

Are you sure? This one will take us into Albia … and we won’t be returning.

Tivesheh drew up before her and dipped his large head. I will take you wherever you wish.

A lump rose in her throat. Stroking his nose, she swallowed. Tivesheh had been her faithful companion on so many journeys. Once they crossed into Albia, they’d depend on each other for survival.

Vaulting up onto his back, she nudged him gently with her heels, making her urgency clear. We ride for Golval Barrow … fast .

Tivesheh pivoted on his haunches and leaped forward into the darkness. An instant later, they were bounding northwest, away from Caisteal Gealaich.