1 THE QUEEN’S ASSASSIN

Caisteal Gealaich

The Realm of Sheehallion

THE SEVERED HEAD stank—badly.

Screwing up her nose, Bree slid off the stag's back, her gaze shifting to the sack that hung from her mount's withers. The blood staining the thick linen had turned the cloth dark, and fat flies now buzzed around it.

Even the musky scent of rose, from the delicate white buds that climbed the walls surrounding the outer ward of Caisteal Gealaich, couldn't disguise the sweet, putrid odor of decay.

Take that foul thing off me .

Bree deftly untied the rope holding the sack fast. Sorry about that, Tiv.

In response, the mighty white stag tossed his head, glad to be free of the grisly prize they'd brought back from the north.

I know . she patted Tivesheh's sleek neck. The stench turns my stomach too … but Mor wants proof. The stag's dark eyes met hers, and their gazes held for a moment before she gently touched his mind with hers once more. You did well … thank you .

Tivesheh snorted and tossed his head. I will be waiting for your call.

Bree stepped back from the stag then, allowing him to turn and bound away. Tivesheh left the fortress through a vast gateway, where two sentries stood, their silver helms gleaming in the bright sunlight. Bree watched him go. After nearly two turns of the moon traveling, and hunting, with the stag, it felt strange to be parted from him. However, all she had to do was whistle, and Tivesheh would come once more.

She could always rely on him.

Shaking herself free of the odd mood that had suddenly descended upon her, Bree tightened her hold on the top of the sack and swiveled on her heel. Then, leather creaking and soft-soled hunting boots whispering on smooth white moonstone, she crossed to one of the sentries standing at the foot of the sweeping steps leading into the fortress. "Where's the queen?"

The male's mouth pinched slightly, his cool gaze traveling over Bree.

His assessment made irritation spike through her. She knew she likely looked, and smelled, terrible. She'd barely slept over the past few days—such was her haste to return to Caisteal Gealaich .

Her appearance didn't matter though, and she had no time for this underling's scorn. Suffering his stare a few moments longer, Bree's free hand strayed to the hilt of the long hunting dagger at her hip. This guard knew who she was. It was foolish indeed to insult the queen's assassin. "The queen?" she repeated.

"Her Highness is in the garden," he replied, sullen now.

Not bothering to thank him, Bree turned and stalked across the swathe of slippery white cobbles that led toward a rose-covered archway.

Entering the walled garden beyond, she made her way through an arbor where even more white roses trailed overhead. Like all the Shee, the Raven Queen loved these flowers and spent much time tending the roses herself in this garden. Raising her chin, Bree sucked in their rich, musky scent—anything to try and escape the reek of decomposing flesh.

However, she didn't slow her determined stride.

She was at the end of her mission now and just wished to rid herself of the evidence she'd brought, so she could sink up to the neck in a hot bath and enjoy a tall goblet of chilled apple wine. It would be a relief to put this job behind her—although soap and water wouldn't scrub away all the blood she'd spilled.

Bree's mouth thinned. It's too late now to worry about that.

And it was. How many souls had she dispatched over the years at Mor's command? She'd stopped counting after two dozen.

Bree found the Raven Queen standing before the fountain at the heart of the garden.

Fashioned of moonstone, like everything at Caisteal Gealaich—from its high walls to the pavers that lined the garden paths—the fountain was of a huge corvid .

Mor stood silently, her gaze upon the water that spilled from the Great Raven's open beak, tinkling over the stones below. A real raven, its glossy blue-black feathers gleaming in the golden late afternoon light, perched upon the queen's shoulder. Eagal—Mor's trusted messenger.

Bree halted a few yards back from her queen and cleared her throat. "Your Highness."

Mor jerked out of her reverie and turned, her obsidian gaze widening when it settled upon her assassin. "Bree," she greeted her, stepping away from the fountain. " Finally ."

Bree dipped her head, even as she fought a frown. "Grae led me on quite a chase, Your Highness," she replied, holding the sack aloft. "But I have his head."

Mor's attention snapped to the sack, which now crawled with large black flies.

The queen stilled then, a lovely statue among the roses. In contrast to the glittering white surrounding her, she was clad entirely in black. A shimmering gown plummeted into a deep cleavage at the front and clung to her tall, lithe form. A simple crown, decorated with tiny daggers and glass skulls, sat upon her head, while inky hair—a mane of tight, wiry curls—tumbled over the cloak of black crow feathers that hung from her shoulders.

Silence swelled between them before Mor's throat bobbed. "Show me," she whispered.

Wordlessly, Bree stooped and emptied the sack onto the ground.

Grae's partially decomposed head rolled onto the pavers.

Staring down at him, Bree pursed her lips. It was hard to believe that the elder of Mor's two estranged brothers had once been handsome, as now his long tightly-curled hair was matted with blood, and his skin—once a deep umber like his sister's—was the color of ash. His dark eyes stared sightlessly up at the sky, his mouth slack and gaping.

Sourness flooded Bree's mouth then. Since striking off her mark's head and stuffing it into the sack, she hadn't looked at him again. Grae hadn't been easy to find or kill. The Raven Queen had hunted her brother for years after his failed attempt to take her throne had resulted in his exile. She'd feared that he'd try to usurp her again—but she needn't worry any longer.

"Well done," Mor said finally. Both her voice and expression were veiled now. If Bree had expected to see a glint of vindication in the queen's eyes, she was disappointed.

Letting the filthy sack drop to the ground, for a servant to clear away later, she resisted the urge to step back and take her leave. It took much to exhaust Bree, yet her limbs felt heavy this afternoon. Nonetheless, she checked herself. One didn't walk away from the queen until dismissed. "I am your servant," she replied, dipping her head once more.

Moments passed, and when Bree raised her gaze, she found Mor watching her. Meanwhile, Eagal shifted upon her shoulder, his eyes gleaming like two shards of onyx.

An uneasiness stole over Bree. That bird had a stare that flayed the flesh.

"You will receive twice your usual payment for this," Mor said after a pause.

"Thank you, Your Highness," Bree murmured. Years ago, the queen's generosity would have excited her, although these days, she couldn't dredge up the same enthusiasm. It was only coin, after all. Of late, Mor had kept her so busy she barely had time to spend it. The truth was she was jaded. Exhausted. Maybe it was time for a well-earned break .

Mor's mouth curved then. "You are my best, Bree Fellshadow."

Bree smiled back. Such praise was rare, and she'd enjoy it. Nonetheless, there was something about Mor's expression that made the fine hair on the back of her neck prickle. The queen seemed to have forgotten her brother now, despite that his rotting head sat just a few feet from her.

"I have another job for you," Mor added then, and Bree's smile froze.

Iron burn her, she'd just got back from hunting Grae. Couldn't she have some time to recover, to let the fatigue that had settled deep into her bones fade? "So soon?" she replied, trying not to let resentment creep into her voice.

The Raven Queen's smile hardened. "Aye … although this task will be a little different."