13 A GOOD SOURCE

"I'M SORRY THE fire went out, Mistress … I should have put a bigger lump of peat on last night." Mirren fell to her knees before the hearth and hurriedly started laying fresh kindling. "It won't happen again."

The tension in her handmaid's voice made Bree glance up from where she was spreading butter and honey onto an oatcake. Her breakfast was fresh off the griddle, and unlike the overpowering stews and bitter vegetables of the handfasting feast, this meal was to her liking. The oatcake was crumbly and still warm, the butter rich, and the honey scented with thyme.

The food reminded her of home .

"It doesn't matter," she replied.

Mirren swallowed hard, her face flushing. "Aye, it does."

"Spring is upon us." Bree shrugged. "You wouldn't expect it to still be so cold in the mornings."

"It's usually much warmer than this," Mirren agreed, her face relaxing slightly. "I had to sleep with an extra fur last night."

Turning, the lass busied herself with relighting the fire, and a short while later, a lump of peat glowed in the hearth once more, its heat suffusing the alcove.

Bree's gaze narrowed as she watched Mirren poke the peat with an iron poker. She'd avoided touching any iron thus far and had to keep reminding herself that it wouldn't hurt her now.

The maid dug into a pouch at her waist then and grabbed a handful of something before sprinkling it in a semi-circle around the hearth.

Bree leaned forward, gaze narrowing. "What are you doing?"

Mirren glanced her way. "Just sprinkling salt."

"Why?" The question left Bree's tongue before she had a chance to check it.

Mirren frowned. "Didn't your mother teach you to always sprinkle salt around a hearth after you light it?"

Bree shook her head, silently kicking herself.

The handmaid glanced at the vent under the lip of stone above the hearth. "It keeps the botach away," she replied, reaching up to touch the protection amulet around her neck. "He won't cross salt."

Bree nodded. Of course. She knew of the botach, a specter who took the form of an old man. He roamed Albia and was a troublemaker; to catch sight of him was an omen of bad things to come .

"My ma used to warn me that the botach finds his way into dwellings through smoke vents," Mirren went on. "As such, I'm always wary."

"Your ma's advice was wise, I'm sure," Bree replied. It was useful to know that both iron and salt offered the Marav protection from the faery creatures that inhabited their world. Now that Bree was mortal, details like these could prove valuable.

Indeed, her handmaid could be a good source of information. She'd be privy to gossip within the fort and might have heard whispers about what the High King was planning. And she might know what had happened to Duncrag's healer.

First though, Bree would test the water with an easy question.

"How often does the chief-enforcer join the High King for meals?" she asked as she finished up the last of her oatcakes and washed the crumbs down with milk.

Rising to her feet, Mirren brushed soot off her long skirt. "At least once every four days," she replied. "The High King likes to break bread with his druidic council often."

Frustration clenched within Bree. She needed an invitation to one of those suppers. Who knew what might slip out when food and drink flowed? However, in his letter, mac Brochan had made it clear such meetings were off-limits.

Nonetheless, Mirren's straightforward response was encouraging. She'd ask her something else. "Does the broch have a healer?"

Mirren nodded, her blue eyes clouding. "Aye … are you unwell?"

"No." Bree waved her concern away. "I just get headaches from time to time and would like something for the pain."

"I can call Eldra to you, if you wish? "

Eldra. The handmaid had just confirmed that Bryce Elmsong no longer served the High King.

Bree stood up. "No, I'll go to see her now."

Mirren nodded. "Of course, Mistress … follow me."

Leaving the chief-enforcer's quarters behind, the two women crossed the landing and descended the stone stairs to the entrance hall. It was a cold, damp morning. Bree had thrown a thick woolen shawl around her shoulders, although she couldn't imagine ever feeling warm in this depressing place and longed for the soft brush of sweet Sheehallion air against her skin.

"The healer resides underground," Mirren informed her, leading the way across the hall toward the steps that disappeared into the earth.

"Has she worked here long?" Bree asked casually.

"Aye … although she started out as the last healer's assistant."

"What happened to her predecessor?"

Mirren glanced Bree's way, her eyes shadowing. "I don't know," she replied softly before her gaze darted around them as if she was wary of being overheard. "The word is that Damhan left one night, never to return."

Bree inclined her head. "Really?"

Mirren nodded, taking a torch from a bracket and leading the way down the stairs. "There are whispers that he displeased the High King."

Bree took these words in, following close at her handmaid's heels. "You don't know what he did?"

"No, Mistress."

"And what normally happens to those who fall from the High King's favor? "

The maid cast her a hasty look over her shoulder. The lass reminded her of a frightened fawn at times, easily startled. "His Highness can be … harsh … with those who anger him," she admitted, her voice dropping. "Perhaps Damhan feared his wrath for some reason … and decided it was best to disappear." The handmaid's face shuttered then, her mouth clamping shut, as if she realized she'd been too candid. She then turned away once more and hurried down the steps.

Bree's brow furrowed.

She'd pushed things as far as she dared—Mirren was wary now—but she intended to continue this conversation.

At the foot of the steps, they turned right, their booted feet scuffing on damp, mossy stone as they made their way along a hallway that had been carved out of the rock. Around ten yards in, they passed another stairwell, narrow and steep, that plunged into the darkness.

"Where does that lead?" Bree asked, slowing her step and peering into the shadows.

"To the dungeon," Mirren replied. "Fortunately, Eldra doesn't reside there."

Bree frowned once more. If she had to guess, Bryce was either dead or a prisoner. He could be locked up down there—she needed to investigate as soon as she was able. She'd have to be careful though; she couldn't have her husband catch her sneaking around.

They continued along the hallway, eventually reaching a heavy curtain. Halting before it, Mirren cleared her throat. "Are you there, Eldra?"

"Aye," a woman called back. "Come in."

Mirren nodded to Bree. "You go on, Mistress," she murmured. "I shall wait out here. "

Brushing past her handmaid, Bree pushed aside the curtain and stepped into a large chamber with a high, rounded ceiling. And in its center, two women were working at a bench.

One of them was statuesque and of middling age with silver-blonde hair. She wore mauve robes—the color of healers in the mortal realm—and was vigorously mashing herbs with a pestle and mortar. Her companion was a young woman with curly auburn hair; she was dressed in a fine ankle-length tunic with a fur cloak about her shoulders.

Princess Lara .

Bree abruptly halted. "Apologies … I'm intruding." She hadn't expected to see the princess rubbing shoulders with the healer.

"Don't mind me." Lara held up the plant with yellow flowers that she was shredding. "I'm just preparing woundwort." Seeing Bree's awkwardness, her mouth quirked. "I enjoy learning of the healing arts … luckily, Eldra indulges me."

"Knowledge of such things isn't lost on anyone," the healer replied, her full lips curving. Her gaze, the color of a winter sky, fixed upon Bree. "How can I assist you?"

The woman was clearly Marav, yet there was a regal bearing and directness to Eldra that reminded Bree of a Shee female. "I get headaches from time to time and can feel one looming this morning." She raised a hand and rubbed her temple, feigning a wince. "They can sometimes be bad enough to send me to bed … and I was wondering if you could provide me with something to take the edge off the pain."

Eldra's grey-blue eyes lingered upon Bree a moment, assessing, before she nodded. "I will make you a tincture now." Putting aside her pestle and mortar, the healer went to a shelf and started sorting through the vials, bottles, and wooden boxes stored there.

Meanwhile, Lara gave Bree a sympathetic look. "My mother is afflicted by headaches," she said. "They can be crippling to some folk."

Bree nodded, suddenly at a loss for words. It felt odd to be conversing with the High King's daughter. Lara's father had been responsible for hunting and slaughtering many Shee during his reign. He had his enforcers out regularly, scouring the land around barrows. Just eight turns of the moon earlier, they'd attacked a group of Shee in the far north of the Uplands, near Darkmere Barrow. Four Shee scouts had been captured and, according to Mor's spy in Duncrag, dragged back to Albia's capital for a public execution.

Bree's people had always traveled between the two realms. They never usually strayed far from their barrows, remaining on the fringes of Albia, but Talorc mac Brude wished to drive them from it altogether. If the High King had his way, every last barrow would be destroyed—but fortunately for Bree's kind, the mounds were heavily warded and could withstand even the strongest druidic magic.

Aye, the High King was a scourge to the Shee, and yet this young woman wasn't responsible for it. Even so, Bree was on edge around her.

The princess was observing her intently now—too intently. "How are you settling in?"

"Well, thank you, Your Highness," Bree murmured.

"It must be quite an upheaval … to move to Duncrag … and to marry a man you've never met."

You have no idea, princess .

Bree forced a brittle smile, wishing Lara would turn her focus elsewhere. "Aye, Your Highness … but I've waited a long while for this day. I'm honored to be part of your household."

"And you're welcome," Lara replied. However, her pine-green eyes were still intense, searching.

Clearing her throat, Bree looked away, shifting her attention to the healer once more. She watched Eldra mix a concoction of dried herbs and powders. "I hear you are new to this role," she said finally.

Eldra glanced up. "Aye."

"You assisted the former healer?"

"Aye." Eldra's pale-blue eyes narrowed slightly. She then cut the princess a glance. However, Lara was now focused on crushing the woundwort in the pestle and mortar that the healer had set aside. "Why do you ask?"

"I hear he ran off."

The healer nodded, her face shuttering.

Bree swallowed a growl of frustration. Getting information out of the inhabitants of Duncrag was going to be harder than she'd thought. Counseling patience, she glanced around casually before motioning to the neat rows of bottles and jars lining the walls. "Well, it looks as if he left your shelves well stocked."

"Aye," Eldra murmured, even as her gaze remained sharp. "Damhan didn't take anything with him."