29 TRAPPED

brEE HAD NO APPETITE. Nonetheless, she forced each mouthful of her supper down, focusing on chewing and swallowing. The wine was so strong it made her eyes water. She drank sparingly anyway; she needed to keep herself sharp this evening.

Ever since the High King's harsh words to the chief-enforcer, her husband had retreated into stony silence. Meanwhile, conversation rose and fell around the table, as those of the druidic council discussed general matters .

Bree listened carefully, her ears straining for any details that could aid her people. However, most of what she heard was frustratingly mundane. It looked as if she'd have nothing to bring back to Mor—nothing to soften her failure.

That was—until the chief-sacrificer asked after the High King's new prisoner. "How fares mac Bridei, Sire?"

Talorc's face screwed up, and he sank back in his chair, steepling his hands before him. "He's dead."

Mac Hume murmured a curse at this, and the High King cut him a warning look at the implied criticism. "For all his bluster, the Circines chieftain didn't hold up under my interrogations. He failed to yield the location of my taxes before he threw himself onto the blade that I was using to slowly carve him apart."

The sudden silkiness in the High King's voice showed how much he'd enjoyed torturing his enemy, although the groove between his brows revealed his displeasure that his prisoner had died so soon.

Disgust soured Bree's mouth. Torture was for cowards. Usually, someone of his rank wouldn't lower himself to bloodying his hands in a torture chamber.

"I suggest we send more enforcers north, Your Highness," The chief-counselor spoke up then, her expression grave. "The tribespeople will likely talk once they know their chieftain is dead."

The High King nodded, even as his heavy brows knitted together. "That is my plan, Annis … eventually."

The chief-counselor's mouth pursed. "Sire, if I may be so bold … it's best to strike now, while they are scattered and leaderless. "

"Wise advice, as always … but the Circine problem will need to wait until autumn to be resolved. I need my enforcers for something else this summer." Talorc paused, his eyes glinting. "After I met with you all this afternoon, I paid a visit to another prisoner … and am pleased to announce we've had a breakthrough."

The tightness in the High King's voice betrayed his excitement, and something deep inside Bree's chest clenched.

A hush fell while everyone at the table waited for Talorc to continue.

"Damhan has finally spoken," he said.

Bree's heart jolted. Her predecessor, Bryce, was still here at Duncrag—and was the High King's prisoner, after all. Next to her, mac Brochan leaned forward. "The healer is still alive?"

Talorc's smile hardened. "Aye … unlike mac Bridei, he has proved remarkably resistant to torture."

Bree's breathing grew shallow. The gloating look on the High King's face warned her that Bryce had compromised them. She waited for him to continue, to reveal the extent of the damage. Instead, he leaned farther back in his chair and cast a dispassionate look around the table. "Druids, bid your spouses good eve," he murmured. "Some things are for your ears only."

Fuck.

Disappointment was a stone on Bree's chest. Around her, the men and women who'd accompanied the druids to supper rose to their feet and headed toward the doors of the hall. She followed suit, her mind already racing ahead.

This was her chance. While the chief-enforcer was busy, she'd go down to the dungeon and find out what Bryce had told the High King, and deal with him. After that, she'd get out of the broch .

She was leaving Duncrag tonight.

But to her consternation, her husband also stood up, and with a nod to the High King, accompanied her out of the hall. In the entrance area beyond, he motioned to two fort guards standing nearby. "Take my wife upstairs to our alcove, and ensure she stays there."

Heat ignited under Bree's ribcage, and she spun around to glare at the chief-enforcer. "What? Am I a prisoner now?"

He didn't reply, although his stony expression told her she was. Meanwhile, the guards moved toward her, and the other spouses who'd left the hall cast her curious looks. Ignoring them, Bree raised her chin and turned away from her husband, heading toward the stairs, even as panic clawed up her throat.

Iron cage her, she was trapped.

Stepping inside the alcove she and mac Brochan shared, Bree let the curtain swish closed behind her before squeezing her eyes shut.

Her breathing came fast and shallow, and she struggled to slow it.

Her throat and chest were so constricted, that it was difficult to draw breath at all.

It's over .

Crossing to the table, Bree poured herself a cup of water and gulped it down. Her panic took a while to subside, but eventually, her breathing slowed, and she could think clearly once more.

This mission had been ill-fated from the beginning, and now she was about to face the same end as Bryce. Imprisoned. Tortured .

Bree clenched her jaw and slammed the wooden cup down on the table.

No. She'd fight Cailean mac Brochan to the death before she allowed him to drag her down to the dungeon, to become the High King's plaything.

She paced the alcove then, her bare feet whispering on stone. And as she circled, her mind churned.

You must escape. Now.

Aye, there were two guards outside the alcove, but she could take them on. Bree halted then, her gaze flicking to the wall where a long-bladed dagger hung. Could she risk going down to the dungeon to look for Bryce?

Her pulse started to thunder in her ears.

Aye, she'd talk fast when she saw Mor again. However, if she returned to Sheehallion with nothing to give her queen, she wouldn't be popular. And if she caught Mor in the wrong mood, she might even end up in ‘the pit'—a deep cavern under Caisteal Gealaich, where a wyrm, a hungry serpent, lived.

None who were cast into that foul place ever emerged.

No, she couldn't leave without seeking Bryce out first. Mid-Summer Fire was around six days away now. Once she fled Duncrag, she'd make her way back to The Ring of Caith and ready herself to pass through the stones once more.

One thing at a time though. Getting out of this fort wouldn't be easy.

Halting, Bree's gaze flicked to her wooden trunk by the sleeping nook. First, she needed her silver acorns, and next, she'd pull on some boots and her cloak and help herself to some of the chief-enforcer's weapons.

It was time to drop her spy's identity.

Time for the assassin to show her claws .

However, she was about to move toward the trunk when the curtain swung open, and her husband stepped into the alcove. Skaal slipped in behind him, her golden eyes glowing dangerously.

The fae hound sat down then, her hairy bulk blocking the only exit again.