3 THROUGH THE STONES

Three days later …

brEE TRAVELED TO The Ring of Caith alone.

Leaving the white walls of Caisteal Gealaich at her back, she set off northwest toward the stone circle. Tivesheh ran swiftly, bounding over lush meadows and glittering streams, the moon rising above them and the stars winking in the inky heavens.

It took her all night to reach her destination, and by the time they drew up at the foot of a large hill, the sky was glowing to the east. Dawn was breaking with the promise of yet another lovely day. Swinging down from the stag's back, Bree placed a hand on his warm neck. This is goodbye for now … I don't know when I'll be back.

Tivesheh dipped his head. Just whistle, and I will come .

Bree sucked in a deep breath and turned away from her stag. She wasn't one to linger over farewells.

Squaring her shoulders, she strode toward The Ring of Caith. The ancient stone circle loomed above her, grasping toward the sky like a claw. Climbing the hill, she tried to ignore her quickening pulse.

Aye, she was nervous—only a fool wouldn't be.

There were many portals between the realms, most of them the barrows of long-dead kings. But traveling through the stone circles was dangerous to her kind, for Marav druids often lurked on the other side.

Although such places were important to the druids, they hadn't made them. Instead, the Ancients—a long-dead race who'd once inhabited Albia—had raised the giant stones and worshipped their gods.

Bree had never dared get this close to The Ring of Caith before and hadn't met anyone who'd crossed through this way. Mor's last spy at Duncrag—a healer named Bryce Elmsong, who'd lived amongst the enemy for two years before going ominously silent—had done it though.

The queen had assured Bree that traveling through the stones wouldn't inflict any lasting harm, although Bree had doubted her. As such, she'd gone down into the archives the day before and enlisted Gil's help to find texts about the stone circles. Her brother had been surly and reluctant, but she'd bullied him into helping. There wasn't much. Nonetheless, when Gil had dug deep, he'd discovered an old parchment, crumbling with age, that confirmed that it was safe for a Shee to pass both ways through the stones—an act that would kill any Marav who attempted it.

According to the text, when she returned to Sheehallion through the stones once more upon a solstice or equinox, she'd change back into her Shee form.

Halfway up the hill, Bree halted. She then drew her long thin steel-bladed dagger from its sheath, her fingers flexing on the bone hilt. She wasn't entering Albia unarmed. The Day of the Hag was a sacred time for the Marav. Although The Ring of Caith was far from the nearest village or fort, it was wise to be cautious. There might be a host of druids dancing on the other side. She needed to be ready for them.

The Shee were a powerful race, but there were two things they feared: the kiss of iron on their skin, and the earth magic of druids. Enforcers—warrior-druids—wielded both, which was what made them such formidable opponents in battle.

A grim smile compressed Bree's lips. Her people might not be able to summon earth magic, but they had many abilities that gave them the edge over their enemies. They were faster than the Marav, for one. They could also glamor themselves to take another form temporarily, meld with the shadows when they wished to pass unseen, and touch minds with animals.

Nonetheless, the race that lived beyond the veil in Albia wasn't to be underestimated.

Bree exhaled sharply. She had to walk between the two largest stones that beckoned like lichen-encrusted, gnarled, upthrust fingers against the lightening sky. The sun needed to crest the heavens, breaking free from the line of mountains to the east, and appear directly between those two stones, at the same time .

Trying to ignore the thud of her pulse in her ears, she glanced over her shoulder, looking for Tivesheh. However, like his name—Ghost—the stag had disappeared. She was on her own.

Facing forward once more, she kept walking. "It's just another job," she reminded herself. "You haven't failed Mor yet." Bree's fingers flexed once more upon the hilt of her dagger then. There's always a first time .

The sun glinted ahead of her, and she lengthened her stride. Dressed in her usual hunting leathers, her fine blue cloak rippling behind her, she glided across the dew-laden grass.

Bree crested the top of the hill and paced toward the two stones.

Up here, the air felt different, charged, as if a thunderstorm loomed overhead. On the hillside below, there had been the whisper of the breeze, and the chirp and trill of birdsong, but up here, an eerie silence settled.

Upon the stones, she caught sight of engravings, ancient markings that gave this place its power.

The fine hair on the backs of her arms prickled. Unlike the barrows, which her kind usually traveled through whenever they wanted to reach Albia, these stone circles were infused with earth magic. Being so close to druidic energy made sweat bead upon her skin.

Don't hesitate.

Setting her jaw, Bree headed for the gap between the stones. And the instant she stepped inside the stone circle, the rest of the world disappeared.

Suddenly, mist shrouded her, and the air grew heavier still, pushing against her on all sides. Pressure built in her chest, and she stumbled. It was like wading through a bog .

A high-pitched ringing began in her ears then, and her head started to ache as if a giant invisible hand were squeezing it.

Each step became more difficult than the last, and Bree leaned forward as if bracing herself against a strong wind, plowing ahead.

She had to make it to the other side. If she collapsed in the middle of the circle, she'd die.

Even so, keeping going was hard—harder than she'd expected. And as she moved forward, pain tore through her body.

Bree swallowed a scream, squeezed her eyes shut, and reached out before her, trying to part the air with her free hand and dagger. Sharp knives dug into her flesh, twisting and rending.

And through it all, she kept moving forward, step by painful step.

The ringing in her ears turned into a roar, dizziness assailing her. She staggered and nearly fell.

Only sheer, stubborn will and a toughness she'd honed over three centuries kept her going. She was a fighter. She wouldn't let The Ring of Caith defeat her.

Even so, fear flowered inside her as she gasped for air. Ancestors, it was as if she were being turned inside out.

Screaming a curse, she lunged forward, clawing at the air before her.

Then something gave way, and the pain—the pressure on her chest and skull, and the roar in her ears—disappeared.

Bree pitched forward and fell onto her face upon wet grass.

Heaving in deep, shuddering breaths, she lay there for a few moments before raising her head .

Mist wreathed the hillside, and the air was colder and damper than earlier. A raven's caw echoed through the murky dawn. When Bree twisted her head, she spied the dark outlines of the standing stones behind her.

She'd done it—she'd passed through The Ring of Caith.

She was now in the mortal realm. In Albia.

However, despite her relief at being alive, a chill washed over her.

Sitting back on her heels, Bree raised her hands before her, inspecting them. They were paler, her fingers a little shorter, than before. She then glanced down at the body encased in hunting leathers. The sleeves of her jerkin were too long, but the bodice and torso were too tight.

Pushing herself upright, she swore softly.

Her mortal body did feel different. Weaker. Glancing down, she saw that her leather leggings had bunched at the ankles yet strained against her thighs and hips.

She was both shorter and heavier than in her Shee form.

Drawing in a steadying breath, Bree raised a hand before her once more. To her consternation, it was shaking.

Her jaw clenched at the sight. Shit . She hadn't thought transforming into a mortal would make her this frail. She wasn't prepared for the sensations that rippled through her either. Before entering the stone circle, she'd been on edge about this mission.

But now, dread squirmed within her like a sack of eels.

Her legs were trembling and hardly felt strong enough to keep her standing.

Was this what it was to live in a fragile Marav body? No wonder they were such an inferior race .

Gripping the dagger tight while she tried to suppress her shivering, Bree raised her chin, peering into the wreathing mist. "Gavyn!" she called out. Her voice was her own, at least, although it was huskier than usual. "Are you there?"

A heartbeat passed before a cloaked figure emerged from the mist. Behind him, the outlines of four other Ravens also appeared.

Pale hair glinting in the dawn, the captain of Mor's bodyguard approached Bree in long fluid strides. His gaze raked over her, and then his nostrils flared.

Bree swallowed. "Just pretend I'm glamored."

His eyes, the color of thunder clouds, glinted. "I can't. You smell like … them ."

Her pulse thudded hard. Of course, this wasn't a mere trick of the eye. Her people were both blessed, and cursed, with sharp senses—and to them, the Marav reeked . Trust Gavyn Frostshard to be so blunt though. A long time ago, they'd been lovers. The intimacy they'd once shared was but a memory, yet even now, there was tension between them.

She shouldn't have been surprised by his reaction. She'd likely respond the same way if he'd changed into one of the Marav. Nonetheless, anger coiled in her gut. Easy for Gavyn to sneer. Mor hadn't singled him out for this mission.

Squaring her shoulders, Bree folded her arms across her chest, noting as she did so that her larger breasts got in the way a bit. "Is it done?"

Gavyn nodded. "We intercepted Fia mac Callum and her escort on the road, south of Loch Caith."

"She's dead then?"

"Aye." Gavyn gestured to one of the Ravens standing behind him. "We have her clothing for you to change into … and her po ny for you to ride." He paused then before holding out his hand. "Give me your dagger … you can't go to Duncrag with that."

Reluctantly, Bree handed it to him—although the moment she relinquished her weapon, she regretted it. She'd left her other knives back in her tower room, but that dagger was her favorite blade; she was loath to be parted from it.

The Raven approached and handed her a bundle of garments.

Bree didn't want to touch it, almost as if she expected the clothing to still be warm from the mortal woman's body. But, of course, it wasn't. Taking the bundle and a pair of stout ankle boots the warrior handed her, she set them down at her feet.

She then unwrapped the bundle, finding a plain blue, ankle-length tunic, and a matching woolen cloak within. The mantle wasn't half as fine as the one she'd just removed, but Bree couldn't travel to Duncrag wearing Shee clothing. Tugging at the straining ties of her leathers, she cast Gavyn a sidelong look. "What did you do with the woman's body?"

"Left it in a ditch with those of her escort," he replied curtly. "Out of sight of travelers, mind." He paused then, his face screwing up. "She was wearing an iron protection amulet around her neck, but I ripped it off before I strangled her."

Gavyn and the other warriors turned their backs then, to give Bree privacy as she stripped off her leathers and dressed in Fia mac Callum's clothing.

Ironically, the items would have fitted her Shee form perfectly—for the lass had clearly been tall and lean, as Bree had been a short while earlier—but in her new body, the clothing was slightly ill-fitting. The tunic was a little long, the boots pinched, and the bodice was far too low and tight. Bree hadn't expected her body shape to change so much. However, there was nothing to be done. Fia was expected in Duncrag in five days. She wouldn't have time to get other clothes made.

Clad in her new outfit, she cleared her throat.

Gavyn turned, his gaze narrowing once more as he assessed her. "Incredible," he murmured. "I'd never recognize you."

Bree's mouth pursed, heat smoldering in her belly once more. She was reminded then, of why she'd called things off with Gavyn years earlier. The smug bastard got on her nerves. "Of course, you don't," she muttered, "that's the point."