35 UNEASY

CAILEAN WALKED THROUGH the encampment, Skaal padding at his side.

Uneasiness churned within him with each stride.

What was wrong with him today? Aye, it would be a massacre at Dunmorth, but he'd done many distasteful things over the years, in the service of the High King. He'd learned to shut his mind off to it. And yet something about this campaign put him on edge. This evening, it felt as if someone had just walked over his barrow. The Reaper was close tonight and would hover at his shoulder until this deed was done .

It's her . His mouth thinned as thoughts of his wife intruded. She's unsettled you .

Fia had, but it was more than that. Cailean was methodical by nature, and he liked to plan his campaigns before embarking on them. This whole enterprise was rushed. The High King's hunger for vengeance had made him overeager.

Cailean's hands clenched at his sides then. He had to stop trying to rationalize this. He wasn't himself. Something had shifted within him of late, and he couldn't shake off the nagging feeling that there would be no going back to his old self.

The rain fell in a light mist, causing the pitch torches they'd put up around the perimeter to smoke. A sea of hide tents now filled the mouth of the glen where they'd stopped for the night. They'd spent most of the day riding through meadows and woodland, but from this point forth, the landscape grew wilder, as they left the Wolds behind and headed toward the Uplands.

Smoke from their cookfires stained the damp air, and the aroma of roasting hare made Cailean's belly rumble. Ignoring his hunger, he nodded to the High King's men who greeted him. He marked the wary looks they cast at the huge dog that prowled beside him. Skaal never failed to make them uneasy, but Cailean went few places without her.

He'd already decided she wouldn't approach Dunmorth Barrow though. Instead, he'd ensure that she waited on the edge of the Hallow Woods. Fae hounds were the guardians of barrows. Over the years she'd been with him, Cailean had avoided leading Skaal near one.

The warriors around Cailean were turning hare carcasses on spits over glowing embers. They clustered eagerly around the smoking fire pits, their rough voices carrying through the gloaming. There was both tension and anticipation in the air. The High King had assured them this attack would mark a great victory against the Shee. However, like most of the Marav, they feared the Hallow Woods.

And even taken by surprise and weaponless, the Shee weren't to be underestimated.

Kennan should have been amongst his men, soothing their fears, and keeping morale high, yet he wasn't. The prince, who'd been in a taciturn mood all day, had retreated to the largest of the tents in the midst of the camp.

Although he'd rather not, Cailean sought Prince Kennan out. They needed to discuss the ambush and the best way to approach it.

He found him sitting upon a makeshift stool next to a flickering brazier, his long fingers wrapped around a cup of mead. The prince was staring into the flames, his handsome face shuttered.

He glanced up when Cailean entered. "Mac Brochan," he greeted him tersely.

"Your Highness."

The prince indicated to the stool opposite, and Cailean lowered himself onto it. Meanwhile, Skaal sat down next to him. Setting his cup down, Kennan cast a jaundiced eye over the fae hound. He then poured the chief-enforcer a cup of mead and handed it to him. "All is well?"

Cailean nodded. "It usually is while we remain in The Wolds." He paused then and took a sip of mead. "However, we'll pass Golval Barrow late tomorrow … and that always makes the men nervous."

Kennan frowned. "As it does me … although Dunmorth Barrow worries me more." His gaze returned to the flickering flames within the brazier, and Cailean watched him for a few moments.

He should have used this as an opening to discuss the ambush, yet he hesitated. There was something else that had been bothering him all day, and he wanted an answer. "Did your father choose you to lead this campaign as a reward or a punishment?"

The prince's chin jerked up, his dark eyes narrowing. Cailean had crossed an unspoken line, but he didn't care. After the events of the past few days, a recklessness burned within him. He was sick of being surrounded by half-truths, secrets, and outright lies. As such, he held the prince's gaze without flinching, awaiting his response.

Moments passed, and then Kennan reached up, pinching the skin between his brows. "Punishment. He's vexed I drag my heels at finding myself a wife." He cast him a wry look then. "It doesn't matter what I want … there are duties that must be fulfilled. But then you know that already."

Cailean snorted. "There always are," he replied, not bothering to hide his own bitterness. He too was heartedly sick of having so little control over his own life. His gaze met the prince's then, silence drawing out between them. "He's not just punishing you for that though," Cailean said eventually. "He blames you for the mess with the healer, doesn't he?"

Kennan's mouth pursed, and Cailean thought he might deny it. But after a few moments, he nodded. "I was foolish to tell Damhan about the armies that father has been rallying," he answered, his voice roughening.

Cailean didn't reply. After the healer's arrest, he'd learned that the healer and the prince had been lovers. A few indiscreet words after a tumble weren't a hanging offense—but in the early dawn following Kennan's admission, Damhan had slipped out of the furs and crept up onto the walls. The prince had followed him and witnessed his lover delivering a silver acorn to a huge raven, which flew off in the direction of Deeping Barrow.

It was a damning discovery—for silver acorns were normally used only by Shee royalty.

The High King had kept news of Damhan's treachery quiet, discussing it only with his druidic council. Talorc had been both humiliated and worried that a spy had been able to infiltrate his household. Damhan had lived at Duncrag for nearly two years—who knew what details he'd already given to the Shee. The High King hadn't wanted word to get out.

"My indiscretion affects us all," the prince admitted then, his gaze shadowing. "Thanks to me, the Raven Queen knows we plan to move against her … that's why father is so eager to provoke them now."

Cailean nodded, his mouth thinning. Indeed, the High King didn't want to wait for the Shee to build their own army.

Cailean left the prince's tent with a sour taste in his mouth.

His conversation with Kennan had been yet another reminder that he had no say in his future. Years earlier, he'd been focused upon his career, on working his way up through the ranks. It had never occurred to him that the High King would force his will upon him.

And now, thanks to Talorc, he had a wife.

A woman who robbed him of peace, who clouded his judgment.

A woman he'd sent away.

Cailean's gut clenched. When he returned to Duncrag, Fia would be gone. The alcove they'd shared would be empty. The scent of lavender would no longer greet him when he pushed the curtain aside. She wouldn't sit opposite him in the evenings, clumsily working upon her distaff. He recalled then, how the firelight played upon her pale skin, highlighting the scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and chest.

A hollow sensation settled under his breastbone.

The High King will force me to take another wife , he reminded himself then.

Fuck it. He didn't want to go through this again.

Jaw clenched, Cailean stalked toward the cluster of tents on the northern edge of the encampment. The long gloaming had ended, and night's curtain covered the world. As always, the warrior-druids kept themselves apart. His enforcers sat around fire pits, sharpening weapons, and trading insults as they waited for their supper to cook. Cailean took a seat among them with Skaal at his side. The fae hound observed the roasting hare keenly.

Reaching out, Cailean stroked her ears, and she leaned in to his touch. Usually, Skaal's company improved his mood. Not this evening though.

"Time will be tight, mac Brochan." One of his men, a druid named Tearlach, handed Cailean a skin of ale. "If we want to be in position the day before Sheathan."

He took the ale with a brusque nod. "We'll make it."

Tearlach's bushy auburn brows drew together, and he scratched his clean-shaven chin. "The High King's warriors are shitting themselves over the idea of going into the Hallow Woods."

Cailean unstoppered the skin of ale. "And you, Tearlach?"

The warrior-druid snorted. "I'm not looking forward to rubbing shoulders with The Slew. "

At the mention of the ‘restless dead'—malevolent spirits that dwelled within the Hallow Woods—Cailean frowned. "You're wise then."

"We'll need to ward the encampment well."

Cailean nodded. "Mac Gordain will weave a protection ballad."

"Aye." Tearlach leaned in. "But will it be enough?"

Cailean glanced across the fire, at where a blue-robed figure sat. Euan mac Gordain was drinking deeply from a horn. The chief-bard's chiseled features were set in tense lines. Euan had tried to send one of the younger bards in his stead, yet the High King had insisted the chief-bard go. And now Euan was sulking, for he'd just learned that Talorc mac Brude didn't have favorites. He'd sacrifice them all, even his own kin, to reach his goals.

The High King was right to send Euan though. Only an experienced bard, one who could infuse druid magic in every word of a song, was powerful enough to keep The Slew at bay. Nonetheless, all the members of the druidic council had done their part in readying them to ambush the Shee.

The chief-seer had spent the night in a trance before casting the bones at first light, and Gregor had held vigil with his sacrificers upon the hill outside Duncrag. Meanwhile, Annis, the chief counselor, had met with the High King well before dawn to discuss the way forward once the attack had taken place.

"Let's hope so," Cailean murmured, shifting his attention back to the warrior-druid beside him.

Tearlach pulled a face. "Try to sound more convincing, mac Brochan."

Cailean shrugged and took a gulp of ale. He wouldn't lie to his men. The spirits that inhabited the Hallow Woods wouldn't be easy to deal with. The Slew were also known as ‘The Unforgiven'—for they'd committed terrible things in life and been damned never to find peace in death. The living avoided this place for a reason.

The two men fell silent then as the aroma of roast hare drifted toward them. Supper was almost ready.

"Something feels off," Tearlach finally muttered.

Cailean cut him a wary look. He wished the warrior-druid would speak of other matters, for he didn't want to admit his own uneasiness.

Tearlach frowned. "I'm no seer … but ever since I was a lad, I sometimes get this sensation … like a stone in my gut … warning me when trouble's coming. It's rarely been wrong."

Apprehension tightened Cailean's chest at these words. "I will heed your warning," he replied after a heavy pause. "Thank you, Tearlach."

Cutting his gaze away from the druid, Cailean lifted the skin to his lips and took another gulp of ale. Meanwhile, the hare that was roasting nearby was ready and being portioned up onto wooden trenchers. The enforcers ribbed each other as they started on their supper.

But despite that Cailean's belly was empty, his appetite had deserted him.