"What's goin' on?" Neala asked immediately, allowing her entire focus to settle on the current moment. Despite all the confusion in her mind, it was clear based on Elspeth's reaction that whatever was happening now had to take her full priority. "Why is everyone outside?"
"If ye kent that, what were ye doin' wanderin' about in here?" Elspeth demanded impatiently.
Neala didn't bother answering or trying to explain. Instead, the two of them hurried silently down the rest of the stairs and through the still-busy kitchens, pushing through the busy cooks and passed the preparation of meals until they reached the small side door that led to the outside. They burst out into the open air, and they followed the wall around again until they reached the archway that led through to the main courtyard.
As they entered the courtyard, Neala was instantly engulfed in a bubble of sensation. The sound of voices engaged in loud, overlapping conversations was deafening, and the sheer mass of bodies crammed into the small space triggered her defensive instincts. Her heightened senses could taste the tension in the air, and her fingers instinctively reached for the small knife she kept hidden at her side at all times. Elspeth tugged at her hand, and the two of them began pushing through the crowd, unnoticed by the distracted gathered people, forcing their way through until they were near the center. They had erected a small platform around which everyone was gathered, and at the foot of it were gathered many men, some of whom Neala recognized as the most fearsome of the warriors that Edric Ashkirk had cultivated.
The king and the prince themselves were there, as Neala had noticed from above, talking in low voices at the side of the platform. It was impossible to overhear them from their position, but as Neala tried to get closer, Elspeth held her back.
"Wait," the other Sparrow whispered. She nodded toward the far end of the courtyard where the horses and the travel supplies waited, and Neala realized that something very, very important was about to happen. She went still, her heart hammering in her ears, almost drowning out the crowd.
A few moments later, the False King himself stepped up onto the platform. He did not speak, simply casting his gaze over the gathered people. Even Neala found herself shrinking back under that stare, and as his eyes moved, a deathly quiet fell over the crowd in a ripple. His sheer commandeering presence was enough, and the thought made Neala shiver. This was not a man to be underestimated, and not for the first time, she worried that she was in over her head.
"My loyal servants," Ashkirk boomed, his voice easily carrying despite the large space, echoing off the stone walls in the distance. "The time has come tae put an end tae this blight that has threatened the peace we've worked so hard tae build. This rebellion, this group that has worked so hard tae destroy the peace that I have built these twenty years, is reaching the end of its days. We have lost some of our greatest lairds. Two of the renowned Darachs lay dead at their hands, the clan now shattered. James O'Sullivan is cold in the ground, his poor daughter orphaned and left with a responsibility nae young lass should carry on her shoulders."
Neala blinked as the crowd murmured in agreement or anger toward the rebels.O'Sullivan? She had personally witnessed the man's death, and it was no secret that the king had ordered him killed as an example of disloyalty. And yet, he was blaming even that on the rebels? Her eyes sought Ansel, remembering the vision of the prince's sword cutting the man down. Ansel stood to the side, his expression neutral, not reacting at all to Edric's words.
"But their time is over!" Ashkirk announced, drawing Neala's attention back to him. "We have the means and the power tae squash them once and for all. Ye all ken that their leader, the so-called returned prince, has drawn all his power from pretendin' tae be a remnant of the McNair scum that once plagued this land. We have found a way tae draw him out likethe cockroach he is, and squash him underfoot before he can take root. The pretender now kens that McNair Castle has been repurposed as a trainin' ground for our fiercest and finest men. He cannot maintain the illusion that he is the lost prince without respondin' tae such a flagrant attack on his falsely claimed legacy." The False King smiled triumphantly. "The pretender will bring his men and attack our stronghold. He will try tae reclaim the old McNair home as his own, just as he stole Darach Castle in the name of the Bruce traitors. And when he does, we will be ready."
Nausea roiled in Neala's stomach, and she clutched Elspeth's hand a little more tightly. Ansel's plan now lay bare before her, just as she had surmised from Morag's warning, but she had hoped—prayed—that she'd have more time. Reality crashed around her like the waves of a terrible storm, her perspective now fully clear in the terrible light of day. The king may or may not know the truth about Cailean, butAnselclearly did—or suspected it, anyway. After all, no matter what Edric claimed about appearances, no pretender would risk his entire rebellion simply to reclaim a castle that had been lost to them more than twenty years before.
But a McNair would.Caileanwould. Neala's brother, a man she had believed was lost forever, would risk everything to restore their family legacy, just as she herself would do in the same position. Heat pricked at the back of her eyes like tiny needles. She had only known that Cailean was alive for under an hour, and yet she felt connected to him, felt like sheknewhim, more than almost anyone she had met in her entire life. He was brave. He was risking everything for his family, for his country. He was everything that Neala herself had striven to be for her whole life, training diligently under the Sparrows to exact her revenge and find a way to free her country from the tyrants who had stolen it away.
Yes, the False King may suspect that Cailean was a pretender, but Ansel was more clever, more quick-witted, and more devious than his father. She saw in his expression when she looked back to him again; the princeknewwhat it was to be the heir to a throne that relied heavily upon his shoulders. He knew what motivated a man in Cailean's position, because in a dark, twisted way, he lived in the same position. He had calculated his plan not based on a false heir, but based on the fact that the rumors of a surviving McNair may be true. The prince had considered whathewould do in Cailean's position, and found a way to manipulate things in anticipation of those moves, just as he had emerged victorious against Neala in their game of chess with seemingly no effort.
A frisson tingled over Neala's skin as she considered all this, her eyes focused on the dark-haired prince with the scar on his face and the clever glint in his eye. A strange feeling pulsed through her, a dark admiration for his cleverness swirling with her fear for her brother and the rebels, an intoxicating hum of danger for this strangely powerful man who she now knew may be even more dangerous than the father he served. She wanted to feel disgusted, horrified by him, but instead her body yearned to move closer to him, to brush back that hair from his face, to stare into those hypnotizing green eyes and unlock the secrets of the impossible mind that was constantly working behind them.
"Neala," Elspeth hissed in her ear. "What are ye doin'? Pay attention!"
She started, only then realizing that she had actually taken a step away from her position in the crowd toward where Ansel stood. She moved back to Elspeth's side, wrenching her eyes away from Ansel and refocusing on the king, ignoring the burning need that was now crackling across her skin.
"We will march upon our stronghold at the old McNair Castle and secure it with all of the strength we possess," Edricannounced. "We will establish how powerful we are at this base of our victory, and we will await his pathetic attempt. And when he comes, we will capture and destroy his warriors while he watches. We will capture him and bind him. And when he is broken, we will force him to admit tae those who live that he has misled them and that the McNairs were destroyed long ago. Then, once the spirit of the rebels has been obliterated, his head will be displayed as an example of what happens to those who threaten our peace!"
A sick cheer rose up around them, a celebratory roar accompanied by the stomping of feet and the beating of chests. Horror clawed at Neala, and her mind raced with ideas of how she could possibly prevent this disaster. Morag's warning had come too late. There was no way she could reach the Sparrows in time for them to get word to the rebels and prevent this massacre. She felt weak, powerless, and despair brought ice creeping along the edges of her resolve.
"Me son, Ansel, has proven himself time and again, the epitome of a true heir tae Scotland's throne," Edric announced, his voice brimming with a disgusting self-involved pride. "He carries none of the weakness of his mother, only me own strength. Son, come tae yer father's side."
Silently, Ansel stepped up beside his father on the platform, obediently stepping into place. Something about his complacence to his father's orders felt viscerally wrong, scraping away at Neala's understanding of them both.
"But there is one more task that awaits him, greater than any he has faced. He will prove tae our country, tae all of ye, and tae me, once and for all, that he is worthy of his status as next in line tae me throne." Edric grinned a sick grin, clapping his son on the shoulder. "Ansel himself will lead the group who secures our trainin' stronghold. He will command the men who wipe out the most powerful amongst the rebels. And he himself will winthe fight that captures the insect who has spread such discord amongst our people." He turned to face Ansel. "Ye, Prince Ansel, are tasked with endin' this rebellion, or givin' yer life as ye attempt it. Do ye accept this task? Will ye give yer life for our throne, should it come tae it?"
Neala's breath caught.
Ansel's only response was a curt nod. In response, another powerful cheer rose up from the masses around them, with the warriors stomping their feet in unison and the king beaming with a victorious grin.
The king gave the orders, and the warriors began to move toward the waiting horses, mounting and riding off in pairs and small groups. Neala watched, tense and silent, as the crowd thinned and people moved on. On the stage, the king and the prince stood to the side, the father providing final, private instructions to his son.
"Mother of God," Elspeth whispered in Neala's ear. "This is worse than we could have imagined. I ken ye dinnae understand the full extent of this, but?—"
Neala turned to face her. "I ken," she whispered back, putting all the meaning into the two words that she could.
Elspeth froze, understanding instantly blossoming on her face, mixed with pure shock. "Ye ken," she breathed. "But… how?"
Neala's heart pulsed with hurt. Though she'd already understood that Elspeth must have known the secret, the tacit confirmation was still painful, even if she did comprehend that the Sparrow had been following Morag's strictest orders. Before she could answer Elspeth's question, though, she felt a nagging presence on her.
She turned and saw Ansel staring at her, his eyes burning into her. She met his gaze, staring into that strange, unearthly green, and for a moment, it enveloped her. Somethingindescribable passed between them, something Neala could not begin to understand, and that same longing to move closer suddenly engulfed her, threatening to overwhelm her there and then.
Ansel broke eye contact first and called a guard to his side. He said something to the other man in a low voice, and a moment later, the guard gave a small nod and started to move toward where Neala and Elspeth stood.
