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Ailsa sucked in a deep, steadying breath before answering, “I inked half of those warriors we’ll face in battle myself … and I’ll kill as many as I have to… but if bringing Niall down will free them, that should be our priority.” She paused then. “And I want your word that the Circines who survive walk away free. Don’t take them prisoner or punish them for what they were forced to do.”
Silence settled over the table. Even Darach looked taken aback.
Ailsa didn’t waver though. She’d thought this through over the past couple of days and had decided this had to be said. It mattered.
Lara studied her for a long moment, something shifting in her pine-green eyes. Not offense, Ailsa thought, but a kind of reassessment. “That’s no small promise to ask of a queen before the battle’s even won.”
“No,” Ailsa agreed. “But I’d rather ask it now, so we all know where we stand.”
Lara’s mouth curved. “You have my word. Once Niall’s dead and the binding’s broken, the Circines answer to no one but themselves.”
“Then ‘aye’.” Ailsa smiled. “I’m riding with you.”
“And so am I,” Darach added—half a beat behind, and she caught the warmth in his gaze as he glanced her way. She’d impressed him.
Lara gave him another long, penetrating look before slowly nodding. The queen’s attention moved on to Alar’s sister. “Fern?”
The huntress bowed her head. “You honor me,” she murmured. “But I must decline.”
Alar leaned toward his sister, brow furrowing. “We’d welcome you … you know that?”
Fern met his gaze. “Aye, but this isn’t my fight. I’ve done my part … I’ve helped where I could. But it ends here.”
Ailsa said nothing, even though part of her was disappointed. She’d hoped the huntress would stay with them for a while longer.
Alar and the queen shared a look. The prince consort’s frown deepened, but Lara laid a hand on his arm; a silent message to let it be.
A breeze whipped through the yard, scattering dust and straw.
Pushing hair from her eyes, Ailsa watched Fern strap a quiver and longbow onto her back.
Gifts from her brother.
Dressed in fresh hunting leathers, she looked ready to travel.
“Try not to get yourself stabbed again,” Darach spoke up then. He and Kayla stood next to Ailsa in the deserted yard. Supper was approaching, and night was falling. Fern could have stayed the night, yet she was keen to be on her way.
Fern snorted. “I make no promises.”
“Here.” Kayla stepped up then and held out a small leather satchel. “There’s bread, cheese … as well as some ale.”
Fern inclined her head. “I won’t need them.”
Kayla thrust the satchel toward her. “Humor me.”
Fern did, slinging the bag over her front. Her gaze then shifted to Ailsa, where it lingered.
Ailsa cleared her throat. “Where will you go?”
“North … for a while, at least.”
Fern stepped toward her, removing a black feather tucked into her belt. She then held it out to Ailsa. “Here … this is for you.”
Taking it, she smiled. “Is it Eagal’s?”
“Aye.”
A rough caw intruded then, and Ailsa’s chin kicked up to see the large raven watching them from atop the walls.
