The Blood Forest (Tree of Ages #3)(68)

The arms around her resisted her struggles until she went limp and cracked open her teary eyes. She craned her neck to see a familiar blood-stained face next to hers. Maarav. She exhaled in relief, realizing the possibility of his death had been the one she feared most. She managed to smile up at him through her tears, but he was looking toward Slàine.

“I’d expected a dagger in the back the next time we crossed paths,” he commented coolly.

Stepping away from the empty cloak she’d been examining, Slàine glared at him. “You always were a bit of a fool. I’d hoped to prevent any of this.”

His arms still around Ealasaid, he waited for Slàine to explain herself.

Instead, she turned to her fellow assassins. “Help them burn their dead,” she ordered, “then meet us at the inn.” She turned back to Maarav. “We have much to discuss.”



Finn scraped frantically at the earth. Her skin had long since been rubbed raw, her fingernails cracked and filled with black soil. She could feel power radiating from the earth below her, but it was still out of reach. Though Loinnir fidgeted with worry, Finn could not take the time to consider the cause. She just knew she had to reach the shroud before Oighear, the Cavari, or anyone else could show up to snatch it away from her.

Something cool touched her sweaty cheek, drawing her momentarily from her task. Snowflakes. Had Oighear’s snow reached this far? Was she coming for her? Her fervor increasing, she turned back to her digging while Loinnir stomped in agitation beside her.

More snowflakes stung her face, and began sticking to her tangled hair. She glanced again at the white flecks drifting in, then narrowed her eyes at something in the distance. Riders, six of them. The central rider wore a full, white fur coat, frothing up around her shoulders to meld with her white hair. Oighear. Near the hooves of Oighear’s horse was a smaller white form, stooped low to the ground. She couldn’t quite make out what it was. As she watched, several more riders moved into view to flank the others.

Fear exploding through her mind, she turned back to her digging. The shroud was her only hope. Perhaps with its added power, she might best Oighear. Just a little while longer, and the shroud would be hers. She frantically pushed her fingers through the soil and hit soft fabric. Her heart jumping in her throat, she wrapped her fingers around the silky textile and pulled upward. The shroud came free from the earth as she stood, littering the ground with specks of fresh soil. She stared awestruck at the magical garment dangling from her hand, not quite believing she’d actually found it.

She slowly turned her gaze away from the shroud, feeling like she was in a dream. The riders thundered toward her, their hoofbeats seeming louder than they really were. Loinnir stomped in agitation, but remained faithfully at her side. She stood with the tattered shroud in her hands, ready to protect herself, then dizziness hit her. Her breath slowed. She blinked as the riders came in and out of focus, moving impossibly slow. Suddenly she found herself in a different place. No, she wasn’t in a new place. Her body had not left the meadow. She was only in a memory, sealed deep within her mind.



Her daughter’s small body, limp in her arms, covered in blood. She’d long since grown cold, but Finn refused to let her go. Finn’s mother, Móirne, stood at her back in the windowless, candle-lit room, unspeaking.

Finn’s entire body shook with tears. She had never wanted any part in the dealings of the Cavari, their treaties nor their wars. She did not care about her birthright, the Faie shroud, or the Aos Sí. The endless battles for power were futile.

Now, because of their wars, she’d lost the only thing she truly cared about. Those lowly sailors had killed her little girl to send a message to the Cavari. A message received solely by her. Her people cared not for her loss. It did not affect them.

She staggered to her feet, her lifeless child still in her arms, and moved toward her mother. Their eyes met.

“Tend to her,” Finn ordered, forcing her tears to still.

“What will you do?” Móirne asked, taking the dead child from Finn’s arms. Tears threatened her blue eyes. While Móirne held little love for their clan, she feared them. She had remained obedient, playing her part in their games while her own granddaughter paid the price.

“They have taken my heart,” Finn heard herself say. “My soul. Now I’m going to take theirs.”

She turned away from Móirne, still cradling Finn’s lifeless daughter, and took the Faie Queen’s shroud in her hands. The people of Uí Néid would pay for what they’d done, even if it killed her.



“Finn!” Iseult shouted, arms chained to his sides. The Aos Sí rider holding the reins to his horse drew the animal to an abrupt halt, nearly dislodging him from the animal’s back.

As soon as she’d stood with the shroud, she’d gone utterly still. Her gaze was distant, as if she wasn’t really there.

Beside him, Oighear dismounted and handed Naoki’s tether to one of the mounted Aos Sí. The dragon struggled against her tether, shrieking through the bindings on her beak, desperately clawing at the ground.

Two more Aos Sí approached on foot and pulled Iseult from his mount, throwing him to the hard soil, pressing his face in the dirt. He struggled, cutting his cheek on the rocky ground, turning his head just enough to see Finn. He heard another thump and a scream as the same treatment was given to Bedelia.