Page 50 of Birthright

“They know we’re here. They have Howard and my father. I saw him.” I turned back to the pile of weapons and pulled out one more dagger, shoving it into my boot. “If he’s alive, maybe Abbey is too.”

“I’ll go around the back of the keep, you head up the side wall.”

“I’m going in the front door, Manus. They know we’re here. No use sneaking around. I’ll face Bran on my terms. He doesn’t frighten me anymore. One of us isn’t living past today.” I turned toward the castle.

Manus looked away, knowing there was no arguing. “I’ll go around the back side just in case.” I gave him a nod and walked away. I saw my father in my head again and knew if I didn’t face Bran head-on, I had no chance of getting him out. Bran wanted a face-to-face fight and he was going to get it.

I just hoped I was up to it.

The drawbridge was down and the high stone walls did look sinister as I stood at the edge of the bridge. It was bigger and scarier than it had looked from Howard’s high point of view. I stood tense at the bridge to give Manus a moment to get around the back and to gather my nerve. I thought of my mother and how she was tortured here.

Were any of those bones in the shacks hers? I had to swallow hard to get past that thought. So many had sacrificed so much for me over my life and most of them I wasn’t even aware of until they were gone. Today I would do my best not to get killed and make their sacrifices in vain, but I had to follow what my heart knew to be right. I had to put a stop to Bran and his manipulation of my family. They had all suffered, my Witch family and my human family, at the hands of the devil inside these walls. I wasn’t backing down.

I channeled my fear into anger and stepped onto the ancient wood of the drawbridge.

The soft smacking sound of my boots echoed over the dry moat as I crossed. My heart was in overload mode again. I took several deep breaths as I walked at a very steady and controlled pace. If Bran were to see me coming, he would see me coming with confidence.

I made it off the bridge and into the courtyard unaccosted. I felt the presence of life within my reach, but there was also the presence of something…other. I kept moving, only drawing the newly acquired sword when I reached the main door of the keep.

Inside, it was empty, too quiet. The main entrance led to a large room just inside, and opened onto two smaller rooms to either side. I stood and listened. Still nothing.

Manus came through one of the side doors. We drew down on each other and then relaxed. “I came from the big room and circled to the side.” He pointed to the far side with his sword. I walked to the other side room only to find it empty, except for a table and some scattered, dusty chairs.

“Nothing,” I said. “Where would the trophy room be?”

He gave me a questioning look.

“I need Trevina’s blade. Better have it before we find company,” I explained.

“Up one or two floors, I would guess. I think there are only five from looking at the windows. Prisoners will be down. Hurry,” he said, ushering me to the stairs. “They’ll know something’s up if we don’t go to them soon.”

We went up the steps two at a time to the second floor. It looked almost as abandoned as the lower level. Dust and sand covered any remaining furniture, and there was little of that.

As we hit the top of the stairs at the third floor, things changed. A tapestry on the wall opposite the stairs was clean and the gray walls weren’t coated with dust. Someone or something used this area often and recently. I stopped on the top step and let Manus take the lead. He swung around the corner and kept moving. I peeked around and then followed.

The first room was a bedchamber that looked much like Tynan’s at Castle Dracula. Gray, carved-stone walls held huge portraits, and heavy drapes in dark maroon matched the rumpled bedding. The bed had been slept in but was now empty. Somehow the bed didn’t look like Bran’s style.

Something on a side table caught my eye. I walked to it, traced my fingers over the delicately engraved dolphins covering a brush handle. The hair in the brush was fine, long, and white. “Feldema.” Even I said it, I still couldn’t believe it. Who was she sleeping with, Bran or Nessum? Even she wasn’t capable of sleeping with a Slaugh, was she?

Manus saw the brush and shook his head in disgust before motioning me forward.

The next room was a living area that seemed to serve as a trophy parlor. It took up the rest of the floor. There was a modern-looking bar set up at the far end and the rest of the décor was new. Persian carpets graced the floor and plush leather furniture was arranged in two different seating areas.

Along the two longest walls were the spoils of plundering and battles, more personal than the junk tossed in the shacks outside. These items had been handpicked and well cared for. Skulls, treasures, and trinkets were precisely lined up within bookshelves and hung purposefully on the walls. I didn’t see Trevina’s blade along the walls. There were others, but I would recognize my mother’s sword from my vision. I didn’t need to study the others to know hers wasn’t on the wall. I scanned the bar area in the back—not there either.

I turned to ask Manus a question but the words were lost before they left my mouth. My stomach knotted, and I felt as if all the air in the room had suddenly vanished.

In one of the seating areas, protruding from her own skull, was my mother’s sword.

A wooden platform held the skull, the blade sticking out of the top of what was once my mother’s forehead. Too weak to stand, images from that vision floating in my mind’s eye, I fell to my knees.

The display, obviously made for the purpose, held the skull at an angle, the jaw dropping to make it look as though she were perpetually screaming. The blade pushed through the back of her skull and out her open mouth.

I couldn’t help it. Silent tears started to fall. I sucked in a ragged breath, the pain reached my chest and I started screaming. Rage and sorrow over the death of a woman I couldn’t remember overcame me. Images of my sister sitting in the leather chair next to our own mother’s skull, sipping wine and laughing with her lover, were more than I could bear.

Manus had turned from the wall he’d been searching and was at my side instantly. He stood looking at me before taking a step forward and kneeling, reaching out for me. I shoved his hands away and stood.

After gaining a bit of composure, I pulled the sword gently from the skull then sliced a large swatch of material from one of the fancy drapes. I wrapped my mother’s remains gently in the maroon velvet. Still sucking in air and crying hard. I dumped the iron chain to the floor and tucked it inside the backpack.