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The high ramparts that encircled the broch loomed before them.

Fatwood torches lit up the gloom, burning brightly on either side of the gates that were open to admit the small party.

Warriors clad in leather armor with iron helms jammed upon their heads flanked the entrance. Their gazes tracked the newcomers as they rode into the yard beyond.

And there, rising so high that it blotted out the darkening sky, was the broch itself.

24: WHERE WE STAND

“THAT’S EVERYTHING.” AILSA set down her cup, meeting the queen’s eye squarely. “As I remember it, anyway.”

Lara mac Talorc studied her across the circular table, saying nothing for a moment. She was a small woman, auburn hair coiled at the crown of her head, a golden torc at her throat, her tunic the same deep green as her eyes. A dusting of freckles crossed her nose. She was hardly the image of the ‘dangerous fire-wielder’ Niall had warned his people about. All the same, Ailsa had learned these past moons enough not to trust appearances.

“That was quite a tale,” Lara said finally. “I thank you for bringing it to me so swiftly” —her gaze flicked from Ailsa to Darach and back again— “and for your honesty.”

Ailsa nodded. Aye, she’d told them about who she was, and she’d paused for a short while so that Darach could tell his own story. He had, and now Lara and her husband knew all of it.

Beside the queen, Alar watched Ailsa closely. Tall, lean, and pale, the prince consort shared his sister’s piercing gray eyes, yet his lacked the slitted pupils. Black hair spilled over leather-clad shoulders.

Ailsa’s gaze lingered on him a moment. Something about his face nagged at her—the same uncanny half-recognition she’d felt meeting Darach at Farnoch, before she’d known who he really was. She couldn’t place it, only that some part of her insisted they’d crossed paths before.

She filed the thought away. There’d be time to puzzle over it later.

The curtain to the meeting alcove swished to one side then, and a tall, lanky figure with a mop of brown hair entered. “Sorry, I’m late,” he greeted them breathlessly. “I was in the middle of something.”

Lara flashed the man an arch look, and he folded himself into a chair to her right. “This is Gil, my archivist.”

Darach cleared his throat then, nodding at the late arrival before shifting his attention to the queen. “My brother intended to move out at the end of this moon’s turn.” His voice was low, yet Ailsa noted the authoritative edge to it. He sat next to Ailsa, one hand splayed upon the polished wooden tabletop. “But after our escape, he won’t delay. He’ll be on his way now.”

“Aye,” Fern murmured. “I’d bet on it.”

Lara leaned forward slightly, her fingers tightening around her cup. “And how many did you say?”

“A thousand strong at least,” Fern answered. “And every warrior is enhanced. We’ve fought them … they’re hard to kill.”

“They are,” Darach agreed, “Those Circines have the strength of enforcers … there’s so much power in them that their eyes sometimes glow.” He paused then. “Although once I shifted … they found me harder to deal with.”

Gil cast him a sidelong look. “Shifted?”

Darach flashed him a smile. “It’s a long story.”

“This is the lost prince of Braewall … Darach mac Lachlan,” Alar said to the archivist. “And with him are Ailsa and Kayla, tattooists, also from Braewall. Fern, you’ve already met.”

Gil nodded, his eyes sharp with interest as he observed the newcomers before his gaze glanced off Fern.

The huntress favored him with a half-smile.

Lara didn’t say anything for a moment. Instead, her brow furrowed as she observed Darach. It wasn’t the first sharp look Ailsa had seen the High Queen give Darach since he’d introduced himself. It seemed to her that Lara was sizing him up, trying to decide whether she could trust him or not. Not a foolish precaution, for his elder brother had betrayed her.

The queen exhaled sharply then, her nostrils flaring. “I always wondered where Gregor went,” she muttered. “That treacherous prick.” She turned back to Ailsa. “Tell me more about these tattoos.”

“There are two types. Those Kayla and I did, which use earth magic to make them stronger, faster … and the binding sigil.”

Lara frowned. “And the binding sigil?”

“We don’t know how exactly, but Niall tricked them into taking it, thinking it was a loyalty mark.”

“It’s on the inner right forearm,” Kayla spoke up. “A sigil I haven’t seen before.” She frowned then.