Page 17 of Fang & Fury

Eventually, Ailsa rolled over to face her mentor once more. “Earlier, you said you had an idea of how to get us out of here,” she whispered. “Let’s hear it.”

6: BLOOD IS BLOOD

THEY DRAGGED DARACH before the king, chains clanking.

The heat inside the hall was a balm seeping through his chilled skin and into his cold bones. Frankly, he’d forgotten what warmth felt like over the past moons. He didn’t even mind the fug of peat smoke that caught in his throat, or the odor of wet wool that hung in the air.

All he could focus on was the large glowing hearth in the center of the space. Smoke drifted lazily up past the open levels above the hall to where it disappeared through smoke slits in the roof.

His empty stomach clenched at the smell of fresh bread and roasting meat.

Gods, it was torture.

His brother stood before the hearth, resplendent in tight brown leather, a golden torc gleaming at his throat, his oak-brown hair oiled and brushed back from his face.

As Darach limped his way toward him, muddy boots crunching on rushes, he caught the stares from those he passed—warriors seated at trestle tables, cups of mead and ale in hand, remnants of oatcakes before them.

It was shortly after dawn, two days after Fern had visited him.

And he was about to do as she’d asked.

Sourness flooded his mouth. This wasn’t what he’d wanted. He had planned to get free and kill his brother before focusing on anything else. But revenge would have to wait—freeing Ailsa and Kayla needed to be his focus.

His submission now was a ruse, yet it galled him all the same. He loathed pretending. His hatred for his brother went too deep for that.

Aye, he had kept secrets over the years, and lied as well as any man, but masking this was hard. It took all his will to school his features into something that resembled submission.

He shouldn’t try too hard, though. His brother was sharper than a boning blade and would suspect something. No. He had to play this honestly. And that meant showing just how much submitting cost him. Just how eager he was to be free of his chains.

“I hear you’ve had a change of heart,” Niall greeted him with a penetrating look. “Why is that?”

Darach halted a few yards back, aware of the semicircle of warriors that had followed him in here.

Fern among them.

Glamored as Idra, the huntress’s skin would be burning by now, surrounded by so much iron in close quarters. He just hoped she had enough self-control not to let it show. He needed Fern at his back because if this went awry, he’d end up his brother’s puppet.

“I’ve had some time to think,” Darach answered, deliberately lowering his gaze.

And he had.

His shit-shoveling duties had been lighter over the last couple of days. They’d gone easier on him. Obviously, there was no point in pushing him to the point of collapse, or he wouldn’t be able to do his job. Therefore, he’d lain upon his hard pallet, ruminating over Fern’s plan. It was audacious and risky—but it would bring them to Kayla and Ailsa, and that was what they needed.

Ideally, they’d have met out in the open somewhere in the fort, not inside the broch itself, from where escape would be harder. But they’d just have to work with what they’d been given.

“I can’t go on like this,” he said roughly. “You win, Niall.”

Silence fell in the hall.

That got the attention of everyone here. Their gazes stabbed into him.

Darach ground his teeth.

Gods, it was humiliating.

“Kneel, then,” his brother replied after a lengthy pause. “Pledge your loyalty formally.”

Darach looked up. There was a glint in Niall’s eye that made him want to punch his teeth down his throat.