Page 20 of Fang & Fury

“Move it.” A big woman with braided dark hair, who carried a long-handled axe over one shoulder, shoved him roughly in the back.

Darach yanked his gaze from Ailsa and staggered forward, a muscle in his jaw flexing. The woman and three other warriors stomped after him.

Ailsa tracked Darach as he followed Gregor toward the far end of the alcove.

Beside her, Kayla murmured an oath under her breath, and Ailsa’s brow furrowed. Seeing Darach again had distracted her, but his presence here meant nothing good.

Meanwhile, Gregor was sorting through his tattooing knives and needles and gathering his dye. “Sit down,” he ordered, not looking Darach’s way.

When Darach hesitated, the warrior woman and one of her male companions shoved him onto a stool.

Ailsa froze.

Was he about to receive a binding sigil?

She hadn’t witnessed Gregor perform this tattoo before—the Circines in this fort had already had theirs done long before she and Kayla had been taken prisoner. Over the past turns, Gregor had been absent frequently from this alcove, and a guard had told them he was off ‘recruiting’ deep in The Goatfells on behalf of his king.

She wondered how he’d gotten the new warriors to receive the binding sigil. Through trickery like the others, or had he forced them?

Was he now forcing Darach to have one too?

Ailsa cut Kayla a sidelong look then, noting the tension in her jaw and the way she clenched her bone needle.

No, this wasn’t good.

The druid began to prepare the woad paste. He worked in sharp movements, his heavy brow furrowed.

“Why the glower?” Darach asked, speaking for the first time since entering the alcove.

Something leaped in Ailsa’s chest at the sound of his voice. Low, rough, so familiar.

How she’d missed it.

This man hadn’t been part of her life for very long, but the intimacy of traveling together, of fighting together, of making life-and-death decisions and revealing their secrets to each other had built something that might have taken years to grow otherwise.

Aye, she’d missed him, despite everything.

“Do you doubt your binding will work on me?” Darach continued, a challenge creeping into his voice.

Gregor snorted. “Oh, it’ll work.”

“Yet you still look like someone pissed in your porridge.”

The druid glanced at him, dark eyes narrowing. “I’m loyal to your brother,” he replied coolly. “But he has one blind spot. You.”

“That’ll be why he sent multiple assassins after me?”

“If only one of them had gotten the job done.” Gregor lowered himself onto the stool opposite Darach. “He looks at you and sees a bond that doesn’t exist.”

Darach didn’t answer that, and Ailsa’s shoulders lowered a little.

He’d be wise to refrain from baiting Gregor. It wasn’t a good idea to stir a tattooist up before they used a needle on you.

“Hold out your right arm and turn it over,” the druid ordered as he reached for one of the tattooing tools nearest. “Let’s get this done.”

Darach held out his arm without hesitation.

Ailsa’s gaze went to the softer flesh on the underside, to the spot just above the wrist. That’s where the binding sigil would go. She glanced up at Darach’s face, marking his calmness. Why was he so passive? Did he understand what was about to happen?