Page 142 of Blood & Claw

Kayla muttered an oath. “I have no idea what’s come over you these days … but I don’t like it.”

The warmth in Ailsa’s chest started to burn. “I thought you might be able to tell me … you’ve been keeping secrets, after all.”

Kayla frowned. “I’m not in the mood for riddles, Ailsa.”

“Neither am I … so I’ll say it plain. You’ve always known something’s wrong with me, haven’t you?”

Her mentor lifted her cup to her lips, yet Ailsa caught the slight tremble in her hand.

She wanted Ailsa to let this go, but she couldn’t. Instead, she leaned forward, ensnaring Kayla’s gaze with hers. “I’m a bavaan, aren’t I?”

Kayla coughed on her ale, setting the cup down too hard. “What? No!”

Ailsa’s pulse started to drum against her breastbone. “Don’t lie to me.”

Their gazes locked.

The moment drew out before her mentor’s shoulders sagged. “Why are you asking this?”

“Just tell me the Gods-damned truth!” Ailsa’s voice echoed through the dimly lit alcove, reverberating against damp stone and the iron door that barred them inside. The alcoves they’d passed here on the second floor of the gallery overlooking the hall all had curtained entrances, except for this one. King Niall had prepared a special cell for his druid tattooist.

Kayla drew back, taken aback by her venom. “Aye,” she whispered. “I knew.”

Breathing hard, Ailsa stared down at her hands splayed on the tabletop before her. The light of the cresset burning on the wall flickered upon her nails. Her pulse trembled. She needed to file them down, yet their captors had taken her bag.

She glanced up then, to find Kayla also studying her hands. A deep groove now furrowed her brow. “I feared it might come to this one day,” she said, her voice now strained. “I just hoped it wouldn’t.” Her gaze searched Ailsa’s face. “Ever since Harvest Fire, you’ve been … different.”

Ailsa swallowed. “That night sparked something in me … a rage. But since I began this journey, there have been other changes too. I’ve discovered that I enjoy killing … and that I hunger for blood.”

The words were bald. Ugly. Aisla let them lie.

Kayla’s hazel eyes drew wide, and she breathed a curse.

“Yesterday eve … before we tried to rescue you … we came upon a shieling with a group of dead hunters inside,” Ailsa went on, dogged now. “It looked as if bavaan had torn their throats open … and drained their blood.” She paused, her fingernails digging into wood. “I had to face it then … I’m one of them, aren’t I?”

A nerve jumped under Kayla’s eye. She’d always been so strong, so sure of herself. Until now. “No,” she said huskily. “You’re not a bavaan … not entirely.”

Ailsa’s fingernails dug deeper into the rough wood. “Don’t—”

“Where are your cloven hooves or icy breath? Why is it that you can eat food and drink ale like the rest of us?”

Ailsa stilled. She hadn’t considered that.

A pause followed before Kayla exhaled sharply. “The truth is … that both baavan and Marav blood flow through your veins.”

Ailsa’s breathing seized.

The two women stared at each other. Meanwhile, the muffled sounds of voices and the thud of booted feet beyond their alcove intruded. They both ignored all of it.

Eventually, Kayla spoke. “Twenty-two years ago, I left the Isle of Arryn in disgrace,” she began, her voice low yet steady. “I’d been caught in the furs with one of my tutors … and was thrown out of the order for it … just a moon before I was due to travel to Duncrag, to serve the High-King.”

She paused there, her features tightening, as if the incident still brought back bitter memories.

“I left the isle but couldn’t bring myself to return to my kin in Baldeen … to see their disappointed faces or to weather their questions. So, I decided to travel to Braewall, where no one knew me, and set myself up as a tattooist there. I was one of the best on Arryn.”

There was no brag in these words, just quiet self-assurance. Indeed, Kayla was a woman who knew her own worth.

“One night, on my way to Braewall, in the woods near Ordsheen, I was sitting by the fire when a figure cloaked in green approached me from the shadows.” Kayla paused then, her fingers gripping the edge of the table. “A woman stepped out of the dark. Hair black as pitch. Mouth red as blood. She moved toward me, and as she did, I glimpsed cloven hooves beneath the hem of her robes. Panicked, I drew both my dagger and protection charm … hoping to ward her off with iron … but she halted. And when she did, I saw that she carried a swaddled bairn in her arms.” Kayla’s throat worked. “You.”