Page 11 of The Queen and the Half-blood
Queasiness rolled over Lara as she rubbed her aching back; today had taken its toll on her. She imagined then, limping back to Duncrag with her army in tatters and Doure still in Shee hands—and the disappointment, and scorn, on her people’s faces when they learned of her failure.
How would she live down the shame? Worse still, how would she stop Mor’s army when it eventually did march south?
“My Queen!” A leather-clad figure ducked through the tent flap. “You have a visitor.”
Lara’s heart bucked. “Have the Shee sent an emissary?”
The warrior shook his head, discomfort flickering across his features. “A man approached our northern perimeter, from the woods … we were about to see him off.”
“Why didn’t you then?” Cailean growled.
The warrior’s face flushed, and he cut the chief-enforcer an apologetic look. “We would have … but he insists he can help us take back Doure.”
5: NAME YOUR PRICE
LARA WAS WAITING in her own tent, with Bree standing next to her and her attendants gathered a few feet away, when they brought the visitor in.
The chief-enforcer and the captain escorted him. Cailean led the way into the pavilion while Roth brought up the rear. And between them was the man who’d saved Lara’s life three evenings earlier.
Lara stiffened at the sight of him, and Alar mac Struana’s lips curved. “Didn’t think you’d ever see me again?” The power in that voice, the low rasp of it, made her suppress an involuntary shiver.
“Do you know him?” Cailean asked, scowling.
“Aye,” she murmured. “This is the man who rescued me from the powries.” Meanwhile, it was hard not to stare at her visitor. In the misty clearing, illuminated only by pale corpse candles, Alar had been a shadowy figure. Now, she could see him properly.
He was dressed entirely in black, from the hooded cloak to his hunting boots.
In the glow of the nearby brazier and the lanterns that hung from the roof, the sharpness of his cheekbones was even more evident, as was the disfiguring scar that slashed down his left cheek. His skin was unusually pale—in stark contrast to his hair, long and jet-black, which hung over his shoulders. His woolencloak was open, revealing a leather breastplate. Two flames, one curving upward, the other reaching down, had been embossed upon it.
Her gaze narrowed.The Endless Flame. Wasn’t that a wulver sigil? The half-man, half-wolf creatures that inhabited the dark woods of Albia worshipped the Hearthkeeper—but Alar was no wulver.
Under the breastplate, he wore a long-sleeved tunic made of thick wool. Tooled leather bracers covered his forearms, and fitted leather breeches encased his long legs. The blades she’d seen him sheath upon his back were missing. He’d either come to her unarmed, or his escort had taken his weapons.
Even so, despite that he was at a disadvantage here, he dressed as if he wassomeoneand walked boldly into her tent as if he were one of Lara’s overkings.
And if she were honest, she found him a little intimidating.
“Talk then,” Roth ordered.
Alar inclined his head. “What I have to say is for the High Queen’s ears only.”
Cailean made a warning noise in the back of his throat. “You don’t walk in here and make demands.”
“That’s right,” Roth agreed, his hand straying to the pommel of his sword.
Alar merely shrugged, a slight smile still playing upon his lips.
Lara’s heart started to beat faster. His arrogance was galling. Fatigue pressed down on her shoulders, and impatience shortened her temper. Nonetheless, right now, she was desperate enough to hear him out.
“Cailean … Roth … wait outside,” she said after a pause.
Both men stiffened at the command, but she gestured to her warder. “Bree will watch over me.”
“Foryourears only, Your Highness,” Alar reminded her.
Lara frowned, anger spiking through her. Of course, she was grateful to this man for saving her, but ever since he’d stepped into her tent, he’d had the upper hand. She didn’t like it. “My bodyguard and one of my attendants will stay,” she told him coldly. “Oryoucan go.”
Their gazes fused before, eventually, he nodded.
