Page 27 of The Queen and the Half-blood
Lara’s chest tightened. She was sorry her friend had to witness this, but it couldn’t be helped. Bree had chosen her side.
Stepping inside the broch’s entrance hall, she came to an abrupt halt.
It was clear the Shee had been living here. Her people’s brochs were windowless structures of stacked-stone, but the new residents of this one had counteracted the darkness with banks of candles lining the walls and lanterns that hung from the rafters. Unlike her broch, there were no rushes on the floor; instead, the sandstone pavers beneath their feet had been scrubbed and polished until they shone.
Lara sniffed. The air was fresh and scented with rose, despite the fatty odor of burning tallow.
“I never thought a Marav broch would smell like Caisteal Gealaich,” Bree murmured.
Lara marked the sharp look Alar cut Bree then—of course, he didn’t know about her origins.
Skirting around the body of a female Shee warrior who lay face-down near where the doors to the main hall were open, they passed within.
And just like the entrance hall, this much larger space glowed with light. The lanterns that swung from the high ceiling shone like corpse candles, and pine logs smoldered in the hearths on the far side of the space. Everything was brighter, cleaner, and less cluttered than Lara’s own broch—but that wasn’t what drew her attention now.
There were more dead in here, mostly Shee with a few wulvers and Marav warriors among them, their blood pooling on the pavers.
The metallic stench of death made her gorge rise. Breathing shallowly now, she picked her way across the floor, her gaze traveling over the faces of the fallen. Cailean had told her she’d recognize the Shee commander, but she hadn’t so far.
However, when she caught a flash of white-blond hair upon the dais at the far end of the hall, her step slowed. And when she heard Bree’s sharp intake of breath next to her, her suspicion was confirmed.
She stopped before the high seat. The male sprawled on his back upon it was tall and lean, like many of his race, with chiseled features, yet his handsome face was contorted in a terrible grimace. A fine longsword, its steel blade gleaming in the light of the bank of candles behind him, lay next to his limp fingers. A dark puddle of blood had pooled under him. His throat gaped.
Lara’s lips thinned as she surveyed the injury. Fitting, considering how her mother had died.
“Do you know him?”
She glanced over at where Alar was watching her intently.
“Aye,” she murmured. “Our paths have crossed before … unfortunately.”
“Frostshard fought like a cornered wolf.”
Lara looked over her shoulder to meet Cailean’s eye. “Did you kill him?”
“Aye.”
She shifted her attention back to Gavyn Frostshard. It seemed Mor had forgiven him for failing to abduct Lara and her mother. She’d put him in charge of one of her outposts, but he’d failed his queen again—for the last time.
“How many captives are there?” she demanded, shaking herself free of memories of her mother on that fateful day—her blind panic and all-consuming terror. Frostshard’s companion had slit her throat.
“Around thirty, My Queen,” Roth spoke up from behind her. “Shall we put them to the sword?”
Lara stilled as she considered the question. Her father would have answered ‘aye’ without any hesitation. But she wasn’t quite as bloodthirsty. Perhaps those Shee who hadn’t fallen during the siege and the battle that followed would wish for death, but she wouldn’t be giving it to them—not yet anyway. “No,” she replied, turning to her captain. “They’ll return south with us … as spoils of war.”
Lara sank down into the hot water with a deep sigh.
By the Gods, she’d never take a hot bath for granted again.
Steam enveloped her as she closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the rolled rim of the iron tub. Four husky male slaves had lugged the iron tub up to the alcove she had temporarily made her own before a procession of servants hauling buckets of hot water followed. She’d deliberately not taken the commander’s quarters—she had no wish to crawl into the same sleeping nook that Gavyn Frostshard had used, evenif Mirren had dragged the old furs out and replaced them with fresh ones.
Eyes still closed, she listened to the muffled sounds of her attendants moving about the alcove. The peace in here, after the chaos and filth of battle, was a balm on her soul. “Go down and fetch some drying sheets, Florie.” As usual, Mirren was ordering the others about. “Ani and Lilith … bring up more pails of hot water, while I see about finding some drinkable wine for our queen.” The handmaid approached the tub then. “Will you be all right on your own for a short while?”
Lara cracked open an eye. “Of course … I’ve got guards outside my quarters.”
Mirren headed toward the heavy hanging that divided the alcove from the landing beyond. “I won’t be long.”
Moments later, all four lasses departed, leaving Lara alone.
