Page 29 of The Queen and the Half-blood
“You actually enjoy that?” Cailean mac Brochan asked, incredulously.
Bree snorted, looking at him askance. The pair sat so close that their elbows brushed. “Aye … it’s delicious.”
Alar took a bite of the dried fruit he’d speared. It was both tart and sweet, a desiccated plum. Not unpleasant, although having lived amongst the wulvers for so long, he was used to smoked or fried trout and thick eel stews. This food wouldn’t satisfy him for long.
The chief-enforcer clearly agreed, for a groove had etched between his dark brows as he glanced down at the selection of fruit and cheese on his platter. Alar noted the lines of fatigue upon the chief-enforcer’s face. Wielding earth magic had drained him, and the other enforcers too. They needed to take part in the blood-letting. However, the next full moon was still over twenty days away. “No wonder the Shee are all so lean,” he muttered. “Where’s the meat?”
Mac Brochan then offered a sliver of cheese to his fae hound, who sat behind him, but the beast merely sniffed at it dismissively.
“They don’t typically eat much of it,” Bree replied.
Mac Brochan pulled a face. “Even slaves eat more heartily than this.”
Bree snorted and dug an elbow into his leather-covered ribs. “It won’t do you any harm.”
The chief-enforcer made a growling sound in the back of his throat, his attention shifting to the woman next to him. His expression was still disgruntled, although his gaze was not.
Alar watched their interaction with interest. It appeared that these two were a couple.
“I hear the broch’s kitchen and stores were fully stocked when we arrived,” he said, focusing on Lara once more. Once again, he deliberately spoke of trivialities. It helped him gauge the High Queen’s mood.
“They were.” Lara took a bite of soft goat’s cheese. “Fresh food shouldn’t go to waste.” She then picked up a heavy goblet and sipped her wine. Her expression was veiled now; he could almost taste her wariness.
Swallowing a smile, Alar continued eating. This was his victory meal, and although the food was admittedly a little strange, he’d savor every mouthful. His brothers and sisters had done him proud today. For the first time ever, wulvers had left the sheltering woods and fought alongside the Marav. They’d shown everyone what they were capable of. From this day forth, neither the Marav nor the Shee would underestimate them.
This wasn’t just about reclaiming territory for the Marav queen. It was about the wulvers finally getting the respect they deserved.
The attack had gone better than he’d anticipated. TheFire Wyrmhad destroyed the gates spectacularly, and the Shee garrison within had been smaller than expected. They’d fought viciously, but it hadn’t been enough to save them.
Around him, conversation rose and fell in the cavernous hall. After clearing away the bodies and scrubbing away the blood, servants and slaves had packed the space with long trestle tables. As he ate, Alar surveyed the rows of tables below the high seat: Marav filled one side, while wulvers dominated the other. They didn’t mix. Instead, the warriors and druids viewed his brothersand sisters with distaste. It was hard to ignore the whispers, the sneers. The glowers.
Chewing slowly, his gaze narrowed. Their lack of gratitude pissed him off. Marav and wulvers were equal here. They’d fought shoulder to shoulder with these people today, but it wasn’t enough. The Marav still held onto their prejudices.
Well then, let me hold onto mine.
He swallowed his mouthful, even as his gut clenched. The slate wouldn’t be easily wiped clean. He wasn’t about to forget the wrongs of the past. The Marav seated below the high seat didn’t realize this was just the beginning—the wulvers were rising, and they wouldn’t be dismissed any longer.
“Your wulvers fought well today,” Lara said, her tone veiled.
“They did,” he agreed, pushing aside bitter, vengeful thoughts and lifting his goblet to his lips. It was a light and dry apple wine that fizzed slightly on his tongue. He’d never tasted anything like it. “But then, we’ve been waiting a long while for this moment.”
Her features tightened. “I’m still surprised you convinced the wulvers to help us.”
He smiled. “Maybe they’d prefer Albia was ruled by Marav … not Shee.”
Her frown deepened. “They would?”
“Wulvers have more in common with your people than you’d think. A half-blood lives a few centuries … but wulvers have lifespans of similar lengths to the Marav. Unlike many of the faerie folk, they can venture out in bright sunlight and aren’t tied to waterways, mounds, or ruins.” He paused then. “Did you know the Raven Queen sent emissaries to request their alliance three years ago?”
Her jaw tightened, making it clear she didn’t. “What did she promise them?”
Alar speared another piece of dried fruit with his eating knife. “What she promised the other faerie creatures who now fight for her: five years of loyalty for a return to Sheehallion.”
Her gaze narrowed. “They weren’t tempted?”
He shook his head. “The dark forests of Albia are their home.” Irritation speared him then. Typical Marav arrogance. They thought they were the only ones who truly belonged to this land.
“Andyouweren’t tempted either?”
