Page 30 of The Queen and the Half-blood
Alar snorted, even as his grip on the eating knife tightened. “Do you think a half-blood is any more welcome in Sheehallion than here?”
A faint blush rose to her cheeks. She then glanced away and picked up an apple. “Probably not.”
A brittle silence fell. Alar let it lie. He wasn’t going to give her anything else. A sheltered, privileged woman such as Lara wouldn’t understand what life for wulvers was like—or for him.
Meanwhile, the High Queen neatly peeled her apple before cutting it up into dainty slivers.
Alar cleared his throat. “There are a few things we must discuss, Lara.”
She stiffened before casting him a sharp look. “Can’t it wait?”
“I’m afraid not.” Enjoying the panic that flared in her eyes, he drained the dregs of wine in his goblet and waved away the slave who tried to pour him some more. No, she wasn’t going to put this off. “The supper table isn’t the place for such a discussion though.” Indeed, he was aware of the warder and chief-enforcer both watching him with naked suspicion in their eyes. He didn’t want these two listening in on their conversation. “Come … let’s take a walk together outside.”
11: AT A CROSSROADS
LARA DREW HER fur-lined cloak close as she followed Alar up onto the walls. The light was fading, color slowly leaching from the world. The sky was a dark-blue velvet curtain, and the first of the stars twinkled to life against it. Braziers burned upon the ramparts, both illuminating the pitted stone and throwing deep shadows.
Cold, damp air feathered against Lara’s cheeks. She was glad for her cloak, although Alar hadn’t bothered to put one on to go outside. Clad in a black leather vest that left his arms bare, fitted leather trousers, and long boots—with his fighting knives still strapped to his back—he was a disquieting sight. His unbound hair flowed like ink over his shoulders, while his pale skin contrasted with its darkness, and in the gloaming, his eyes looked as black as pitch. There was a feral edge to him. He might not be a wulver, but he carried himself like one.
Her pulse quickened then, her palms growing damp. They were alone up here. He’d insisted on it.
Bree hadn’t been pleased, and Cailean’s glare could have melted iron, but Alar hadn’t backed down. He’d pointed out that they were within Doure’s sturdy walls, and Marav guards stood watch nearby should Lara need them.
It had looked as if her friends weren’t going to let the matter lie either. However, Lara had de-escalated the situation byassuring them she’d be safe in Alar’s company. She’d then bid a slave to fetch her mantle.
She now wished she’d refused him. She didn’t want to discuss her upcoming handfasting or the other details of their agreement. The longer she could put it off, the better. Nonetheless, she couldn’t risk falling out with the Half-blood either.
Not when his wulvers outnumbered her warriors inside this fort.
The atmosphere inside the hall during supper had been tense. The wulvers and Marav had sat apart, and she hadn’t missed the looks the latter had given the former. There was no gratitude or camaraderie in their gazes, just resentment and suspicion.
Reaching the top of the steps, she surveyed the darkening world beyond. North of the walls, the remnants of a pyre smoldered—the Shee dead had been piled up there and torched.
A shiver traced down her spine then. Bree had told her that the Shee never burned their dead; they buried them instead. This disposal of the bodies was an insult to them. The Marav who’d fallen would burn the following eve though, as was their way, with bards singing their final lament.
She and Alar walked along the wall, stopping halfway. Sentries, some Marav, others wulver, lined the defenses, but none were now within earshot.
“I suggest you leave a strong garrison in Doure,” he said without preamble. “This fort isn’t an easy one to take, but the Shee succeeded once … and they’ll no doubt try again.”
Lara clenched her jaw. They’d only just taken it, and already he was telling her how to defend Doure.
“Captain mac Tav will make the necessary arrangements,” she replied, not bothering to disguise the irritation in her voice.
“Why don’t we leave two hundred wulvers here to help protect the fort?”
A brittle silence followed. She didn’t want any of his army remaining here. Nonetheless, his suggestion wasn’t a foolish one. Leaving a large Marav garrison here would cut her dwindling army in half.
Curse him, shedidneed his help.
After a heavy pause, she cleared her throat. “I’ll consider it.”
He flashed her a smug half-smile that made her want to slap him before glancing over at where a waxing crescent moon rose over the edges of the mountains to the north. “I wish for us to be handfasted, one turn of the moon from today … if that’s agreeable to you?”
Lara cut him a surprised look. She’d expected him to want them to be wed as soon as possible. “Why the delay?” she asked lightly. She was hesitant to pry, for she didn’t want to hurry their union along. All the same, she wondered why he wished to wait. What was he up to?
Maybe in the meantime, she could find a way out of fulfilling her side of the agreement.
His gaze gleamed in the glow of the nearby brazier. “I must return to my brothers and sisters … and let them know what we have agreed. I will then rally more warriors and bring my host south.”
