Page 4 of The Queen and the Half-blood
But she didn’t.She couldn’t.
Her surroundings disappeared. Suddenly, there was just her and the beckoning light.
Look away!
It was too late. The warning died to a whisper then as the desire to get closer to the light overwhelmed her.
Drawing up the hood of her cloak, she moved—not right, toward the heart of the camp, where her pavilion waited—but left, toward the woods.
2: NEVER FOLLOW THE LIGHTS
LARA APPROACHED THE perimeter, her soft-soled boots squelching over the wet ground. Her hooded cloak obscured her identity. The mist wreathed thick now, turning the encampment into a shadowy grey world, where the figures of warriors and druids moving around her appeared distant, wraiths lost in smoke. Even their voices seemed far away.
The surrounding fog wrapped her in its cool embrace. It was the beginning of autumn, and the air had a bite to it. And all the while, the glowing flame up ahead promised warmth and comfort. She had to reach it.
For the first time since ascending the throne, taking back her lands from the Shee ceased to matter. Everything, including the gnawing worry that she’d fail to take back the North, merely melted away. All she cared about was that single beckoning flame. It drew her to it as if by an invisible cord.
Her breathing grew shallow, and she quickened her step.I’m coming.
She passed behind two tall, broad shapes then: enforcers were dropping the final ward stones.
Neither warrior druid saw her.
Ahead, the light amongst the trees grew brighter, joined by more flickering flames. They were so beautiful that Lara’s throat tightened.
She increased her pace. She had to get closer. She had to let the flames dance in her hand as she’d managed once with a candle flame. These days, four attendants slept in her alcove, and the rest of the time, Bree shadowed her. There had been no time, or opportunity, to make fire dance on her palm.
She was dimly aware that the camp was now behind her. She was alone, but it didn’t bother her. If anything, it was a relief. Let someone else worry about what the next day might bring. All she wanted was to reach the lights.
Finally, she was gaining on them. And so, she broke into a run, navigating tree roots as she went. The trees drew back then, and she stepped into a glade. The lights surrounded her, illuminating the murky twilight like fireflies.
Lara breathed an oath. Up close, they were even bonnier—and some of the flames fluttered and cavorted like fairies. They were mischievous, playful. Laughter bubbled up as she halted amidst them, and she suddenly felt like a carefree lass again, the young woman she’d once been before the war. “Good eve, my lovelies,” she whispered, holding out her hand, palm upward. “Would you care to dance?”
The fires bobbed and dipped in the misty air, and then one of them—one that resembled a woman with long robes and flowing hair—leaped onto her palm, spinning around so that golden sparks rained over Lara’s hand.
She didn’t flinch, for the sparks didn’t burn her. Instead, she raised her other hand and was about to whisper to the flames once more when a noise broke through her reverie—a grating sound like iron dragging over stone.
The golden fairy that had been spinning on her right palm leaped high into the air at the sound, and all the flames scattered to the edge of the glade. Blinking, Lara glanced around her. She felt drowsy, as if she’d just emerged from a pleasant dream, and her mind still wished to cling to it.
What am I doing here?Alarm washed over her.Why am I alone?
A rustling noise made her turn, drawing the dagger at her hip. She always carried a weapon these days.
She spied something she had completely missed earlier then: a crumbling stacked-stone wall. She ran her gaze over it, ice settling in her gut. The glow of the flickering lights, most of which now hovered on the fringes of the clearing, illuminated a ruin. Partially swallowed by creeping ivy and growths of nettles, it was possibly a watchtower from many years earlier.
Her breathing grew shallow.Shit.
Her pulse then started to pound in her ears. What was she doing out here? How had she let that dancing flame ensnare her?
Tightening her fingers on the grip of her dagger, she backed away. “Captain!” she called out, hoping Roth had ignored her command and followed her, after all.
Only silence answered her.
Instead, something was moving inside the ruin. A moment later, stocky figures clambered over the wall, their heavy boots thudding onto the mossy ground.
Lara whispered an oath, raising the iron blade. Bree had taught her how to wield a dagger, and they still had regular lessons. Nonetheless, she’d never been in a proper fight before.
Shehadencountered powries though—during her father’s ill-fated campaign, when the military camp she’d been sheltering within had been attacked. Shee warriors had stormed it, bringing with them a vicious host of the imps.
