Page 44 of The Queen and the Half-blood
Halting at the bottom of the steps, Alar nodded. “We meet again.”
“I trust you had a safe journey south?” Lara’s voice was low, only a slight huskiness betraying her nerves.
“Aye … some bother with a clutch of trows a few days ago, but we saw them off.” Actually, both trows and powries had been plentiful during the journey, harassing them nightly. He decided not to burden the queen with this though. They could talk about such things when they were alone.
Lara cleared her throat. “A feast has been prepared for this evening in honor of your arrival.”
Alar inclined his head in thanks. “Are you happy for our handfasting to take place tomorrow?”
“So soon?”
“Why wait?”
Bree and Cailean both scowled at his glib tone, yet Alar ignored them. Instead, his attention remained upon the High Queen.
Her throat worked. “As you wish … tomorrow it is.”
“Good.” He motioned to where Lyall and Dolph stood behind him, followed by the ranks of wulvers who now filled the yard. “I trust accommodation has been organized for my host?”
Lara nodded stiffly. “The Fort Guard will escort them down to the two levels beneath us, where they will be lodged. Six wulvers will share each roundhouse.” She didn’t add that she’d had to move out many residents from that level and provide accommodation for them elsewhere in the fort—yet another thing her people had complained about. “There is space there for them to train.”
“Is the meal to your liking?”
“Aye. It’s delicious.”
Despite that her appetite was poor this evening, Lara cut herself a sliver of cheese from the round upon the table beforethem and placed it upon her trencher. And all the while, she was aware of Alar’s gaze.
The Mother’s tits, did he have to watch her so closely?
He wasn’t a wulver, yet there was something vulpine about his gaze. A cunning that set her nerves on edge. It made her want to do anything to break the tension, including asking simpering questions. What did she care if Alar liked his meal or not? With any luck, he’d choke on it so she wouldn’t have to go through with this handfasting.
That wouldn’t solve her problems though. She wouldn’t have to wed him, but she’d be without his army. And since the envoy they’d sent into The Goatfells hadn’t yet returned, she had to be careful.
“I plan to push north as soon as Gateway is over,” she said after a pause. “Are your wulvers ready?”
He inclined his head. “Of course. Is your army?”
Her spine stiffened at the challenge in his voice, and she raised her chin. “It will be.”
Around them, warriors and wulvers crammed the hall of Duncrag broch. Extra trestle tables had been carried in to accommodate the huge numbers. The slaves serving the feasters had to squeeze their way in between the tightly-packed rows. Rumbles and growls echoed up, mingling with the pall of blue-black peat smoke that hung beneath the heavy rafters.
Nonetheless, it didn’t escape her notice that the wulvers sat on one side of her hall, and her warriors on the other. Just like in Doure—it was as if they were oil and water, never meant to mix. And when she looked closely, she noted that it wasn’t just her warriors who weren’t making an effort. Back in Doure, the wulvers had been elated by their victory, yet still humble. But this evening, many held themselves with a new arrogance. They stared down the men and women seated on the other side of the hall.
Nervousness tightened her belly. Over a thousand wulvers now resided in this fort. What if they ran amok?
Next to her, Alar helped himself to more braised boar and onion stew. His gaze then shifted down the table to where Gil sat to Bree’s left. Eight of them sat upon the dais this evening: Lara, Alar, Bree, Cailean, Torran, Gil—as well as the Half-blood’s captains, Lyall and Dolph.
Alar studied Lara’s archivist with interest. Feeling the weight of his stare, Gil raised his chin, his hazel eyes narrowing under the scrutiny. “Our queen has told you who I am then?”
Alar nodded.
Gil smirked. “It doesn’t matter how long you scrutinize me … you won’t see any of who I was before.”
Beside him, Bree snorted before flashing her brother a warning look.
“I had no idea,” Alar murmured. “That the stone circles had such power.”
“Aye, well, I wouldn’t try it for yourself,” Gil replied, helping himself to some bread studded with walnuts. “With Marav blood in your veins … you’d be dead before you got three paces inside.”
