Page 66 of The Queen and the Half-blood
“Aye … it seems the man had a curiosity about spirits … both malevolent and kind. There are many manuscripts here in his hand.”
Lara nodded before she continued to read, letting Gil get back to work.
The document told of how the Slew were the spirits of those who’d committed terrible crimes in life. Shunned from both the Underworld and the Otherworld, they either dwelled in the ‘Threshold’—the liminal space between worlds—or they lingered around cairns, barrows, and graveyards, where the veil was at its thinnest. They were active at night and preyed upon the weak and fearful, and once a year, at Gateway, they took to the skies and hunted. Your best protection was to stay strong and healthy and not let fear into your heart. At Gateway, it was also wise to sprinkle salt at your door, wear an iron protection charm, and ensure a fire was burning furiously in the hearth.
Pausing, Lara glanced across at the lantern that burned nearby. None of this was new to her, but the last line made her reflect. It made sense that fire warded against the Slew. The heat and light chased away the shadows.
Thinking about fire now reminded her of her handfasting night—and how Alar had insisted the flames in the chamber had flared when she climaxed. His comment had unsettled her.
Huffing a frustrated sigh, she rolled the scroll back up and secured it with its thong. “It’s all interesting enough … but nothing here answers our questions.”
“I’ll keep searching.” Across the room, Gil pulled a face. “The archives at Caisteal Gealaich likely have many more … older … manuscripts.” She marked the longing that flickered across his features then. “But I no longer have access to them.”
Moments passed, and then she asked, “Have you ever read anything aboutfiremagic?”
Gil frowned. “Not much … the Shee have never used elemental magic. Indeed, most of them fear it.”
“You know that fire magic was outlawed here … a long while ago?”
He nodded. “Why do you ask?”
“Reading about the Slew gave me an idea,” she replied, thinking on her feet. “If we were able to harness the power of fire somehow, we might be able to protect ourselves against them.”
“Maybe … but no one in Albia has that ability any longer.” His frown deepened. “And I thought it was dangerous, anyway?”
“I know little about it, apart from the old tales,” she replied with a shrug, even as her pulse quickened. “But there might be something in the archives about fire magic. Maybe in those ancient scrolls you dug out of that vault.”
“Do you want me to have a look?”
She nodded, relieved that he wasn’t suspicious. Her focus these days was on her upcoming campaign, but her connection with fire was starting to bother her increasingly. Alar had noticed it too, which was worrying. She needed to learn more about it. Could her ability be harnessed and used for good? Excitement fluttered to life in her belly. Could it help them in the war against the Shee?
24: BENEATH THE MASK
SEATED BEFORE THE looking-glass—a rectangle of polished silver—while Mirren brushed out her hair, Lara assessed her reflection critically. A pale, heart-shaped face, with a scattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose, stared back at her. In the light of the lamp nearby, her eyes were dark green.
She was attractive enough. Pretty even. Just not to her husband’s taste.
Catching herself, she frowned.
Stop this. This marriage was an arrangement. They were working together surprisingly well these days; sex would just complicate things. She should be relieved he left her alone. She shouldwelcomeit.
It was growing late, and the flames in the fire guttered. Outdoors, The Sweeper had gotten up and was now battering the fort. There was a sharp chill in the air tonight, and despite the thick stacked-stone walls of the broch, drafts still managed to push their way in.
Her gaze lifted then to where Mirren ran the hog bristle brush through her hair in long, deft strokes. Her eyes were unfocused, as if she were leagues distant.
Mirren hadn’t mentioned Torran again since the night of Lara’s handfasting. Neither had they discussed Alar. Her handmaid would listen if she talked, Lara was sure of it, yet something held her back. In truth, she wasn’t sure how toarticulate how she felt about her marriage, or the man she’d bound herself to.
Shades, she was confused.
The heavy curtain swished open, and a tall, lean figure clad in black ducked inside the alcove. And to her consternation, her belly fluttered. However, a moment later, she marked his furrowed brow and tense jaw.
“Good eve,” Alar greeted them, his tone distracted.
Lara tracked her husband as he crossed to a narrow table, where a stack of wooden cups and a jug of ale sat. He then poured himself a drink before draining it in one long draft.
She frowned. Was he upset about something?
“All done.” Mirren stepped quickly back from Lara now. “Do you need anything else?”
