Page 7 of The Queen and the Half-blood
But she wouldn’t admit that part.
Gods, she didn’t want anyone to think she was a ‘fire-wielder’. Sweat beaded upon her skin then. She wasn’t, anyway. She couldn’t be. That ability had been lost centuries ago, after all those who could wield fire were tracked down and killed. The bloodlines had been lost. No, her ability to call to fire, to play with it, wasn’t dangerous, forbidden magic. It was innocent. Innocuous.
“I take responsibility for this,” Roth said gruffly then, drawing everyone’s gaze. A nerve flickered in his cheek. “I should have escorted you to your pavilion.”
“And why didn’t you?” Bree demanded. “You were supposed to shadow the High Queen while I went out on patrol. I entrustedyouwith her safety.”
The captain’s broad shoulders went rigid at this, while the other members of Lara’s council shared veiled glances. Indeed, it looked to them as if Roth had been grossly incompetent.
But Lara couldn’t let him shoulder the blame. “Captain mac Tav isn’t at fault here,” she said softly. “Iinsisted on walking back to my tent alone.”
Bree’s eyes snapped wide. “Why?”
Lara favored her with a sheepish smile. “I just wanted some time alone, I suppose … and thought I’d be safe within the perimeter of the camp.” She didn’t look Roth’s way as she spoke.
The chief-sacrificer, Gregor mac Hume, muttered something under his breath. He was a big, rawboned man with a shaven head and high cheekbones, who wore blood-red robes. And he wasn’t one to bandy words. “That was foolish, My Queen.”
“It was,” she murmured, even as warmth spread across her chest. Gregor had never missed an opportunity to patronize her since she’d replaced her father on the throne—and now, she’d played straight into his hands. Clearing her throat, she met his eye. “But it won’t happen again, I assure you.”
Gregor gave her a look that made the heat burning between her breasts creep up her neck.
Curse it. She was the High Queen, but sometimes both Annis and Gregor made her feel like a goose-witted lass who should be weaving by the fireside, not leading warriors into battle.
Swallowing, she dragged her attention to Cailean.
The chief-enforcer wore a scowl. He wouldn’t criticize her like the others, although his unspoken censure was almost worse. “Cailean … did you note anything of concern on your patrol?”
He shook his head. “With Skaal guiding us, we managed to draw close to Doure. They have sentries around twenty furlongs out from the fort … but no farther.”
“That doesn’t mean they aren’t watching us,” Bree replied, her voice unusually brittle. Her gaze was shadowed as she met Lara’s eye. “However, they should leave us in peace tonight.”
Lara nodded, even as an ache rose under her breastbone. Her friend’s disappointment in her was a blade to the chest. She’d let her anger at Roth’s presumption cloud good sense.
“Shall I gather my bards for another protection sain on the western perimeter, My Queen?” A sharp-featured young woman with red-gold hair, robed in green, asked then. “Just in case more powries are lurking in the woods.”
“Aye, thank you, Ren.” Lara placed her hands firmly upon the table before her. She was relieved to see the tremor she’d marked following the attack had gone. Even so, the stares around the table were getting to her. “Shall we go over our plans for tomorrow now?”
Her gaze lingered on her hands for a moment then. On each one, she bore rings that had once belonged to her parents. Upon her left hand, she wore her mother’s delicate silver ring with a rose-colored garnet. A chunky amber stone upon an iron band—her father’s signet ring—sat upon her right ring finger. It was theOrd-ree Seal. But for the first time in many generations, it sat on the hand of the High Queen, not a High King.
Her father hadn’t carried the ring into battle. Sometimes, Lara wondered if things might have gone differently for him if he had. Instead, wary of damaging the precious ring, he’d handed it to his wife on that fateful morning.
TheOrd-ree Sealwas the color of flame, gold with flecks of red at its heart. Its gleaming surface flickered in firelight sometimes. It symbolized the indomitable spirit of the Marav. Her people weren’t blessed with lifespans that reached thousands of years like the Shee, but they ruled this land, nonetheless. Or they had, before her father’s inglorious defeat in The Uplands.
“As discussed, Doure will be a challenge,” Cailean replied after a lengthy pause. “I just hope your warriors understand this siege won’t be a short one. It could last days … or even a moon’s turn.”
Nerves fluttered under Lara’s ribcage. Like many Albian forts, Doure perched upon a high crag. It could only be taken from the west. She’d also discovered that there was a deep, spike-filled ditch defending the landward side. They’d put up ladders, but if anyone fell, they’d be gored.
“The warriors all know,” Roth assured him. “And they’re ready.”
“The omens have been conflicting since we left Duncrag,” Annis spoke up then. “I do not trust them.”
Lara glanced over at her chief-counsellor, alarmed. “Such as?”
“Odd numbers of geese flying overhead, the sight of a lamb in the fields at the wrong time of year … and a blight upon all the apple trees we’ve passed.” Annis’s lips pursed. “We should proceed with caution.”
Lara fought to keep her worry from showing.
Like most Marav, she wasn’t one to discount omens. All the same, her father’s ill-fated campaign—which he’d believed was Gods-favored—had taught her the folly of putting too much store in such signs.
