Page 78 of The Queen and the Half-blood
“Enough.” Cailean’s command was low, yet powerful.
The man froze, his head jerking sideways. His expression went slack when he realized who held him, his vitriol dying on his tongue. His throat worked as his attention settled upon Skaal. The fae hound had halted next to Alar, her stare pinning him to the ground.
Meanwhile, the wulver picked himself up. Blood trickled down his naked chest from what looked like a knife cut below his collarbone.
Heat rolled over Alar. “Who started this?”
The wulver met Alar’s eye, his yellow eyes glinting. “They did,” he barked. “Some of us came in earlier … for a tankard of ale after training. We’d just started drinking when a group of them set upon us.”
“They don’t belong here.” The man wiped blood from a split lip when the enforcers let him go. “Themongrelshave taken our houses … and now they want todrinkwith us? Next, they’ll want to fuck our women.” He spat out a gob of blood and spit on the ground. “It’s too much.”
“You don’t decide what’s too much and what isn’t,” Cailean replied. He then cut the other enforcers a sharp look. “Thalia and Conn … stay here and make sure these two behave themselves, while we deal with the rest.”
The female enforcer with long dark hair braided in thin plaits and a bald male enforcer with massive shoulders both nodded.
Cailean shifted his attention to the fae hound. “Wait, Skaal.” The chief-enforcer turned then and headed for the door.
Alar followed.
A wall of noise hit them as they entered. Grunts and curses, interspersed with shouting and snarling. Before them heaved a sea of men and wulvers. Fists flew, and the lanterns hanging from the beams overhead caught the gleam of flashing blades. The wet sound of iron cleaving into flesh followed.
Alar’s gut clenched in anger. It was frenzied. There were already a few bodies on the ground, but no one seemed to notice. Instead, they were just crushed underfoot as the brawl continued.
Meanwhile, the proprietor—a short, squat man who’d sent his son up to the broch to raise the alarm earlier—stood, pressed up against one wall.
Relief bloomed across his strained face when he spied the chief-enforcer.
“Right,” Cailean said as he flexed his hands at his sides. His tattoos started to glow dull silver in the dimly lit hall. He then glanced across at Alar, meeting his eye squarely for the first time since they’d left the yard before the broch. “Let’s shut this down.”
“There’s been anincident, My Queen.”
Lara glanced up from where she’d been studying the scrolls Gil had found, to see Florie in the doorway. It was getting late, and her attendants were supposed to be finishing their chores for the evening. However, the lass’s face was flushed from her sprint up the stairs. “What’s happened?”
“A clash between wulvers and fort residents … on the second level of the fort.”
Murmuring an oath, Lara rose to her feet. “Is it still going on?”
“No … they managed to break the brawl up … but those responsible have been brought up to the broch.” Florie swallowed nervously. “The prince consort has called for you.”
Lara didn’t need to be told twice. Slinging a cloak around her shoulders, she left her alcove. Out in the stairwell, she picked up her long skirts with one hand and descended the spiral staircase so quickly that she caused the cressets burning upon the stacked-stone walls to gutter.
And when she reached the entrance hall, she found Bree waiting for her.
“Do you know who started it?” she asked her warder as they pushed through the heavy doors.
“A group of drunken Marav, by all accounts,” Bree muttered. “They took issue with wulvers drinking with them … and things turned very nasty.”
Lara’s jaw tightened. It was only a night after Gateway. She’d have thought the residents of Duncrag had better things to do than pick fights with each other. She’d also hoped that things between Marav and wulver had been improving. They’d had several days now to get used to each other, and the Slew attack should have united them.
Instead, it had made her people lash out.
Her temper flared then. She could understand that everyone was on edge after Gateway, but how could folk be so small-minded and foolish? The Shee were breathing down their necks, the Slew had just terrorized them—and the Marav couldn’t see past old prejudices? The wulvers were here to help. They were beings worthy of as much respect as Marav. She wouldn’t tolerate this.
Lara and Bree descended the steps from the broch and stepped out into the torchlit yard before it. The night was foggy, and mist wreathed around the ramparts. After the unearthly screeching of the Slew the night before, it seemed unnaturally quiet.
A bloodied crowd of men and wulvers was held captive by enforcers and warriors in the center of the yard. Cailean, Torran, and Alar stood before them. The chief-enforcer wore a deep scowl, as did his second. However, Alar’s face was stone-hewn. Skaal was there too, standing close to the men, especially. One or two of the Marav cast the glowering fae hound nervous glances.
Uneasiness fluttered in Lara’s belly as she halted before them.
