Page 86 of The Queen and the Half-blood
Lara’s lips curved. She’d never done that before. It dawned upon her then that the flames were fickle. They didn’t like to be dominated or ordered around, which she’d mistakenly done at Gateway; instead, they had to be treated with respect. Elation swept over her—reminding her of how she’d felt that evening in the woods when the corpse candle had danced like a pixie on her palm—although she quickly throttled the emotion.
Calmness returned. Continuing to rub the stone, she ‘asked’ one of the flames to move into the center of the circle—and it did. She then concentrated on that single flame, watching as it rose like a burning pillar.
Nearby, Bree breathed something under her breath. However, Lara ignored her. She couldn’t let anything distract her from the flame.
She nudged it once more with her mind, a gentle request, and the flame began to curl and twist before splitting off into four tongues. Exactly as she’d requested.
Her eyes grew wide. It was difficult to keep calm now, not when she’d been so successful. She wanted to flash Alar a victory grin, but to do so would shatter the connection she’d formed. No, she’d celebrate later.
For now, she’d enjoy this moment. Silently.
Alar swirled the dregs of wine in his cup and glanced across at where his wife was brushing her hair, readying herself to retire. The light of the nearby brazier caught the red in her auburn hair and burnished her creamy skin. “That was impressive earlier.”
Lara cut her gaze his way, her lips pursing.
His praise washed off her these days. He’d hurt her more deeply than he’d realized.
Discomfort stirred within him then. Navigating this marriage was like trying to swim across a loch infested with aughisky. One wrong move and he’d be pulled under. When Lara had confided in him, he’d panicked. They were getting too close; he couldn’t let her expect anything from him. But ever since he’d pushed her away, he’d regretted his harshness.
The urge to apologize to her rose then, but he smashed it down.
Justify nothing. Regret nothing. A mercenary he’d once shared an ale with, years ago now, had told him that. He’d never forgotten—indeed, he’d lived by those words ever since.
It was getting late. They’d returned from the ‘practice pavilion’ and shared a silent cup of wine. Lara had ignored himas they sat by the brazier, her eyes unfocused as she stared into the flames.
“I mean it,” he said, even as guilt needled him once more. “You showed remarkable control … for a beginner.”
She pulled another face before dragging the hog bristle brush through her hair with more force than necessary. “It better be enough.” Her tone was clipped. She refused to meet his eye.
“It has to be.”
Her fine features tensed. “What if the Slew return before I’m ready?”
“They probably will.” She cut him a sharp look then, her brows drawing together. However, he merely shrugged. “And you’ll repel them as you did at Gateway … but with a little more control.”
Lara looked away once more. “And how will I wield fire without anyone recognizing me?”
Alar lifted a hand and stroked his chin. “You’re right,” he murmured. “That’s an issue.”
“Aye … and one we can’t ignore.” Lara rose to her feet and moved across to the pile of furs in the corner of the royal pavilion, her bare feet sinking into the sheepskins. She wore nothing but a thin linen tunic that clung to her lithe body as she walked.
Alar blinked before cutting his gaze back to the smoldering embers of the brazier. Moments passed before he cleared his throat. “I might have a solution.”
31: THE FIRE WRAITH
“THE SLEW ARE back.”
Glancing up from where she’d been checking Bracken’s hooves, Lara met Cailean’s eye. He’d just appeared in the enclosure, next to where Bree was rubbing down her sturdy cob. The chief-enforcer’s expression was grim.
Chin kicking up, Lara looked west. Dusk came early now that Gateway lay behind them and the bitter season approached. Sure enough, in the distance, she spied familiar dark, swirling clouds. “Fuck,” she breathed.
Her pulse went wild then. She wasn’t up to this. Not in the slightest.
They were only two nights into their journey north. Dulross was still at least three days’ ride away. She’d hoped to have more time to practice, to improve on what she’d learned.
But the Gods wished to throw her to the wolves.
Ducking out of the enclosure, she strode toward the heart of the camp. Wordlessly, Bree fell in step next to her. They both knew what she needed to do. She had to get to her pavilion and don the disguise Alar had created for her.
