Page 101 of The Queen and the Half-blood
She hadn’t been able to study him like this in the past, without fear of being caught staring. But now she drank him in.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Well …” Her own mouth curved. Then, reaching out, she began to trace letters upon his naked chest, next to where his wolf’s head tattoo gently rose and fell with each breath. He couldn’t read or write, but she’d show him, nonetheless. “This is my name.” She drew each letter with care. “And this is yours.” Slowly, she spelled his name too. “A. L. A. R.” She paused then, letting him focus on what she’d just written upon his skin. “Did you notice I used the same shapes?”
Their gazes met once more. His grey eyes were hooded, sleepy, yet something glinted in their depths. “Aye … you’re right.”
“A coincidence, isn’t it?”
His mouth twitched. “Maybe.”
“Or perhaps it's fate playing its part again.”
She was straying into dangerous waters again here. However, after what had just passed between them, she felt bold.
“You think fate brought us together?” His voice was low, although she didn’t miss the faint teasing note in it. “Not the Gods?”
“It’s the same thing … for the Gods weave our fates,” she replied.
He didn’t answer that, although a thoughtful look flickered across his features. “My mother named me after my uncle.”
She inclined her head, keen to know more about his past. There was so much she had to learn about him. “Aye?”
“He died before I was born … strayed too close to a ruin on a hunting trip and was attacked by powries.”
Lara suppressed a shudder at this, recalling her own close brush with the murderous imps. “Lara was my grandmother’s name,” she replied. “She too died before I was born … although, according to my father, it was a fever that took her.”
He was looking at her in that way of his that made her feel as if she was being laid bare. All signs of humor had drained from his face.
Breathing shallowly, Lara dropped her attention to where her fingertip still traced patterns upon his naked chest. Letting the moment draw out, she began to follow the outline of the wolf’s head tattoo, inked in blue woad upon his skin.
“I’ve always wanted to ask you about this,” she admitted finally. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. A tattooist in Braewall did it.”
“It’s a recent one, isn’t it?” Indeed, the marks were still sharp, not yet blurred by time.
He nodded. “I had it done around five years ago. The woman used to be a druid … a sacrificer who’d once served the arch-druid on The Isle of Arryn.”
Lara listened with interest. Most of those gifted with druidic abilities ended up serving the rulers of Albia or the arch-druid. However, she’d heard that some druids did turn their backs on their calling, although those who did often found life difficult. Their abilities set them apart from others. Many became recluses or vagrants, not fitting in anywhere.
“Well, she’s talented indeed.” Lara ran her fingertip along the wolf’s bared teeth. “Sometimes, I swear this wolf is watching me.”
Did she imagine it, or did he stiffen slightly under her touch? The moment was fleeting though, and then he relaxed oncemore. “Really?” His tone was casual, too much so, and she raised her gaze, meeting his once more.
“Aye … she didn’t weave earth magic into it, did she?”
He gave a soft snort. “Such a thing is forbidden, Lara … except for druids.”
She held his eye. “Aye … but that doesn’t mean that a former sacrificer wouldn’t weave magic into a tattoo … if the price was right.”
Their gazes held before his mouth quirked. “All right then … she might have.”
Intrigued now, Lara placed the palm of her hand over the tattoo. “And?”
“It’s nothing like druidic tattoos, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he replied, his smile tightening a little. “I can’t summon earth magic to fight … or use it in song, to access visions or speak to the Gods … but when she marked me, the tattooist imbued thespiritof the wolf.”
“Strong and loyal,” Lara murmured. “Yet ruthless and cunning.”
