Page 16 of The Queen and the Half-blood
Queasiness rolled over her. Upon entering the tent, she’d told the chief-seer about her meeting with Alar. “No,” she ground out, even as she started to sweat. “I won’t do it.” The Hag spare her, she couldn’t make an alliance with that man, even for his army.
Ruari cast her a sidelong look, his pale-blue gaze veiling. “The bones have more to say.” His hand gestured to where two knucklebones overlapped. “The Square Knot lies atop The Shield Knot.”
Her already racing pulse leaped. “What does that mean?”
“It’s not a combination that often falls together … for it urges both trust and courage.” He paused then, his expression suddenly wistful. “It reminds me of something my grandfather used to say. ‘Trust is a blade offered hilt-first—dangerous to give, deadly to refuse’.”
Lara sat back on her heels, frowning. They were words spoken by someone who had no idea what it was like to be a woman in a man’s world. “No,” she murmured. “Trust is just betrayal waiting for the right moment.”
Guards escorted Lara back to her pavilion. It was strange to walk around the camp without Bree at her side. However, since it was late, she’d bid her warder to retire. On the way, they passed a smoldering fire pit where warriors gathered, warming their hands. “Good eve,” she greeted them, injecting a heartiness into her tone she didn’t feel.
The men nodded back. Some of them murmured responses, although she marked the sullenness on their faces, the wariness in their eyes. Her pulse quickened. It was bad enough that her overkings and the chieftains scattered throughout The Wolds doubted she could take back the North—but if her warriors lost faith, it was over.
Spine stiff, she walked on, head held high. Around her, the night was windless and silent, with a watchful quality, like an indrawn breath. The eerie stillness put her already strained nerves on edge.
Were the Half-blood and his wulvers watching from the woods to the north?
Her breathing grew shallow then. Alar commanded a formidable army, and if he chose to attack this camp, they’d be in trouble.
“Have you ever fought a wulver?” she asked one of the men flanking her.
“No, My Queen,” he replied. “They’re craven bastards. Wulvers don’t fight … they cower.”
“And yet the Half-blood says he has amassed an army of them … and that they’ll fight for me.”
The warrior pulled a face, giving her his answer.
They reached the royal pavilion then, and Lara left her escort outside while she pushed aside the flap. Yawning, she ducked inside.
The brazier had burned down low now, just a couple of faintly glowing coals holding back the darkness. The gentle sound ofbreathing greeted Lara. All four of her attendants were fast asleep, curled up like kittens on sheepskins. Skirting around Mirren’s sleeping form, and careful not to wake her, Lara moved to her furs and heeled off her boots. She sighed then. Shades, she was weary. Her feet were heavy, and it felt as if she were dragging rocks behind her.
Turning to the brazier, she raised a clenched hand and let her fingers unfurl. The coals brightened and then burst into flame.
Her lips curved then, as the familiar sensation of greeting an old friend washed over her, easing a little of her fatigue. A moment later, her smile faded. Of course, she’d felt the same way when she’d let the corpse candle dance on her palm. She wouldn’t dare play with fire with an audience, but the brazier had almost gone out. The women who served her were all slumbering deeply, and she wished to have some light to see by.
Shrugging off her fur cloak, she hung it up on a stand. She then moved to a low table in the corner of the tent, kneeling before it. Four rosewood figurines sat there, their polished, carven surfaces gleaming in the light of the brazier. She blinked a few times as her gaze slid over them, her eyes gritty and blurred. The Mother. The Maiden. The Warrior. The Hag. Four of the five Gods of Albia. The fifth, The Reaper, was never represented in art—to do so was to invite ill fortune.
Lara’s chest tightened as she silently whispered a prayer to each God, a ritual that usually steadied her. Kennan had carved these figurines. He’d whittled them over many evenings, especially for her. An image of his handsome face, his teasing smile flashed before her then. Gods, how she missed him. Her brother had died a few turns of the moon before her father—ambushed by the Shee.
Her jaw tightened then, a familiar anger quickening in her belly. Her father had killed him, as surely as if he’d plunged a blade into his son’s chest himself. His lust for power, forrevenge, had turned him blind to all else.The bastard sacrificed us all.
Kennan would have made a good High King. He’d spent his life preparing for it, whereas the role had been thrust upon her. However, she’d worked tirelessly to catch up. Ever since taking the throne, she’d studied history and battle tactics. She’d worked closely with her overkings, even though both men patronized her, and rebuilt her army. She’d given rousing speeches to the people of Duncrag, promising them that she’d reclaim the lands that had been taken, that she’d drive the Shee out of Albia.
But she’d yet to deliver. Of course, for all her determination, she was inexperienced in the art of war.
What advice would you give me now, Kennan?Sometimes she liked to think her brother’s shade was near, watching over her. She asked him things she wouldn’t ask others.Did I make a mistake laying siege to Doure?
Reaching out, she picked up the figurine of The Warrior. The feel of the smooth rosewood in her grip made the tension under her breastbone ease a little. Moments passed, and her eyes flickered closed.
No, this was the right path. Theonlypath.
The Gods were with her, and The Warrior would guide them in the coming days.
Her people required action. She’d waited long enough, gaining strength, but now was the time to strike. She squeezed the figurine tightly. She’d known this wouldn’t be easy. She was ready for a fight.
Lara opened her eyes and replaced The Warrior next to the others on the low table. Rising to her feet, she padded across to her furs, sliding into their soft embrace. She then heaved a heavy sigh. This was a day she desperately wanted to forget.
Shifting her attention to the flickering brazier, she surveyed the prone figures lying nearby to reassure herself that everyonewas still sleeping. Then, she extended her hand, stretching out her fingers. The flames flickered and danced, and something inside her unraveled as she gazed at their beauty.
