Page 35 of The Queen and the Half-blood
“Outside the fort?” Gregor asked, leaning forward.
“In the sky … above the woods to the north,” Alar replied.
The chief-sacrificer snapped upright, his eyes narrowing, while next to him, the chief-seer’s long face pinched. Cailean growled a curse.
“We’ve all seen how the Slew have changed over the past years.” The broth and oatcakes that Lara had just consumed churned in her belly. “They’re more vicious at Gateway than they’ve ever been.”
“Aye … but what if they start hunting more than one night a year?” Alar answered.
13: STORM CLOUDS
LOCALS GATHERED ALONG the roadside to see their High Queen off. However, there were no smiles, no cheering and waving at her departure. Just stony silence.
Riding astride Bracken, Lara’s chest tightened as she marked their angry faces. Initially, the people of Doure were shocked at the sight of the wulvers pouring into their fort. Now, they were angry. Alar’s army had helped take back Doure, but that didn’t mean the people were grateful, or that they wanted them to remain here.
And today, they’d learned that a garrison of three hundred would remain at the fort: half wulver, half Marav.
Lara’s council didn’t like it either. They’d pushed back, Cailean and Roth in particular. Her chief-enforcer and captain had met privately with her to discuss it, but she’d reminded them that Mor had already succeeded in taking Doure once, and she’d likely try to take the fort again. Only a powerful garrison would prevent it. Reluctantly, they’d accepted her choice. All the same, arguing with them had left her drained and worried.
She didn’t like locking horns with her advisors, especially Cailean. He wasn’t pleased with her these days.
No one, except Alar, was, it seemed.
She glanced at him then, stalking by her left side while Bree rode at her right. Clad in black and armed with his blades, he unnerved her.
And, of course, his presence just made the localsmoreresentful.
Impatience twisted her belly then. Her stay in Doure had been a brief one, yet she wished she were already back in Duncrag, making plans. Instead, a journey of around eight days awaited her. Gods, she needed to get this cursed handfasting out of the way so she could march north. Since Alar was leaving many wulvers behind in Doure, he’d need to gather more warriors. However, she wouldn’t tolerate any further delays.
To make matters worse, her council was also divided about her decision to return to Duncrag. None of them had wanted her to make a deal with the Half-blood. But now that she had an army of wulvers behind her and had retaken Doure, Roth and Gregor urged her to exploit her advantage—to travel down to Dulross immediately and then strike north from there. But Annis, Ruari, and Ren insisted she should wait. The chief-counsellor said that the omens weren’t good, while the chief-seer warned that the bones were conflicting at present. Meanwhile, Cailean and Bree both advised her to be wary, no matter what path she chose.
And at each meeting, Alar observed them silently—only offering his opinion when asked.
“Traitor!” Her chin jerked up, her gaze scanning the crowd to see who’d just shouted out, but it was impossible to tell.
“Don’t let them get to you, Lara,” Alar said softly. “Change is always difficult at first … but they’ll get used to the new way of things soon enough.”
Tension rippled through her. “Will they?”
“Aye, just give them time.”
Unconvinced, she shifted her gaze ahead, focusing on Bracken’s furry ears.
They left the fort and rode down the steep defile before climbing to the hill west.
A cool salt-laced breeze feathered across Lara’s cheeks as she turned to look back at Doure.
High upon the walls, she spied the outlines of figures—the dull-grey iron helmets of Marav warriors and the beastly profiles of wulvers—against the pale sky.
She twisted back then to see that Alar now stood a few yards away with two of his captains—the wulvers she’d seen him with during the siege, introduced afterward as Lyall and Dolph.
The rest of his army, those who wouldn’t remain in Doure, waited on the edge of the tree line to the north. The breeze stirred the thick fur that covered their faces and necks. The rising sun, and pride, reflected in their yellow eyes.
“Everything is in place,” Alar said, drawing her attention once more. “Our captains will co-rule the fort … they will ensure no Shee will set foot in it again.”
There was a hardness in his voice that made Lara scrutinize him. In the bright morning light, his skin was so pale it was almost translucent, and the scars upon his cheek and neck gleamed like quicksilver. She wondered where he’d gotten them. There was so much she didn’t know about this man.
And yet, she’d made a pact with him.
