Page 36 of The Queen and the Half-blood
“I can return to Duncrag with peace of mind then?”
He nodded. “Of course.”
“You’d better be right, Half-blood,” Cailean muttered. “Or we’ve just created more problems than we’ve solved.”
Stiffening, Lara cast a glance over her shoulder at her scowling chief-enforcer. A few yards away, Roth waited, astride his stallion, his strong jaw bunched. Meanwhile, the rest of her council gathered farther back—none of them were smiling.
Her skin prickled then. The tension in the air was unbearable. Everyone was watching her, judging her.
“Right … it’s time to go.” She was suddenly desperate to take her leave of this man and his silently watching wulvers. Their stares held a challenge.
He smiled. “You and I shall meet again at Duncrag within the turn of the moon.”
There was a promise in the way he’d said those last words. He might as well have said:You will soon be mine.
Dread lodged like a brick in her gut. She didn’t want to think about what that entailed. She didn’t want to think about being bedded by him. Her brief marriage to Dunchadh had made her swear never to suffer a man’s touch again—and now, here she was about to go through the same ordeal.
Making a deal with the Half-blood had seemed like a wise choice when she’d been staring defeat in the face, but with each passing day, regret gathered like storm clouds within her. Nonetheless, she had to keep focused on why she was doing this and just what was at stake. Someone had to make the hard choices.
“I shall bid you safe travels then,” she replied stiffly, gathering her reins. “And shall await you in Duncrag in due course.” She paused for a moment. “As soon as the handfasting is done, we must make plans to march north.”
He inclined his head. “We can leave just after Gateway … if that suits you?”
“It does.”
“Until our next meeting,” he answered, with a smile, taking a step back. His black cloak billowed behind him as he turned and strode away, Lyall and Dolph flanking him.
Lara watched him go.
The High Queen’s army moved with frustrating slowness, snaking through the thickly wooded hills of the borderlands.They brought their captives with them. The Shee walked ahead of Lara and her escort, with their wrists bound at their backs.
They didn’t wear iron shackles or collars, for the metal would burn their skin and eventually kill them. Even so, Cailean and Roth didn’t trust their captives—least of all Fern Sablebane—not to make trouble. As such, enforcers flanked them, as did blue-robed bards. The low hum of voices drifted through the air that was thick with the scent of pine, ash, and damp, peaty earth. The bards sang a dirge as they walked, weaving earth magic about their captives.
Many of the Shee’s faces were set, their shoulders rounded under the weight of the druidic magic that flowed around them. They hated it almost as much as they did iron.
And as the morning drew out, and they inched their way southwest, Lara’s gaze often flicked to her would-be assassin. There was something about the Shee female that needled her. Even with her wrists bound, Sablebane was defiant. Unlike most of the other captives, she wasn’t cowed. She held her chin at an arrogant tilt, her black hair tumbling down her straight back. Even being burned by iron hadn’t broken her.
Lara hated to admit it, but the female unsettled her. She was a reminder of what dangerous adversaries the Shee were.
“DoallShee females have backbones of tempered steel?” she asked Bree eventually.
Her warder laughed, and her response made the knots in Lara’s belly loosen just a little. Things had been strained between her and Bree over the past days, but she was relieved to see her thaw a little. “Aye … most do.”
Lara studied Bree’s face, remembering just how intimidating she’d been in her Shee form. “It might sound foolish … but I thought you were unique.”
Her friend shrugged. “Aye, well … your captives are all warriors too … and they’ve hadcenturiesto hone their skills.”
Lara’s palms grew damp at these words. The Shee couldn’t be underestimated. How she wished they were heading to Dulross right now. But she couldn’t. Not without the Half-blood’s army. Without them—even with druids—they’d never take back the North.
“We can’t rely on the wulvers, My Queen.”
Lara swallowed a sigh. She’d been dreading this meeting and had known her advisors wouldn’t hold back. Alar’s presence at every council in Doure had checked them. However, the first words out of Annis’s mouth were a direct challenge.
After a long day’s travel through glorious autumn sunshine—where the light was deep gold and every detail was etched in sharp relief—they’d just made camp. Lara was weary and hungry, but she had to face her council first.
“No, we can’t,” Cailean agreed roughly, even as he gently stroked the thick fur on Skaal’s back. The fae hound had pressed her large hairy body up against his as he stood before the meeting table. “Once we get back to Duncrag, we should increase security.”
“Aye … the Fort Guard will need to be ready for them,” Roth said, folding his muscular arms across his chest. “I shall recruit more warriors from The Wolds … although that might prove a challenge these days.”
