Page 38 of The Queen and the Half-blood
“THIS IS AN insult.”
Leaning back in her carven throne, Lara swallowed a sigh. “Come, Artair … let’s not be overly dramatic.”
The overking of Baldeen’s face turned the color of liver, his ring-encrusted hand tightening around the stem of his goblet. A few feet away, King Niall of Braewall had stilled, his dark-blue eyes fixed upon Lara as if she’d just turned into one of the Slew.
“You have doomed us!” Artair was determined not to be silenced.
Lara met the overking’s eye, her own temper quickening now. These two pricks wouldn’t have dared to challenge her father’s decisions. “No, I did this to save my people.”
Artair let out a harsh laugh. “What? You think sharing the furs with that half-breed outlaw … and allowing wulvers to dwell amongst us, will turn the tide?”
Her heart started to thump against her ribs. “It already has … Doure is ours, and we couldn’t have taken it without his help.”
“Alar mac Struana has a price on his head in Baldeen,” Artair shot back. “Did you know that?”
Lara stilled. No, she hadn’t, although she wouldn’t embarrass herself by admitting such, or asking what he was wanted for.
The three of them sat at a table upon the high seat at the end of her hall. Bree, Cailean, and Skaal stood behind Lara, silent and watchful. Annis was also present. She looked on from thefar end of the high seat, hands folded in front of her. The chief-counsellor’s gaze was narrowed, her white robes glowing in the light of the two large hearths that burned against the northern wall. Pungent peat smoke drifted up through the air vents. It was mid-afternoon, and both of her overkings had just arrived.
Upon Lara’s return to Duncrag, she’d let the fort elders and the headmen who kept order in the various levels of the fort know what had transpired. She’d also sent word immediately to both Baldeen and Braewall, informing her overkings as well.
The elders and headmen weren’t happy about her choice, and so she hadn’t expected a warm response from her overkings either. Their presence here wasn’t a surprise. What had taken her aback though, was that they’d turned uptogether. A united front. Did they hope that by ganging up on her, they’d have their way?
It was too late for that. The wheels of war were already moving. Ever since her return, Cailean and Roth had been busy preparing for their campaign to The Uplands. Gateway was just over a moon’s turn away now, and as soon as it passed, they’d march north.
“The deal has been struck,” she said, breaking the heavy silence. “I agreed to wed Alar … and in a few days, he shall bring his wulvers south.” Her belly churned as she said these words. She’d accepted what needed to happen, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t dreading his arrival, or their handfasting. Where was Alar now? Had he managed to rally more wulvers, as promised? “Duncrag shall welcome them. I will then become his wife.”
“You said you’d never take a husband.” Niall found his tongue then. Ruddy spots of color had appeared upon his high cheekbones. “I am married to Albia, you said … remember?”
Aye, she remembered. It was what she’d told Niall when he’d lowered himself onto one knee before her two years earlier and proposed. Tall and rakishly handsome, with thick oak-coloredhair combed back and fastened at his nape, he was around her own age. The young overking of Braewall was full of himself. He’d been sure Lara would agree to wed him and was insulted when she turned him down.
Lara didn’t like his tone. Gripping her carven armrests, she leaned forward, spearing him with her gaze. “Iamwedded to Albia,” she replied coldly, “even more than before. That’s why I have sacrificed my own wishes, my ownhappiness, for the greater good. Do you think I wanted to make such an alliance?”
Annis shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her lips pursing slightly. A warning to keep her temper in check.
A nerve ticked in Niall’s cheek, while Artair’s face was still dangerously red. The King of Braewall had always been strong and well-built, yet a surfeit of rich food since he’d been crowned was taking its toll. The past couple of winters had been harsh, and The Wolds had teetered on the edge of famine, but Artair mac Neathan clearly hadn’t been going without.
The silence drew out, the air sharp with tension.
Lara heaved in a deep breath. It was time to try and rescue this situation. They needed to talk about something else while they composed themselves. “How are things at Braewall, Niall?” she asked. When he didn’t answer, she pressed on. “Is there any word on your brother?”
A muscle flexed in the overking’s strong jaw. “None.”
She inclined her head. Just after Mid-winter Fire, news had reached Duncrag that the overking’s younger brother had disappeared under suspicious circumstances. There were rumors that Niall had something to do with it. Braewall’s new overking was ambitious—perhaps he worried his brother had designs on his throne. There was no evidence though, just whispers.
It wasn’t the best choice of subject, especially since she was supposed to be smoothing Niall’s ruffled feathers. She shouldhave left things there, yet she couldn’t help but dig deeper. “Do you suspect foul play?”
“Possibly,” Niall replied coolly. “He went out for an evening’s drinking at an ale-hall … but hasn’t been seen since.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
He pulled a face, making it clear he didn’t care.
Lara shifted her attention to Artair. “And what of Baldeen? I hear it was a much better harvest this year.”
“You won’t change the subject so easily,” Artair ground out, his peat-brown eyes glittering. “Not after what you’ve done.”
Lara frowned. The bastard was like a dog with a bone.
