Page 43 of The Queen and the Half-blood
The wulvers entered the fort to the clang of iron.
The noise didn’t surprise Alar. In every Marav settlement in The Wolds, smiths were hard at work forging weapons to combat the Shee—they had been for years now.
It didn’t surprise him either that their arrival drew crowds.
Men, women, and bairns gathered around the large dirt meeting ground inside the gates and lined The Thoroughfare, all gawking rudely at Alar and his companions. Of course, many of them had never seen wulvers before.
Today changed all that.
It wasn’t Alar’s first trip to Duncrag in his seventy-two summers. He’d visited a few times, mainly to pick up weapons or supplies. He’d always enjoyed the vibrancy of Albia’s capital, even if the acrid tang of iron in the air mixed with the ripe odor of too many bodies living in close quarters, and the stench from the open sewers on the lower levels, called for a strong stomach.
Fortunately, as they climbed The Thoroughfare through the various levels, with densely-packed roundhouses and sod-roofed cottages lining the way, the smell improved.
However, the mood amongst the inhabitants didn’t.
He caught their muttering, the growled curses. Some even spat on the ground as the wulvers approached, although thetimid amongst them clutched iron protection amulets and murmured prayers to the Gods.
Alar couldn’t help but smirk at their superstition.Fools.
He noted then, on the fringes of the swelling crowd, many leather-clad warriors, domed iron helmets jammed upon their heads and spears in their hands. The High Queen had sent out her Fort Guard to ensure Alar and his army could enter unmolested.
Or to prevent fighting from breaking out.
Up they climbed, until finally, they crested the tip of the promontory.
Duncrag was immense, many times larger than Doure, and from the top, Alar had a wide view of pinewoods and hills to the south and west, the edge of an estuary to the east, and the craggy outline of the Shiel Range to the north.
But his attention didn’t linger on the views for long. Instead, he focused on the high walls surrounding the massive beehive-shaped broch.
Anticipation tightened his stomach.
Lara would be waiting for him.
He had to be wary of his bride-to-be. She’d made that blood oath in an act of desperation, but a moon had turned since then. No doubt, she was looking for an excuse to break their agreement.
He wouldn’t let her.
Alar strode through the open gates and into the wide courtyard before the broch. He spied Lara then, standing in front of the vast oaken doors leading inside. His step slowed as he raked his gaze over her, from the crown of her head to her sandalled feet. Her thick auburn waves had been tamed into twin coils, amber pendants hung from her ears, and a gleaming bronze torque encircled her throat, while bronze, silver, and gold rings decorated her bare arms. She wore a gold-trimmed, jade-green sleeveless tunic that reached the ankle, and a thick wolf’s pelt hung from her shoulders.
Her warder and the chief-enforcer flanked her, while more black-clad enforcers stood below them on the steps. Mac Brochan’s fae hound was present too—and its golden eyes fastened on Alar. Despite that the beast had displayed a surprising affection for him in Doure, the hound’s stare was a little unsettling.
Lara held herself proudly. However, her heart-shaped face was pale, strained.
Discomfort flickered through Alar then, catching him unawares.
What was this?
When they’d met outside Doure, she’d been dressed in hard-wearing, practical tunics, for she was on campaign, with little jewelry or finery. But now she was back in Duncrag and dressed like a High Queen once more, he suddenly felt unworthy of her. Scarred and covered in dirt and sweat from days on the road, he looked like the outcast he was.
Irritation sliced through him then.
Unworthy?
He’d spent most of his life clawing out of that fucking pit. He wasn’t going back there. Ever.
His bride-to-be might look as untouchable as The Maiden, but he’d earned a place at her side. He’d worked up to this moment for so long, the fact that it was finally coming true made the situation feel surreal, as if it were happening to someone else.
But it was his moment, and he’d grasp it with both hands.
