Page 65 of The Queen and the Half-blood
Lara’s pulse fluttered in her throat. The chief-sacrificer was right. She’d been so occupied by political matters of late that she’d given little time to The Unforgiven.
“There haven’t been any sightings of them in the past moon,” Cailean answered.
Gregor scowled. “Aye, but Gateway’s looming.”
Lara began drumming the fingertips of her right hand on the table. The light of the cresset burning behind her glowed in the amber depths of theOrd-ree seal. “We aren’t leaving untilafterGateway, anyway,” she reminded her council, tempering her irritation. They’d all agreed on this plan, but now they were having second thoughts. “The Unforgiven hopefully won’t give us any problems.”
Gregor didn’t look convinced.
“I’ve been searching the archives for information about the Slew,” Gil said then. “Nothing new has cropped up yet … but I can keep looking.”
Lara glanced her archivist’s way. Gil sat to Bree’s left, his eyes watchful, as always. “Aye … do that,” she answered with a nod. Perhaps their odd behavior could be explained. There was nothing to say it wasn’t cyclical.
She then shifted her attention to her husband. “What do you think, Alar?”
He inclined his head. “About the Slew?”
“About everything we’ve talked about.” She could feel Roth’s glare boring into her; he was angry that she sought the prince consort’s opinion rather than her captain’s. She did, for her husband was a clever strategist.
Alar stroked his jaw as he considered her question. “Who knows what will happen with the Slew,” he replied finally. “I wouldn’t let them sway you. I agree with you, Lara. We should march before winter … not wait for the Shee to attack first.” Hisgaze glinted as he met her eye. “My wulvers are primed … you need only say the word.”
Warmth flared under Lara’s ribs. Once again, she appreciated his support. Sometimes she felt like a lone reed in the wind. She itched to get her campaign underway. She had to show her people that her word meant something. She would take back what the Shee had stolen. She would protect them.
Alar understood what drove her. Why didn’t everyone else?
“It’s settled then,” she said with a decisive nod, catching Roth’s eye to ensure he heeded her. “We move after Gateway, as planned. We shall strike out from Dulross and march on Strath.”
Tension rippled around the table, yet no one argued with her this time. Only the chief-sacrificer dared speak up. “If you are truly resolved to take this path, My Queen, I shall ensure my sacrificers begin a nightly vigil,” Gregor muttered. “We’re going to need the Gods on our side.”
Gil was hunched over a stack of dusty parchments, with a manuscript brush made of feathers in hand, when Lara pushed aside the heavy curtain and entered the alcove.
Three years earlier, she’d put him in charge of looking after the jumble of scrolls in her father’s possession that recorded the history of Albia. Barely six moons later, they’d discovered another cache of ancient parchments in a vault under the broch, near the healer’s chamber, and Lara had moved him to larger quarters—one with four smaller alcoves off this one, where he could store the scrolls he was slowly working his way through.
Straightening up, the archivist pushed the wavy brown hair out of his eyes. “I didn’t expect a visit from you at this hour, My Queen,” he greeted her. His expression grew teasing then. “Tired of your husband already?”
Lara snorted. “My husband is training with his wulvers.”
“After dark?”
“Aye … it’s their way.”
In truth, she found this habit odd, but she didn’t question it. Alar wanted his wulvers to be fighting ready, and she appreciated his dedication. Even so, it meant that they spent little time together.
And to her surprise, she found herself missing his company. They hadn’t been married long, yet she was more comfortable with him than she’d expected.
He hadn’t touched her since the handfasting though, and she found that strange too. A part of her was relieved. He supported his wife while giving her the space she needed, and she was grateful. Nonetheless, there was a traitorous, soft part of her that felt rejected.
Rejected?Irritation spiked through her.Listen to yourself.
“Have you managed to find anything at all of note about the Slew?”
Gil raised an eyebrow at her abrupt change of subject, yet took the point. “A few mentions, here and there. However, so far, I’ve found only one scroll that goes into detail about them.” He motioned to where a rolled parchment sat on the desk nearby.
“Can I take a look?”
He nodded, gesturing to the stool next to the desk.
Lara settled herself before it and carefully untied the leather thong around the scroll. Then, unfurling it, she began to read. It wasn’t easy to follow, and she had to concentrate on the loopy script on the parchment and the archaic writing style. “This was written by my great-great-grandfather’s steward,” she murmured after reading the introduction.
