Page 8 of The Queen and the Half-blood
She’d heed the warning, yet she couldn’t let Annis’s words get to her.
“What do the bones tell you, Ruari?” She shifted focus to the lanky, solemn-faced man clad in blue who stood next to the chief-bard.
“Little, My Queen,” he replied.
“No troubling dreams?”
The chief-seer shook his head. He then glanced nervously over at Annis. “None.”
Lara sank down into the furs and rubbed at her temples. A headache thumped behind her eyes. A few feet away, her handmaid, Mirren, warmed some milk in a pan over the nearby brazier, while her other attendants—Florie, Ani, and Lilith—readied clothing and food for the morning, for they’d be making a swift and early departure.
As she worked, Mirren kept darting Lara concerned looks. “Should I get Eldra to mix you a tonic?”
Lara shook her head. “I’m fine.”
Her maid gave a soft snort. “You were attacked by powries this evening, My Queen … no one would think less of you for being shaken.”
Lara grimaced. “I’m not so sure about that,” she replied. “By now, everyone will be gossiping about the foolish woman who recklessly left her escort behind before allowing a corpse candle to lure her away.”
Ani and Lilith—two red-haired sisters who’d only recently joined the High Queen’s personal staff—stilled in their work, their gazes flicking up. Meanwhile, Florie’s already doe-like eyes grew huge upon her thin face. Although Lara spoke informally with Mirren and Bree at times, she rarely did when anyone else was present.
Tonight though, in the aftermath of the attack, and with her temples pounding, her defenses had lowered.
Mirren shook her head, causing her curly brown hair, which often had a life of its own, to bounce. “No, they won’t … instead, they’ll be thanking The Mother that you’re alive.” Pouring the milk from a pot into an earthen cup, she then carried it across to the furs.
Lara sighed, wrapping her fingers around the cup. “All the same, I’ll be more careful in future.”
Mirren’s sea-blue eyes shadowed. “Good,” she said softly. “Albia needs you …weneed you.”
Lara smiled. Mirren had been with her since before her marriage to Dunchadh of Braewall. Their friendship was a gentle one, and their differing ranks meant there was a reserve between them that didn’t exist between Lara and Bree. But it was something she could count on.
“Thank you, Mirren,” she murmured. “I will remember that.”
4: BY A THREAD
A STORM OF yew arrows flew from the walls, peppering the Marav front ranks.
The High Queen’s army was prepared. Led by Roth on one flank and Cailean on the other, they raised their sturdy oak and iron shields, forming a tight vee-shaped shieldwall as they advanced.
Lara watched from astride her feather-footed mare, upon the crest of a hill west of the fort. They’d reached Doure mid-morning to find it shrouded in sea fret. And, of course, the enemy had marked their approach and was ready for them.
Sucking in a deep breath of the damp, smoky air, she scanned the walls. She could see the outlines of Shee up there, dark silhouettes against the grey. Silver glinted in the dull light. Sheehallion steel.
Lara’s fingers tightened around the reins.
She had to take this fort back. Over the past turn of the year, the Raven Queen had stretched out her hand, pulling the villages and smaller forts in the southern reaches of The Uplands within her grasp. If something wasn’t done, they’d cross into The Wolds.
Lara cut Bree a look then. Her warder was mounted upon a stocky dun gelding, watching their army edge its way toward the defile.
“I didn’t realize justhowhigh Doure’s perch is,” Lara admitted then, raising her voice to be heard above the thumpof marching feet, the rattle of iron, and the whistle of flying arrows. Indeed, with the fog curling around it, obscuring the Sea of Sorrows farther east, the fort—with its lofty stone walls—appeared a crow’s nest. Seemingly impenetrable.
“Aye,” Bree replied. “The Marav have always excelled at building well-defended forts.”
A roar went up then. Their army had reached the defile and was now putting up long ladders. And all the while, arrows rained down upon them. Flaming projectiles followed, lighting up the gloomy morning.
Lara’s breathing grew shallow. How many of those arrowheads were coated in Nightbane? Thanks to Bree, they now knew the name of the poison and how to counteract it. The problem was though that Nightbane worked swiftly. They had to remove the arrow and administer the mashed root of mugwort as soon as possible, or an excruciating death would follow.
“They need to get those ladders up faster,” Bree muttered. “They’re leaving themselves too exposed.”
