Page 73 of The Queen and the Half-blood
Gregor, who was bleeding from a cut to his forehead, lurched to his feet from the foot of the high seat and staggered through the debris that now littered the floor toward the entrance hall. They needed the chief-sacrificer too, if they were to keep the Slew out.
From where she sat crumpled upon the raised dais, Lara gazed around her. It was a mess in here. The fire had scorched the interior of the hall. The heavy wooden beams crisscrossing above smoked. Black scorch marks covered the stacked-stone walls.
Annis sat a few yards away, cradling what appeared to be a broken arm. Her face was blistered from the heat that had roared through the hall. Meanwhile, Gil crawled over to his sister. Bree had just roused herself from where she’d hit the wall earlier. Her hazel eyes were unfocused, her face flushed.
“Lara.” A gravelly voice drew her attention then.
Her gaze jerked to where Alar limped toward her. He’d returned from the entrance hall. His left leg was bleeding, and claw marks bloodied his right shoulder and arm. Unlike Annis, he’d managed to avoid being burned. Nonetheless, sweat slicked his face, neck, and bare arms.
His gaze raked over her. “Are you hurt?”
Lara swallowed as her mouth filled with saliva. “I don’t know.”
He knelt before her and, reaching out, took one of her hands, checking it as if looking for blisters and burns. “How,” he said roughly, “did you managethat?”
“I’m not sure,” she whispered.
Their gazes met and held for a long moment. “I suspected … that you had fire magic in your veins,” he murmured. “But I never imagined—”
“Neither did I.” Lara shuddered as chills rippled through her. Now that she’d severed the link with the fire, she was suddenly cold. “I’ve been able to … play … with flames for a while now … but I’ve never wielded it properly. Not like that.”
“You never confided in anyone?”
She shook her head, even as her teeth chattered. “Fire magic is o… outlawed, Alar … G… Gods know what my father would have done had he known.”
His sharp features tightened. They both knew what he would have done. Daughter or not, Lara wouldn’t have been allowed to live. The Royal line of Albia had made the law clear over the centuries. Fire magic was forbidden—even to a High Queen. She could try and change the law now, but that wouldn’t change people’s prejudices. They’d fear her. Turn on her.
“I shouldn’t have used it,” Lara said, her throat hurting with each word. “But I … I couldn’t let you … all … die.”
Alar stared down at her. She’d expected to see censure flare in his eyes, or even fear, after what she’d done. But instead, all she saw was concern, and something oddly tender that made her throat tighten.
“Can you stand?” he asked after a pause.
“I’m not sure.”
“Let’s see then.”
Gently, he took hold of her arm and helped her up. Lara’s legs trembled like a newborn foal’s. Chills wracked her body. She felt ill, as if she had a fever. Wielding fire did indeed have its price, it seemed, and she was paying it.
26: THE FIRE-WIELDER
“LET ME LOOK at your injuries.”
Lara’s voice was surprisingly strong as she rose to her feet. Alar wasn’t fooled though. Wielding fire had left her shaky and feverish. After the Slew attack, he’d bid one of the trembling servants to fetch a blanket for the High Queen. The lad had done so swiftly. Meanwhile, Alar had led his wife over to one of the hearths, which now burned sedately. She needed to keep warm.
“They can wait,” he replied, even as the burning in his leg, upper arm, and thigh started to throb.Fuck.That Slew’s claws had been like meat hooks.
Ignoring him, Lara shrugged off the blanket and crossed to where the broch’s healer was bathing the blisters that marred one side of the chief-counsellor’s face. Annis was fortunate not to have been roasted by the flames.
With a nod to the healer—a tall woman clad in mauve robes with short blonde hair and pale, knowing eyes—Lara dug around in the basket, extracting a stoppered clay bottle. She then helped herself to a clean piece of linen and gestured for Alar to take a seat upon the stool she’d just vacated.
Reluctantly, he obeyed. As a rule, he didn’t enjoy being fussed over.
Despite that the Slew still wailed outdoors—a sound that reminded him of keening now—the interior of the hall was eerily silent. Acrid smoke caught in the back of his throat from thesmoking beams overhead, and he coughed. Three of the warriors who’d been injured by the Slew, and blistered by their High Queen’s wrath, lay upon the rush-strewn floor. Bree’s brother, Gil, tended to them. It appeared the archivist had other talents besides sorting through dusty scrolls.
The doors to the broch had finally been secured once more, and the chief-enforcer had returned to the hall. Grim-faced, Cailean sat with his wife. Bree, who usually looked so indomitable, leaned against him. Her face was pale, although an angry red lump had come up on her forehead.
“I thought the Slew were drawn only to the weak and the fearful,” Ruari muttered. The chief-seer sat on a stool near the hearth, his green cloak wrapped tightly around him. His thin face was pale and pinched.
