Page 79 of The Queen and the Half-blood
She hadn’t seen her husband truly vexed before.
“Fucking wolf scum!” One of the Marav—a huge man with a jutting jaw—shouted then. “You brought the Slew down upon us!”
“Aye, that’s right,” one of the wulvers—young and lanky with a bleeding gash down one arm—snarled back, deliberately goading. “Pity they missed you … maybe they avoid the ones who are as thick as pig shit!”
With a roar, the big man twisted out of a warrior’s grip and hurled himself at the wulver. An instant later, they were rolling on the ground.
And as Lara looked on, shocked by the hostility that crackled in the air now, the Marav, who had big scarred hands, started throttling his opponent.
Alar strode into the fray.
His booted foot struck out, catching the man in the ribs. Hard.
The man cursed, releasing his grip on the wulver’s throat. A heartbeat later, warriors gripped both individuals and hauled them apart.
Lara stepped up to Alar’s side. “These men think the wulvers brought the Slew here?”
“It’s just an excuse,” Alar said roughly, his gaze never leaving the big man who’d started the fight. She could feel the anger vibrating off her husband. “Earlier, they were whining about the smell of smoking fish. They wanted to lash out … and they have.”
The man flexed his scarred hands at his sides and spat a gob of blood on the ground. “We don’t want their kind living amongst us,” he growled. “Send the craven,unnaturalfuckers back to the woods, where they belong.”
Lara drew in a deep breath, even as anger started to pulse in her stomach. Ignorance. It was written all over his face. He and his friends didn’t care that Albia was teetering on a knife-edge, and that this alliance could save them. What mattered more was clinging to their prejudice. It gave them rules to live by and the illusion of control in a world where there was none.
But she wouldn’t stand for it. She wouldn’t continue her father’s legacy.
She caught a glimmer out of the corner of her eye and realized her ring was responding to her kindling fury. Swiftly, she clasped her hands before her, covering theOrd-ree sealwith her fingers lest it betray her.
Her gaze met the man’s then. “The wulvers will give us back the North,” she said coldly. “You should show them some gratitude.”
He raked his gaze over her. He took his time, making sure everyone present marked his disrespect. His thick lips then twisted. “And you certainly have,” he murmured. “I bet you thank the Half-blood every night in the furs when he humps you.”
Heat washed over Lara. His insult wasn’t original, yet it cut deep, all the same. Was that how her people saw her? The Half-blood’s whore?
However, she never had a chance to answer him, for the rasp of iron against leather cut through the misty yard. An instant later, Alar lunged forward and drove a dagger into his throat.
The man choked, sinking to his knees. Shock flared in his eyes.
Yanking the blade free, Alar stepped back, watching while blood pumped from his thick neck. Clutching at the wound, his gaze frightened now, the man slumped on his side, twitching as he died.
A hush fell then, stretching out as Alar met Lara’s eye. Her heart kicked hard against her ribs when his lips quirked. “Some people don’t know when to stop talking.”
28: DANGEROUS WATERS
PACING INSIDE HER alcove, Lara listened to the shrieks outside the walls. Panic thumped against her breastbone. “Gods … what are they doing back here?”
Two nights after Gateway, the Slew had returned. Fortunately, the guards on the walls had spied dark clouds boiling in from the west shortly before dusk. They’d managed to get everyone inside in time. Of course, some of Duncrag’s residents were still without a home, or were still repairing their roundhouses—and so they’d sought refuge inside the broch. The building was now crammed with fort residents. They’d put down furs to sleep on in any available space, while warriors and druids kept vigil over the entrance. They’d boarded up the doors this time, and the bards had begun a protection sain the moment everyone was safely indoors. Outside, braziers burned bright upon the walls—many more than usual—to chase away the shadows.
“Clearly, Gateway wasn’t enough. They’re back for more souls.”
Lara turned, her gaze spearing Alar. Her husband sat by the roaring hearth—all the fires in the broch had been stoked high tonight—a cup of wine in hand. In contrast to her, he appeared irritatingly at ease. Only the crease between his eyebrows hinted that the return of The Unforgiven bothered him.
Lara put her hands on her hips. “How can we march north with the Slew hunting us?”
Reaching up, he rubbed his jaw. “That’s a problem, I grant you.”
“Any solutions?”
His gaze met hers. “Luckily, we’ll have a fire-wielder with us.”
