Page 10 of The Queen and the Half-blood
Some of those she passed nodded, murmuring, “We shall rally,” and someone managed, “Aye, we shall drive those Shee bastards out!” But their response was scattered, weak.
A brick settled in Lara’s gut as she walked on, making her way to the healing tent.
Ducking inside the large rectangular pavilion crammed with pallets and the injured, she found the healer and her assistants—all garbed in distinctive mauve robes—hard at work. One glance at their pinched expressions and Lara knew they were struggling. There weren’t enough healers for the number of injured.
“Eldra!” Lara called out to her as she shrugged off her fur cloak and handed it to Bree. “I’ll assist.”
The royal healer—a statuesque woman with silver-blonde hair—glanced up from where she was sewing a gaping leg wound. Eldra’s grey-blue eyes then narrowed; however, she didn’t argue with her queen.
Moving to a trestle table, Lara deftly washed her hands in soap and water. She wasn’t a warrior. She couldn’t join Roth and Cailean as they led assault after assault on the walls, but shecould assist in other ways. Before taking the throne, she’d spent many mornings in Eldra’s healing chamber underneath Duncrag broch, helping the healer prepare poultices, ointments, and salves. She’d discovered a natural talent for healing, an instinct for what was needed and when. It had been a while since she’d rolled up her sleeves and worked alongside Eldra, although she’d forgotten nothing.
Drying off her hands, she headed toward a woman who lay groaning upon a pallet a few feet away. The warrior had taken an arrow to the flank. The shaft still pierced her. The woman’s eyes were glazed in pain, and she was clinging to consciousness.
Leaning forward, Lara inspected the wound. They needed to remove that arrow, although in doing so, the warrior risked bleeding out. At least there was no tell-tale yellow cast to her skin, nor was the wound starting to bubble. The arrow hadn’t been poisoned by Nightbane.
Straightening up, she glanced over at where Bree looked on, Lara’s heavy fur cloak in her arms. “Put that down,” she ordered brusquely. She wasn’t usually sharp with Bree—and her friend’s eyes narrowed at her tone—but the cracks were now starting to show. “I need your help here.”
Lara’s back ached, and her eyes stung from fatigue, when she finally left the healing pavilion. It was getting late, and a full moon sailed high above the encampment. Shoulders sagging, yet once again grateful for her thick cloak, which warded off the chill, she made her way to the heart of the slumbering camp.
Assisting the injured hadn’t been easy. Her gorge had risen numerous times as she cleaned and dressed wounds, some of them grievous, and tried to give solace to the dying. Nonetheless, she’d done all she could. Her body cried out for rest, but it wouldn’t receive any—not yet. Instead, she and Bree crossed to the meeting tent, pushed aside the flap, and ducked inside.
Her council—five druids and the captain of her army—was waiting for her. As was Skaal.
Apart from the fae hound, who’d remained at camp while they lay siege to the walls, they all looked as drained as she felt.
Grime, ash, and blood still streaked the chief-enforcer’s face, as they did her captain’s. Fortunately, both men appeared uninjured. The chief-sacrificer and chief-bard’s cloaks were singed, and the former bore a cut upon his temple.
“Apologies for the delay,” Lara greeted them huskily. “I was needed in the healing pavilion.”
She halted before the table, her gaze sliding over the faces of each member of her war council. Her gut tightened. She didn’t like their stern expressions and shadowed gazes. “Don’t look so grim,” she muttered. “We aren’t defeated yet.”
“No,” Roth replied curtly. His gaze was wary. Ever since he’d overstepped, things had been strained between them. “Not yet.”
A heavy silence followed these words. Eventually, Lara broke it. “So, where do we go from here?”
“We’ll need a breather before hitting the walls again,” her captain answered.
Her pulse quickened. “How long do you need?”
“Three days … at least.”
“Then you will have them.”
Actually, the thought of waiting so long galled her. Nonetheless, she wasn’t a warrior. She had little experience with battle and needed to take instructions from those who’d been fighting on the front line.
“We’ll use that time to build more battering rams and ladders,” Cailean added. “We’ve run out.”
Lara’s palms started to sweat. They could replace those things, but they couldn’t bring all those who’d already fallen back from the dead.
“We must also ensure the Gods favor us,” Gregor announced. The chief-sacrificer’s expression was stone-hewn, his thick arms folded across his chest. “My sacrificers will bleed twice the number of pigeons as usual over the coming nights.”
“What if the Shee use this wait to their advantage?” The chief-seer spoke up then. Ruari’s long face was pale and taut this evening. “They might attack our camp.”
“Let them,” Cailean growled. “If they emerge from behind their stone walls, it’ll be a fairer fight.”
Next to Lara, Bree shifted uneasily and cut her husband a veiled look. “They won’t attack,” she murmured. “They know they have the advantage and will wait us out.”
Another, troubled, silence followed these words.
