7 FIND THE HALF-BLOOD #2
Muttering an oath under her breath, Lara turned to face her friends.
They were inside the royal pavilion now.
Unsurprisingly, they’d followed her in here after the meeting.
They wanted to speak to her alone. Skaal had padded into the tent behind them and was now seated in front of the brazier, scratching.
Unlike Cailean and Bree, the fae hound seemed unconcerned about Lara’s decision.
“I can’t let the Shee get a foothold,” she replied, trying to ignore her pitching belly. “We have to take Doure back.”
“And you will ,” Cailean countered. “Just not like this.”
“The Half-blood is an outcast … you know nothing about him, or his true motives,” Bree added.
“Maybe not, but since I’m going into this with my eyes open, he’s not likely to take me by surprise.” Lara’s temper simmered now. “He has a large army … one that can turn the tide for us. The Raven Queen uses faerie creatures as her weapons. Why can’t we use the might of the wulvers?”
Neither of them had a reply for this, although Cailean’s jaw bunched, and Bree shook her head in exasperation.
“So, you’re determined to go through with this?” the chief-enforcer asked finally.
Lara nodded.
“Even knowing that your council disagrees?”
“Aye.” Her pulse quickened. This was the first time she and Cailean had ever truly locked horns. He was her friend, and she valued his opinion, but in this instance, he was wrong. “There are some things a queen must decide for herself.”
His lips thinned, and he favored her with a curt nod. Then, without another word, he turned and pushed his way out of the tent. Skaal gave a low whine and rose fluidly to her feet. Her golden eyes flicked to Lara then, holding her fast for an instant, before she followed the chief-enforcer.
Bree remained though. Observing Lara with a look she’d come to know well, she folded her arms across her chest. “I’ve never seen you like this,” she murmured finally. “Reckless. Desperate.”
“And you’d be too, in my place,” Lara snapped, even as her chest grew tight. “I can’t turn my back on Doure. I won’t.”
“But marrying him? ”
“It’s the only way, Bree.”
Her friend’s eyes shadowed. “No,” she said softly, “it isn’t.”
“Enough.” Lara stepped back then, gesturing to the flap where Cailean had just exited. “You can leave too … I will meet Alar alone.”
Bree’s chin lifted. “What?”
“The nature of our arrangement is … personal … and I wish for some privacy.”
“Do yourself a favor and negotiate hard.” Bree’s voice was forceful now. “If you’re going to get into the furs with this man, make sure it’s worth your while.”
Lara flinched. There was no need to be crude. Giving Bree her back, she moved to one of the two stools before the glowing brazier. “Don’t worry … I will.”
“Do you want anything, My Queen?” Mirren asked then. Florie and the twins had already left the pavilion, yet her handmaid lingered. Worry filled Mirren’s blue eyes; she looked as unhappy as Bree and Cailean about this.
“Just leave a jug of wine and two cups on the table.” Lara sank down on the stool. The warmth of the brazier was welcome. It was a cold, damp evening. That morning, she’d noticed many of the trees in the woodland now wore cloaks of red and gold. Winter was marching toward them.
Mirren did as bid. Lara watched her, marking the tension in her movements, the way her full lips now turned down at the corners.
“For the love of the Gods,” Lara muttered. “I’m not going to my execution.”
“I know … but this solution just seems” —Mirren broke off there searching for the word— “Extreme.”
“It is,” Bree replied. She hadn’t yet left the pavilion. Instead, she lingered near the doorway. “You’re wrong, Lara. Failing to take back Doure this time doesn’t mean Mor will win. Why won’t you return to Duncrag and rally yourself?”
Lara heaved in a shaky breath before glancing her way.
“Rally? With what resources exactly?” Her pulse fluttered then.
“We no longer can recruit warriors from The Uplands … and if I take many more warriors from The Wolds, I risk an uprising.” It was true, her overkings—King Artair of Baldeen and King Niall of Braewall, who were both as new to their roles as she was—had started to push back of late.
Artair, especially, had grown difficult.
The Southerners, who’d lived for centuries in relative prosperity and safety, didn’t appreciate sending their sons and daughters off to war, and when they heard of what had transpired before the walls of Doure, they’d be looking for someone to blame.
Bree scowled, heat flaring in her eyes. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”
Lara glared back at her. “Aye.”
Mirren cleared her throat, shattering the tense silence that followed. “Come on, Bree,” she whispered. “Let’s go.”
And they did, although not without backward glances. Guilt tugged at Lara as she watched them leave. Mirren and Bree had become her family over the past years. They’d been through much together. They meant well, but they were just making this all the harder.
As soon as she was alone, she rose from the stool, went to the table, and poured herself a large cup of wine. She then slugged it back.
Eyes watering and throat burning, she set the cup down and crossed to the makeshift shrine in the shadowy corner of her tent.
There, she knelt before reaching out and picking up the figurine of The Mother.
She then bent her head, closed her eyes, and whispered a prayer.
The Goddess was the bringer of change, and if there was ever a time she needed her strength, it was now.