10 SPOILS OF WAR #2
“Iron won’t protect you from wulvers,” Bree replied with a glint in her eye. “Nor will salt … they aren’t like the other faerie creatures.”
Mirren swallowed. “What works against them then?”
“The same things that work against any Marav.” Bree paused then, casting Lara a sidelong glance. “Although, we shouldn’t be talking about such things. They’re our allies now, remember?”
Spearing a piece of dried fruit with his eating knife, Alar watched the High Queen pick at her meal. “Enjoying the Shee fare?”
Her chin kicked up, those penetrating pine-green eyes settling on him. Of course, they both knew that wasn’t what he was really asking. What he really wanted to know was whether she was regretting their ‘arrangement’ yet.
Of course, she was. He’d given her what she wanted—but now, she’d be hoping there would be a way out of this.
There wasn’t.
The night before, after they’d sworn the blood oath, he’d left her tent with a sour taste in his mouth. He’d gotten what he wanted, but in doing so, he’d also made Lara promises—ones he hadn’t yet shared with his brothers and sisters.
“It’s different from what I’m used to,” she replied stiffly. “But tasty enough.”
An array of dishes lined the long table upon the high seat. They bore a selection of cheeses, fruits, custards, poached fish, and light, crispy bread. Two slaves bearing dull-grey iron collars stood discreetly at the back of the high seat, jugs of wine in hand.
There were four people seated at this table, but only one of them was eating with relish: Bree, the High Queen’s warder.
When they’d taken a seat at the table earlier, Bree had scowled at Alar—as had the chief-enforcer who joined her—but now the food had her full attention.
Her gaze was eager as she helped herself to one of the pale custards garnished with violet petals, a dish no one else had dared to sample.
Taking a mouthful, she sighed with pleasure. Silence fell at the table, and when Bree realized everyone else was looking her way, she frowned. “What?”
“You actually enjoy that?” Cailean mac Brochan asked, incredulously.
Bree snorted, looking at him askance. The pair sat so close that their elbows brushed. “Aye … it’s delicious.”
Alar took a bite of the dried fruit he’d speared. It was both tart and sweet, a desiccated plum. Not unpleasant, although having lived amongst the wulvers for so long, he was used to smoked or fried trout and thick eel stews. This food wouldn’t satisfy him for long.
The chief-enforcer clearly agreed, for a groove had etched between his dark brows as he glanced down at the selection of fruit and cheese on his platter.
Alar noted the lines of fatigue upon the chief-enforcer’s face.
Wielding earth magic had drained him, and the other enforcers too.
They needed to take part in the blood-letting.
However, the next full moon was still over twenty days away.
“No wonder the Shee are all so lean,” he muttered. “Where’s the meat?”
Mac Brochan then offered a sliver of cheese to his fae hound, who sat behind him, but the beast merely sniffed at it dismissively.
“They don’t typically eat much of it,” Bree replied.
Mac Brochan pulled a face. “Even slaves eat more heartily than this.”
Bree snorted and dug an elbow into his leather-covered ribs. “It won’t do you any harm.”
The chief-enforcer made a growling sound in the back of his throat, his attention shifting to the woman next to him. His expression was still disgruntled, although his gaze was not.
Alar watched their interaction with interest. It appeared that these two were a couple.
“I hear the broch’s kitchen and stores were fully stocked when we arrived,” he said, focusing on Lara once more. Once again, he deliberately spoke of trivialities. It helped him gauge the High Queen’s mood.
“They were.” Lara took a bite of soft goat’s cheese. “Fresh food shouldn’t go to waste.” She then picked up a heavy goblet and sipped her wine. Her expression was veiled now; he could almost taste her wariness.
Swallowing a smile, Alar continued eating.
This was his victory meal, and although the food was admittedly a little strange, he’d savor every mouthful.
His brothers and sisters had done him proud today.
For the first time ever, wulvers had left the sheltering woods and fought alongside the Marav.
They’d shown everyone what they were capable of.
From this day forth, neither the Marav nor the Shee would underestimate them.
This wasn’t just about reclaiming territory for the Marav queen. It was about the wulvers finally getting the respect they deserved.
The attack had gone better than he’d anticipated. The Fire Wyrm had destroyed the gates spectacularly, and the Shee garrison within had been smaller than expected. They’d fought viciously, but it hadn’t been enough to save them.
Around him, conversation rose and fell in the cavernous hall.
After clearing away the bodies and scrubbing away the blood, servants and slaves had packed the space with long trestle tables.
As he ate, Alar surveyed the rows of tables below the high seat: Marav filled one side, while wulvers dominated the other.
They didn’t mix. Instead, the warriors and druids viewed his brothers and sisters with distaste.
It was hard to ignore the whispers, the sneers. The glowers.
Chewing slowly, his gaze narrowed. Their lack of gratitude pissed him off. Marav and wulvers were equal here. They’d fought shoulder to shoulder with these people today, but it wasn’t enough. The Marav still held onto their prejudices.
Well then, let me hold onto mine.
He swallowed his mouthful, even as his gut clenched. The slate wouldn’t be easily wiped clean. He wasn’t about to forget the wrongs of the past. The Marav seated below the high seat didn’t realize this was just the beginning—the wulvers were rising, and they wouldn’t be dismissed any longer.
“Your wulvers fought well today,” Lara said, her tone veiled.
“They did,” he agreed, pushing aside bitter, vengeful thoughts and lifting his goblet to his lips. It was a light and dry apple wine that fizzed slightly on his tongue. He’d never tasted anything like it. “But then, we’ve been waiting a long while for this moment.”
Her features tightened. “I’m still surprised you convinced the wulvers to help us.”
He smiled. “Maybe they’d prefer Albia was ruled by Marav … not Shee.”
Her frown deepened. “They would?”
“Wulvers have more in common with your people than you’d think.
A half-blood lives a few centuries … but wulvers have lifespans of similar lengths to the Marav.
Unlike many of the faerie folk, they can venture out in bright sunlight and aren’t tied to waterways, mounds, or ruins.
” He paused then. “Did you know the Raven Queen sent emissaries to request their alliance three years ago?”
Her jaw tightened, making it clear she didn’t. “What did she promise them?”
Alar speared another piece of dried fruit with his eating knife. “What she promised the other faerie creatures who now fight for her: five years of loyalty for a return to Sheehallion.”
Her gaze narrowed. “They weren’t tempted?”
He shook his head. “The dark forests of Albia are their home.” Irritation speared him then. Typical Marav arrogance. They thought they were the only ones who truly belonged to this land.
“And you weren’t tempted either?”
Alar snorted, even as his grip on the eating knife tightened. “Do you think a half-blood is any more welcome in Sheehallion than here?”
A faint blush rose to her cheeks. She then glanced away and picked up an apple. “Probably not.”
A brittle silence fell. Alar let it lie. He wasn’t going to give her anything else. A sheltered, privileged woman such as Lara wouldn’t understand what life for wulvers was like—or for him.
Meanwhile, the High Queen neatly peeled her apple before cutting it up into dainty slivers.
Alar cleared his throat. “There are a few things we must discuss, Lara.”
She stiffened before casting him a sharp look. “Can’t it wait?”
“I’m afraid not.” Enjoying the panic that flared in her eyes, he drained the dregs of wine in his goblet and waved away the slave who tried to pour him some more.
No, she wasn’t going to put this off. “The supper table isn’t the place for such a discussion though.
” Indeed, he was aware of the warder and chief-enforcer both watching him with naked suspicion in their eyes.
He didn’t want these two listening in on their conversation.
“Come … let’s take a walk together outside. ”