14 A GREATER GOOD
“THIS IS AN insult.”
Leaning back in her carven throne, Lara swallowed a sigh. “Come, Artair … let’s not be overly dramatic.”
The overking of Baldeen’s face turned the color of liver, his ring-encrusted hand tightening around the stem of his goblet. A few feet away, King Niall of Braewall had stilled, his dark-blue eyes fixed upon Lara as if she’d just turned into one of the Slew.
“You have doomed us!” Artair was determined not to be silenced.
Lara met the overking’s eye, her own temper quickening now. These two pricks wouldn’t have dared to challenge her father’s decisions. “No, I did this to save my people.”
Artair let out a harsh laugh. “What? You think sharing the furs with that half-breed outlaw … and allowing wulvers to dwell amongst us, will turn the tide?”
Her heart started to thump against her ribs. “It already has … Doure is ours, and we couldn’t have taken it without his help.”
“Alar mac Struana has a price on his head in Baldeen,” Artair shot back. “Did you know that?”
Lara stilled. No, she hadn’t, although she wouldn’t embarrass herself by admitting such, or asking what he was wanted for.
The three of them sat at a table upon the high seat at the end of her hall.
Bree, Cailean, and Skaal stood behind Lara, silent and watchful.
Annis was also present. She looked on from the far end of the high seat, hands folded in front of her.
The chief-counsellor’s gaze was narrowed, her white robes glowing in the light of the two large hearths that burned against the northern wall.
Pungent peat smoke drifted up through the air vents.
It was mid-afternoon, and both of her overkings had just arrived.
Upon Lara’s return to Duncrag, she’d let the fort elders and the headmen who kept order in the various levels of the fort know what had transpired. She’d also sent word immediately to both Baldeen and Braewall, informing her overkings as well.
The elders and headmen weren’t happy about her choice, and so she hadn’t expected a warm response from her overkings either.
Their presence here wasn’t a surprise. What had taken her aback though, was that they’d turned up together .
A united front. Did they hope that by ganging up on her, they’d have their way?
It was too late for that. The wheels of war were already moving. Ever since her return, Cailean and Roth had been busy preparing for their campaign to The Uplands. Gateway was just over a moon’s turn away now, and as soon as it passed, they’d march north.
“The deal has been struck,” she said, breaking the heavy silence.
“I agreed to wed Alar … and in a few days, he shall bring his wulvers south.” Her belly churned as she said these words.
She’d accepted what needed to happen, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t dreading his arrival, or their handfasting.
Where was Alar now? Had he managed to rally more wulvers, as promised?
“Duncrag shall welcome them. I will then become his wife.”
“You said you’d never take a husband.” Niall found his tongue then. Ruddy spots of color had appeared upon his high cheekbones. “ I am married to Albia , you said … remember?”
Aye, she remembered. It was what she’d told Niall when he’d lowered himself onto one knee before her two years earlier and proposed.
Tall and rakishly handsome, with thick oak-colored hair combed back and fastened at his nape, he was around her own age.
The young overking of Braewall was full of himself.
He’d been sure Lara would agree to wed him and was insulted when she turned him down.
Lara didn’t like his tone. Gripping her carven armrests, she leaned forward, spearing him with her gaze.
“I am wedded to Albia,” she replied coldly, “even more than before. That’s why I have sacrificed my own wishes, my own happiness , for the greater good.
Do you think I wanted to make such an alliance? ”
Annis shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her lips pursing slightly. A warning to keep her temper in check.
A nerve ticked in Niall’s cheek, while Artair’s face was still dangerously red.
The King of Braewall had always been strong and well-built, yet a surfeit of rich food since he’d been crowned was taking its toll.
The past couple of winters had been harsh, and The Wolds had teetered on the edge of famine, but Artair mac Neathan clearly hadn’t been going without.
The silence drew out, the air sharp with tension.
Lara heaved in a deep breath. It was time to try and rescue this situation. They needed to talk about something else while they composed themselves. “How are things at Braewall, Niall?” she asked. When he didn’t answer, she pressed on. “Is there any word on your brother?”
A muscle flexed in the overking’s strong jaw. “None.”
She inclined her head. Just after Mid-winter Fire, news had reached Duncrag that the overking’s younger brother had disappeared under suspicious circumstances.
There were rumors that Niall had something to do with it.
Braewall’s new overking was ambitious—perhaps he worried his brother had designs on his throne.
There was no evidence though, just whispers.
It wasn’t the best choice of subject, especially since she was supposed to be smoothing Niall’s ruffled feathers. She should have left things there, yet she couldn’t help but dig deeper. “Do you suspect foul play?”
“Possibly,” Niall replied coolly. “He went out for an evening’s drinking at an ale-hall … but hasn’t been seen since.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
He pulled a face, making it clear he didn’t care.
Lara shifted her attention to Artair. “And what of Baldeen? I hear it was a much better harvest this year.”
“You won’t change the subject so easily,” Artair ground out, his peat-brown eyes glittering. “Not after what you’ve done.”
Lara frowned. The bastard was like a dog with a bone.
“You have made a grave mistake,” Artair went on. “The people of Albia won’t follow a High Queen who makes pacts with wulvers.”
“The folk of Duncrag know of my alliance.” Lara’s pulse now beat in her ears. “But I see no riots in the streets … do you?”
Best she didn’t admit that there had been unrest ever since her return home.
At first, there had been grief, as news of their losses filtered through the fort.
A sorrowful lament had lifted high into the damp air on the eve of her arrival.
She’d stood on the walls listening to those mourning their dead.
She was responsible.
But then, once the grief had settled, and Duncrag’s residents learned of the bargain their High Queen had struck, they’d turned angry.
The elders had led protests before the gates to the broch, their insults and accusations drifting over the ramparts.
Fortunately, the Fort Guard had handled the situation, although the rumblings of discontent continued in the days following.
Artair lurched to his feet, the wooden stool he’d been seated upon clattering to the ground behind him.
Beside Cailean, Skaal gave a low growl. The sound rumbled dangerously in her throat.
“Careful, mac Neathan.” The chief-enforcer’s warning swiftly followed. “Consider your next words to our High Queen carefully.”
The overking’s broad chest rose and fell quickly now, expanding and contracting like forge bellows.
Watching the fury smoldering in his eyes, Lara knew that only a healthy fear of her chief-enforcer stopped him from unleashing it.
Even so, she didn’t want her alliance with the wulvers to ruin her relationship with her overkings.
She needed to build a bridge—and quickly.
“I would have consulted you, Artair,” she said, deliberately gentling her voice. “But there was no time … surely, you understand that?”
A nerve flickered in his cheek.
“We can’t waste time arguing, not when our freedom hangs in the balance.
You know the Shee have allies. I’m trying to find a way forward …
but to do that, I need you at my side. We must remain united.
The Wolds have already given so much … but I must ask more of you.
We’re recruiting more warriors for my army …
and I need Braewall and Baldeen’s cooperation. ”
Her attention shifted to Niall then, who’d been silent as the exchange heated up. The younger man shifted uncomfortably upon his stool, a deep frown creasing his brow—but she seized his gaze with hers and held fast. “Can I rely on you both?”
Standing on the walls, Lara watched the overkings of Braewall and Baldeen depart.
Their banners—the leaping black stag of Braewall and the iron shield of Baldeen—bristled above the procession of helmed warriors clad in leather armor who led the way down The Thoroughfare, the main road that descended from the broch at the fort’s summit.
It was a raw afternoon, and Lara’s breath steamed in front of her. A frost would settle tonight, heralding the return of the bitter season.
Jaw firming, she pulled her fur-lined mantle closer.
Her gaze then swept over the wooded hills that surrounded the fort, alighting on a grassy one to the north.
Even from this distance, she spied red-robed figures.
There would be a full moon tonight; the sacrificers were readying themselves for the blood-letting.
It was a much-needed one too. Cailean and the other enforcers who’d accompanied her to Doure had to replenish their earth magic.
They needed to be at full strength for the campaign to come.
“Do you trust the overkings, Annis?” she asked finally.
Next to her, the chief-counsellor murmured something under her breath before adding. “No … I can’t say I do.”
“I don’t either.” Her gaze returned to where Artair and Niall rode side by side, lingering upon them for a few moments.
Huffing a sigh, she then turned to the white-robed woman standing beside her on the walls.
Bree and Cailean had also come up here with them, yet they waited a few yards away.
“Should I have stopped them from leaving?”
Annis raised a brow. “To what end?”
“I could have arrested them … on suspicion of treason … thrown them both into the dungeon and found replacements.” Frustration churned in her chest. Maybe she should have done just that.
Annis favored her with a speculative look. “Aye … you could have … but you have no proof.”
Lara’s belly tightened. “That wouldn’t have stopped my father. The slightest whiff of dissent and he’d have brought the mallet down.”
“You’re right … but do you wish to be like him?”
Lara swallowed. No, she didn’t. Few here knew of the bitterness she held toward her sire, for she’d never told anyone about how badly he’d let her down. Nonetheless, that was the closest Annis had ever come to making an outright criticism of the former High King—a man she’d served for twenty years.
Her chest tightened as she watched the receding banners. She needed Braewall and Baldeen’s resources and hated feeling so reliant on her overkings. She’d bid them both to send weapons and warriors to Duncrag before Gateway—but what if they didn’t?
No, she wasn’t like her father, but she didn’t want to be perceived as weak either. “Shouldn’t I?” she countered, deliberately challenging her chief-counsellor.
The older woman sighed, brushing a thin brown braid off her cheek. “Talorc was a strong ruler … and feared … but if Albia is in pieces, it is because of him.”