31 THE FIRE WRAITH
“THE SLEW ARE back.”
Glancing up from where she’d been checking Bracken’s hooves, Lara met Cailean’s eye. He’d just appeared in the enclosure, next to where Bree was rubbing down her sturdy cob. The chief-enforcer’s expression was grim.
Chin kicking up, Lara looked west. Dusk came early now that Gateway lay behind them and the bitter season approached. Sure enough, in the distance, she spied familiar dark, swirling clouds. “Fuck,” she breathed.
Her pulse went wild then. She wasn’t up to this. Not in the slightest.
They were only two nights into their journey north. Dulross was still at least three days’ ride away. She’d hoped to have more time to practice, to improve on what she’d learned.
But the Gods wished to throw her to the wolves.
Ducking out of the enclosure, she strode toward the heart of the camp. Wordlessly, Bree fell in step next to her. They both knew what she needed to do. She had to get to her pavilion and don the disguise Alar had created for her.
She hoped he was right—that it would be enough. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to come up with anything better.
Her husband wasn’t with her now though. He’d ridden ahead to join his wulvers in the advance guard for most of the day and hadn’t returned yet. She wouldn’t be getting any last-minute advice from him, not that she wanted it.
Resolve tightened her belly as she neared the royal pavilion. Ready or not, some things had to be faced alone.
Ducking into her tent, she found Florie and the twins busy unpacking items. “Leave, please,” she ordered. All three lasses startled. Heads bowed, they fled from the pavilion.
As soon as she was alone, Lara went to the satchel next to her furs and withdrew a black cloak. It was one of Alar’s, voluminous with a deep cowl. It smelled of him too: leather and oak, with a hint of mint.
Trying not to let the scent distract her, she threw on the cloak.
She then dug into the satchel once more and pulled out a leather mask.
Her husband had made it for her the night before, cutting up a pair of leather breeches.
It had holes for her eyes, nose, and mouth, although when she’d tried it on, she’d wanted to rip it off straight away.
It clung to her skin, smothering her like a clammy hand over her face.
She wouldn’t don the mask yet though.
Tucking it under her cloak, she ducked out of the pavilion. Bree was waiting for her. The two women shared a nod before they set off, hurrying toward the perimeter of the camp.
And as they wove through the press of tents, stepping over guide ropes and iron stakes, the shrieks of the approaching Slew cut through the air.
Her palms grew damp. Anxiety now pitched in her gut, although she managed to tamp down the tendrils of panic that wreathed up like smoke. Losing her nerve wouldn’t help.
She had to keep her mind focused. Clear.
Drawing near to the western edge of the encampment, where a line of bards had begun a protection sain, she and Bree ducked into the shadow of one of the tents. There, she quickly put on her mask. Moving behind Lara, Bree secured it with ties around the back of her head.
And when her warder had finished tying the last knot, Lara pulled up her hood. Her heart was beating fast now, sweat damp upon her skin. Alar had assured her the disguise was unsettling. She hoped he was right.
“Stay here,” she warned Bree. “It’s best you keep out of sight.”
“Be careful,” her friend replied, her voice tight. “Don’t let any of the druids get too close … especially enforcers.”
Lara nodded, even as her stomach pitched. Surely, once they saw what she was doing, they’d all realize she was a friend rather than a foe? However, she couldn’t worry about that now.
Once she emerged from her hiding place, she needed to be confident. No matter what happened, she had to hold her ground, to focus on driving out the Slew.
Jaw set and shoulders squared, she stepped out from behind the tent.
Just in time too, for the first of the wraiths were diving—dark, winged shapes that swooped down from the sky like massive buzzards.
The pungent, familiar smell of earth magic filled her nostrils—pine and campfire—as the bards’ singing grew louder, shriller.
Drawing the cairn stone with her right hand, she focused on the line of pitch torches that burned bright on the perimeter, just a few yards away.
Hundreds had been shoved into the ground and lit.
They’d brought numerous wagons loaded with torches made with ‘fatwood’ for this journey—resin-soaked pine that would burn all night, and in all weathers.
No one had seen her yet.
Sweating now, she deepened her breathing and attempted to pack her churning thoughts away. Curse it. She didn’t have time for this. She needed to settle her mind. Now.
A shadow dropped from above. A bard’s scream cut off mid-note as claws found her shoulders, lifting her into the darkness.
Urgency slammed into Lara. Do it now!
She tightened her grip on the cairn stone. It warmed against her palm as she extended her left arm, her fingers snapping straight.
With a ‘whoosh’, the flames spurted skyward.
She staggered back, blinking as the gloaming lit up. Gods, she’d never wielded so much fire at one time. The power of it surging through her veins was heady. How easy it would be to succumb, to let it consume her.
Resisting it, she sucked in a deep breath and held it for a few moments—as Ruari had shown her—before slowly exhaling.
Around her, warriors and druids had turned, their gazes alighting upon the black-robed figure who’d just torched the sky. A wall of flames surrounded them now, and the Slew drew back, shrieking.
The Ord-ree seal upon her right hand started to pulse like an ember then. Her already racing heart lurched once more. Why did her father’s ring, handed down from ruler to ruler, respond to fire?
Lara contracted her fingers slightly, and the flames dimmed for a heartbeat, before she released her power once more.
Fire exploded from every torch. Flames whipped through the air, turning dusk to blazing gold. A tent caught and went up in seconds.
Did I do that?
The fire had its own hunger now. It lashed in every direction while bards scrambled back from the heat. But the Slew were retreating, their screams fading into the distance.
Her skin felt raw. Sweat ran between her shoulder blades as the power burned through her, demanding more than she could give. Her legs trembled. Around her, voices shouted in confusion and fear.
Now.
She crushed her fist closed. Darkness slammed down like a curtain.
In that blind moment, she ran.
The torches flared back to life behind her, but when the warriors turned to find their savior, only empty shadows remained.
“They’re calling you ‘the Fire Wraith’,” Bree murmured as she speared a piece of blood sausage with her eating knife. “Everyone’s convinced the Gods have sent you to protect us.”
Lara swallowed a mouthful of bread before reaching for her cup. She then took a large gulp of wine. “Maybe they have.” She hadn’t considered it before, but what if The Five were behind her in this?
Cailean raised his eyebrows. Indeed, she’d just made a bold statement.
Her skin prickled. If that was the case, their campaign was off to a strong start.
The four of them—Lara, Alar, Bree, and Cailean—ate supper alone in the royal pavilion. Skaal had joined them too, her large body curled up before the brazier behind them. Her gentle snores reverberated through the tent.
The High Queen had deliberately dismissed her attendants so they could talk.
Lara glanced her husband’s way then. He’d said little since they’d sat down to a meal of blood sausage, oaten bread, and cheese. Earlier, she’d just returned to her pavilion, shivering in the aftermath of wielding fire, when he ducked inside. Turning to him, she’d marked his flustered expression.
Their gazes had locked then, and it dawned on her that he’d been worried about her.
He’d recovered swiftly, smoothing his features and favoring her with a smile, but it was too late. She’d seen it.
“The disguise worked,” she said, meeting his eye.
Alar’s lips quirked. “I told you it would.”
“In the firelight, the mask looked like molten gold,” Cailean replied. Of course, he’d been at the perimeter. He’d watched the scene unfold. “I’m not surprised everyone thinks they saw a wraith.”
Lara’s fingers tightened around her cup. “Next time, I’ll be faster though.” Her pulse quickened then. On the next occasion she faced the Slew, she wouldn’t let them take anyone. That bard’s screams still rang in her ears.
Alar snorted softly as he reached for a piece of bread. “You’ll speed up with practice.”
“Where were you earlier?” Cailean’s gaze now settled upon the prince consort, suspicion darkening his eyes. “You disappeared when we made camp.”
“I was meeting with my wulvers,” Alar replied with a shrug. “Keeping an eye on me, mac Brochan?”
“Always,” Cailean rumbled, staring him down.
Skaal rose from the furs before the brazier then, stretching. A moment later, the fae hound padded over to the table, ignoring the chief-enforcer and pushing her furry cheek up against Alar’s head instead.
Smiling, he stroked her ears before glancing Cailean’s way. “At least Skaal trusts me.”
“She does,” Bree murmured, eyeing the fae hound as she tried to lick Alar’s cheek. “How strange.”
Watching her companions interact, Lara frowned.
Cailean and Bree’s suspicion of Alar was palpable.
She’d thought they might have softened toward the prince consort, especially after recent events.
Her relationship with him had been strained of late—if she were honest, his harshness with her that night back at Duncrag still stung—but that was personal.
She still valued his opinion and respected his skills.
He’d saved her life at Gateway, publicly defended her honor, and come up with a disguise that would hopefully continue to hide her identity when she wielded fire. Did it matter where he’d been at dusk?
The chief-enforcer obviously thought so. His jaw bunched, his dark brows drawing together over the sharp blade of his nose. “I’m watching you, Half-blood.”