33 LIAR
A MURKY DUSK slid into a drizzly night. They waited, but the Slew didn’t appear.
Relief settled over the encampment, although it didn’t last long, for as corpse candles flickered amongst the trees, a grief-filled wail split the air.
The Weeper had returned.
The sound raked its claws through Alar, each scream winding him tighter.
Fuck it . He needed some time alone. Some time to breathe.
“I’ll let Bree accompany you back to the tent,” he said to Lara, as her warder approached them. “I’ll join you for supper later.”
Lara nodded, giving him a smile that made his insides knot. “I’ll see you later then.”
He watched her and Bree leave, heading toward the royal pavilion in the heart of the camp. And then, when the women had disappeared, he turned on his heel and walked in the opposite direction.
The scent of burning pine from the numerous cookfires drifted through the damp air. Making his way through tightly-packed clusters of hide tents, Alar traveled toward the northern edge of the sprawling encampment, where his wulvers had pitched their tents.
And as he walked, he gave himself a talking to.
Idiot. Get a leash on yourself.
He’d told himself he’d keep Lara at a distance, but with every furlong north, he was weakening. The truth was, he liked her far too much.
Lengthening his stride, he headed to the largest of the wulver pavilions, where his captains resided.
He ducked through the tent flap to find Lyall and Dolph perched on stools, sharing cups of wine.
A low brazier glowed between them, where trout fillets sizzled upon an iron plate.
Usually, Alar liked the aroma of grilling fish, but this evening, it made him queasy.
“Nothing to report?” he greeted them, more brusquely than usual.
The wulvers’ gazes snapped his way.
“Not yet,” Lyall replied.
“You look like you could do with a drink?” Dolph gestured to the jug on a low table nearby. “Help yourself.”
Alar shook his head. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest.
“Ashes, you’ve got a face on you tonight.” Lyall stretched out his long, muscular legs, clad in leather trews, and crossed them at the ankle. “What’s wrong? Is your young wife harder to handle than you thought?”
Dolph snorted. “He’s already proven that. He started making concessions and promises to the woman before he even married her, remember?”
Alar stilled. His brother’s jibe cut a little too close to the bone.
Both wulvers observed him keenly, their golden eyes glinting in the light of the brazier.
“It’s good to be free of Duncrag,” Dolph admitted then, leaning forward and flipping the fish. “I’ve missed the wind and rain on my face … the freedom of wide skies and rolling hills.”
Uneasiness rippled through Alar at these words.
“You should be in a celebratory mood, brother.” Lyall raised his cup of wine to him. “Everything is going to plan, is it not?”
There was no mistaking the challenge in his voice.
“Aye,” Alar replied. “I’d tell you if there was anything to worry about.”
“Good.” Lyall stared him down. “Because we’ve all worked too hard, for too long, to let anything ruin this for us.”
The rain had stopped as Alar made his way through the ring of tents—where the druids would bed down—back toward the royal pavilion.
The air was still heavy with moisture though and laced with the scent of woodsmoke and roasting meat.
He recognized the gamey smell. Grouse. Someone had gone hunting before dusk.
He skirted around a glowing firepit where Cailean, Bree, and Roth all sat playing Liar while the carcasses of three birds roasted on a spit. They were taking turns shaking dice in a lidded cup and then trying to guess whether each of them was lying about its contents.
He might have passed unnoticed if Skaal hadn’t spotted him.
The fae hound rose smoothly to her feet and paced across to Alar, nudging him hard with her nose.
And despite his dark mood, he stroked the thick ruff around her neck.
Cailean’s chin jerked up, his gaze narrowing at the sight of him.
Alar couldn’t help it; he flashed the chief-enforcer a smirk.
Cailean scowled. Bull’s eye. Few things annoyed the warrior druid more than the adoration Skaal had for the Half-blood. It took Alar aback too, although he didn’t discourage the beast.
But then, the chief-enforcer surprised him. “How about a game?”
Alar raised his eyebrows. “Now?”
“Aye.”
“Lara will be waiting for me.”
“I’m sure she won’t mind,” Bree chimed in. “Her attendants were still readying supper when I left them a short while ago.”
Meanwhile, the glint in Cailean’s eye made something competitive flare inside Alar.
He hadn’t played Liar in a long while, not since the time he’d spent in Braewall. It was a popular game amongst the Marav, yet he found it boring.
“What’s wrong?” Roth asked as Alar hesitated, his tone goading. “Worried one of us will unmask you?”
“Not at all,” Alar drawled. Moving across to the fire, he pulled up a stool and pushed in next to the captain. Skaal padded up and sat down behind him. Alar didn’t miss the way Cailean’s jaw tightened at her disloyalty. “Let’s go.”
“We’re halfway through a round,” Bree replied tersely.
“You’ll have to wait.” Picking up the cup, she shook the pair of dice within before peeking inside.
“Two fives,” she declared, replacing the lid.
She then shifted her attention to Cailean.
Her husband had the first go at deciding whether she was a ‘Liar’.
After a moment, he grunted, accepting her answer.
The challenge now moved to Roth. The captain’s gaze narrowed as he studied Bree’s face.
Alar had to admit, the woman was good at veiling her expression.
Perhaps it was because she was once Shee.
“Liar,” Roth said finally.
Bree whipped off the lid and thrust the cup at him. “See for yourself.”
Roth peered inside before growling an oath. It seemed Bree had been telling the truth.
“Not good at this game, are you, captain?” Alar couldn’t help himself.
“Let’s see you have a go then.” Roth shoved the cup at him.
Alar took it without comment, fastened the lid, and shook the dice.
Meanwhile, the others watched him, their faces gilded by firelight. The aroma of roasting grouse made Alar’s belly rumble.
Looking inside, he straightened up. “Two sixes.”
Roth gave a low whistle. “Someone just slapped their balls down on the table.”
Cailean snorted, while Bree’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”
“Two sixes,” he repeated with a shrug. “What say you?”
She stared at him for a few moments, her gaze drilling into his face. She then nodded, conceding, and glanced over at Roth. “What say you?”
The captain’s lips pursed as he studied Alar intently.
Alar let him. He was starting to enjoy this; maybe Liar wasn’t as dull as he remembered.
Finally, his gaze sharp with irritation, Roth nodded too. “What do you think, Cailean?”
The chief-enforcer rubbed his jaw, which was shadowed by dark stubble. “So, you both believe he’s telling the truth?”
“Aye,” Bree replied. “Do you?”
Cailean’s woad-blue eyes drilled into him. The man had a stare that could cut through flesh. Alar wasn’t intimidated though. If he were honest, he enjoyed challenging the chief-enforcer. He was a worthy opponent.
“All right,” Cailean muttered after another lengthy pause. “You’re telling the truth.”
Disappointed that he’d been as easy to dupe as the others, Alar handed him the cup.
Cailean lifted the lid. “Fuck,” he growled. “Two ‘ones’.”
Roth snarled something under his breath, while Bree eyed Alar, her expression cold. “Why am I not surprised you’re a good liar?”