Chapter Ten
The next morning Aemyra awoke ravenous with hunger.
Her nightmares had turned into fitful dreams of crunching bones and tearing flesh to sate her appetite.
It wasn’t until she had fully awoken with what felt like a mouth full of wool that Aemyra realized Terrea’s consciousness had been bleeding into her own.
Glad she had been spared dreams of Fiorean, she dressed swiftly in her shirt and breeches before heading down to breakfast. Despite being the last ones to bed, Thear was the only person present in the dining hall when she arrived.
As Aemyra dragged herself through the doors, eyes already on the table laden with breakfast meats and cheeses, Thear beamed at her.
“Good morning, my darling betrothed,” he drawled sarcastically, kicking the chair beside him with his boot and patting the seat suggestively. “Come now, love, surely you wish to sit beside your intended.”
Aemyra was tempted to upend the jug of ale over his gorgeous head. As it was, she had shivered herself to sleep after their little dip in the loch. Her hair was now paying the price.
“Not a morning person,” Thear mused as she sat in front of a plate of fried mushrooms. “Good to know. Although I rather suspect you will wake up smiling after spending a night in my bed.”
Aemyra thought about pulling her dagger on him, but was too tired to bother. With a yawn, she began piling food onto her plate.
“Don’t you want to wait for the servants?” Thear asked, lounging back in his chair.
Aemyra heaped sausages and black pudding onto her plate. “My hands didn’t stop working when I became queen.”
Thear’s smile turned wicked. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“I’ll give you another bruise if you aren’t careful,” Aemyra said, brandishing her fork. “I’m prepared to present a convincing betrothal in front of your father and warriors, but as you so observantly pointed out, we are presently alone.”
She took a large bite of black pudding and groaned as the spices and oil burst across her tongue, aching hunger finally abating. Sometimes being Bonded to a dragon had its pitfalls—their enormous appetite being one of them.
“Good morrow!” Laird Lonan’s voice boomed through the dining room as he entered, cheeks ruddy and face smiling.
“Good morning,” Ceana said dreamily, little Macanta trotting at her heels, paws telling of the size he would eventually grow to.
Draevan was just behind them, looking a great deal less amused as servants began clattering plates and refilling jugs.
Aemyra tried to scoot her chair farther from Thear, but he hooked his boot around the leg and it refused to budge.
“So. Is everything to your satisfaction, my queen?” Lonan asked as he sat down. “You traveled a long way for us to make the oath in person. I hope you have not been disappointed?”
Draevan sipped from a goblet of watered-down wine. A slight raise of eyebrows the only outward sign of his curiosity.
“The alliance is cemented, Father,” Thear said, draping his arm across Aemyra’s shoulders. “Last night by the banks of Loch Deur, the queen officially proposed her hand in marriage.” He had an expression of deepest adoration plastered across his face. “And I heartily accepted.”
Aemyra jumped as Lonan thumped the table repeatedly with his hand, making the jug shake and spilling ale onto the table.
“Fantastic news, my son,” he said, beaming.
“How wonderful,” Ceana added as Macanta chewed on her fingers, already finished with his sausage.
Draevan’s eyes lingered on where Thear’s arm was draped a little too comfortably behind Aemyra’s rigid spine. Knowing she had to sell an airtight betrothal to her father more than anyone, she forced herself to relax.
Lonan leaned across his plate. “So when do we make the oath? Before or after the marriage ceremony?”
Draevan was a little more perceptive. “You seem very taken with each other after only one night.”
Had Aemyra not been her father’s daughter, she might have blushed.
“Ho, my prince, I hope you aren’t suggesting my son took liberties with his queen?” Lonan asked.
Thear positively glowed at the insinuation, and his arm slipped a little farther than was appropriate. Draevan looked one step away from drawing Dorchadas and severing Thear’s arm at the breakfast table.
Recognizing when she had to break up male posturing, Aemyra scraped a generous measure of butter over her bread. “I do believe it was the moment Thear punched me in the Cuith that cemented my instant attraction to him.”
Laird Lonan dropped both his bacon and his jaw, his face turning puce as he rounded on his son. “You did what?”
Draevan, however, looked marginally more convinced.
Aemyra pushed her knotted hair behind her ear to expose the purpling bruise growing on her cheekbone. “Your son is stronger than I anticipated, my laird.”
Thear shifted uncomfortably under his father’s gaze, and Aemyra wasn’t sure if Lonan still had the agility required to catch his son, but she didn’t doubt that he had the strength to make a punishment hurt.
“How dare you— She is the— A guest in our home—” Lonan spluttered, unable to form a coherent sentence.
This time, Aemyra worried they had pushed the laird too far. If he ended up having an apoplexy before he could make the oath, Draevan would start swinging.
“The true queen of Tìr Teine is a force to be reckoned with. I am unworthy to call her my betrothed, but she gave me no choice in the matter. I have found myself completely ensnared by both her beauty and her mind. If she hadn’t proposed to me herself, I believe I would have followed her to the ends of Erisocia until she had,” Thear said.
The words had an unsettling ring of truth, and Aemyra didn’t even protest when he raised her hand to his full lips. The brief kiss was confident enough to make her breath hitch.
Remembering herself, Aemyra pulled her fingers free with some difficulty. “You will oath yourselves to me later today, but a lengthy betrothal will be required until the war is won. A royal wedding will be just what is needed to bolster the spirits of my people after I sit the throne.”
Lonan frowned. Clearly he had been hoping for an immediate marriage.
Much to her surprise, Aemyra understood the laird.
Even with all his riches, Lonan did not have the forces required to keep the army of the Chosen out of his caves if the rest of Tìr Teine fell. He was desperate, and desperate men were not to be trusted.
Having his son become king would solidify the might of the chimeras within the territory, and give Lonan a voice at court. However, Lonan would quickly withdraw support if Aemyra’s war endangered his family.
Just like Fiorean had.
As much as Aemyra needed his warriors and his gold to win the war, she would not trust his words alone. She needed to show him that she was the safer bet.
“Your clan has been reluctant to support my claim thus far, but there will be plenty of Clans Leuthanach, Sutherland, and Gille land to distribute after I win my throne as payment for their treason.”
Both Lonan’s and Thear’s brows raised at this amended offer.
Draevan cleared his throat. “The non-Dùileach clans have banded together and are assisting the Chosen in ferrying Covenanters into Edinbane. They now have a force six thousand strong, and growing. Laird Maryk is acting as figurehead, but we all know he is taking orders from Fiorean himself.”
The way Brodie was able to ferret information out of the wider territory was truly remarkable. Aemyra prayed he could get his swift fingers on vials of the binding agent by the time she returned to Balnain.
Lonan’s eyes widened and Ceana clutched Macanta against her chest. “They are turning those without magic against Dùileach.”
Aemyra nodded. “They won’t stop there. Anyone who doesn’t conform to the ways of the Savior will be tried and executed.”
“So where do you strike first?” Lonan asked, face pale. “The capital, or the Covenanter stronghold?”
Aemyra met the laird’s gaze intently. “We need your unwavering loyalty to win the battle for either city. With your warriors, two dragons, the phoenixes, and my army, we will be unstoppable. There is far more profit for you to be had by remaining faithful to me.”
Lonan was quiet as he folded his arms over his ample stomach.
“Your Grace, if I cared about profit I would not be eating off chipped plates or sitting in a wooden chair. I will oath myself to you because I believe you capable of restoring the matriarchy to this territory, as Cailleach intended.” He looked at his daughter, his eyes softening.
“I do this not for myself, but for the future I believe my daughter deserves.”
Feeling as though she had just been given a dressing down instead of sworn allegiance, Aemyra reached for her goblet to settle the nausea churning in her stomach. She had eaten far too quickly.
“You are quite formidable, Your Majesty,” Lonan added. “My son is the finest warrior this clan has seen in generations. Blessed by Brigid and Bonded to the fiercest chimera in recent history. I would have you treat him with the same respect he affords you.”
Aemyra inclined her head, thinking of what Adarian had told her before leaving Balnain.
“You have much to be proud of, my laird. Your son is strong, well-liked, and, dare I say, handsome,” she replied carefully.
Removing his arm from her chair, Thear spoke. “We will have our warriors ready to march before the week is out. Their oaths can be made this afternoon in temple.”
To her utter astonishment, the entire table seemed to be in agreement.
Her plan might have worked, but Aemyra felt her stomach turn. She had always dreamed of being queen, she just hadn’t realized how many people she would have to manipulate in order to keep them all safe.
Excusing herself, Aemyra swept from the room amid hasty bows and broke into a sprint the moment she was in the dimly lit corridor.
She barely made it to the privy before she brought up her breakfast, the Bond bursting open until she felt sheep bones and charred wool choking up her gullet.
Beathach and Dùileach suffering as one for their greed.