1: REVENGE NEVER SLEEPS
The Golval Woods
The Realm of Albia
ROARS OF VICTORY vibrated through the trees. Warriors thrust their swords high, turning their faces to the rain that fell in a gentle mist upon the tangle of oak, beech, and sycamore.
But their queen didn’t cheer alongside them.
Instead, Lara guided her mare between the scattered corpses in the clearing, counting. Eighteen Baldeen warriors would never steal another furlong of her land. Satisfying, yet notenough. Not when a village lay in ruin behind her, and her husband still sat smug in Dulross, believing himself untouchable.
She reined in beside one of the fallen—a hatchet-faced warrior with staring blue eyes—and dismounted, her boots squelching in the mud. Around her, standards listed drunkenly. Blood splattered the iron shields of Baldeen. The dead man’s sword lay half-buried in the peaty earth—a broadsword, with a double-edged blade. She pulled it free and tested its weight.
“Strip their weapons,” she called to the warriors nearby. “Every blade … every pike. The villagers will need them.”
Behind her, still seated astride her cob, Bree cleared her throat. “Surely, cottars and woodcutters can’t—”
“They can learn.” Lara cut her warder a sharp look as she cleaned the sword’s edge on the warrior’s cloak. “And they will. I won’t have Artair’s next push catch them helpless.”
She looked down at the broadsword once more, her pulse quickening. The iron gleamed dully in the rain. Each weapon here was one more chance for her people to survive what was coming. This win meant nothing if she couldn’t protect these lands—and she had bigger prey to hunt than her treacherous overking.
“My Queen!” A big man with wild red hair, riding astride a muscular horse, approached. Splattered with mud and blood, his handsome face gleaming with rain, Roth mac Tav wore a fierce grin. “Well fought! Artair’s dogs are fleeing west with their tails tucked between their legs.”
“For now.” Lara straightened up, frowning. “But they’ll be back.”
His smile faltered slightly. “Today is still a success, nonetheless.” Roth’s voice carried a familiar note—one that reminded her of when she’d rejected his advances a year earlier.
His hesitation pleased Lara. Let him mind her.
“Not to the folk of Cobblebraie, it isn’t. Tomorrow, we will start building a palisade around the village. I want every able-bodied inhabitant shown how to wield a bow and arrow and a blade.”
Handing the sword to one of her Guard, Lara continued picking her way through the corpses. She hunkered down next to another Baldeen warrior, drawing a dagger from the woman’s belt and testing its edge against her thumb. A thin line of red welled up. The iron bit deeper than intended, but she didn’t flinch. Pain was useful—it sharpened the mind and reminded her of the cost of letting her guard down.
Her husband had taught her that too, and every day that the bastard held onto Dulross was another cut.
“I won’t leave those on our borders defenseless,” she announced then, rising to her feet. Handing the dagger to another of her warriors, she crossed to Bracken and swung up onto the mare’s broad back once more.
Meanwhile, her warriors had already begun stripping weapons from the dead. They obeyed her. Nonetheless, she marked their set expressions and the veiled looks some of them shared. They were suspicious of her these days. On their way west, they’d passed through the village of Croy—where there had been rumors.
The High Queen wielded a forbidden power. Fire magic.
As she’d expected, Alar had revealed her secret to his allies in Dulross, and news was spreading. It wouldn’t be long beforeshe’d have to address the whispers. And what then? Would her people rise up against her?
Lara’s jaw tightened. She didn’t have time for this. They’d had a victory today, but it wasn’t enough. Not when the Shee occupied the North, her husband ruled the borderlands, and her overkings had annexed themselves to the south. Enemies surrounded Duncrag now. She had so many battles to fight. Many centuries had passed since Albia had been this fractured.
Her pulse spiked, and her breathing grew shallow. How was one woman supposed to fix such a Gods-damned mess?
“And after we’re done at Cobblebrae?” Roth asked, though something in his tone suggested he already knew.
“It’s time to look north once more,” she replied, fixing him with a penetrating look. “Once we get back to Duncrag, I want our full strength assembled within the moon’s turn, ready to march.”
Lara strode through the camp, making her way past where warriors erected tents and lit cookfires. Woodsmoke and mist mingled in the damp air. They’d made camp a few furlongs east of the battleground, not far from what was left of Cobblebrae. After Baldeen warriors had sacked the village, the locals had fled into the woods. However, once the battle ended, they’d emerged. Now, many of them were warming themselves by the fires inside her camp. Tomorrow, they’d be able to return home.
The rain still fell gently, soft and silent in the gloaming. Tall trees loomed around the encampment; many had changed color now, from various shades of green to yellow and deep gold. Summer had faded, and autumn was upon them. Over a year had turned since that fateful day when she’d followed corpse candles into the woods and been rescued by the Half-blood.
Tension coiled under Lara’s ribs. Was it only a year? It seemed longer. She felt so much older. She hadn’t realized it then, but that evening had been the turning point in her life. At the time, she’d been grateful to Alar for saving her from powries.
These days, all she could think about was sinking a blade between his ribs.
