They’d pushed the Shee back.
“I want us to go further,” Beathan said then, raising his voice to be heard over the cheering that reverberated around the hall. “Now that we’ve started, we should takeallof The Uplands for ourselves.”
Alar stilled, his fingers tightening around the stem of his goblet.
He’d been waiting for this.
Power was seductive. First, you wanted just a taste, but as it settled upon your tongue, you grew hungry for more. And over time, the hunger grew to greed.
Together, Circines and wulver ruled a wide belt of territory: Doure on the east coast, all the Goatfell Mountains in the central Uplands, and now the Ring of Ard as well. But it wasn’t enough for Beathan. He was drunk on more than potent apple wine tonight. He was drunk on victory.
“We don’t stand alone,” the chieftain went on. “The other tribes will unite with us.”
The rumble of voices around the table died at these words. A bold statement. The three hill-tribes within The Uplandsrarely joined forces. The Circines, Druthen, and Lothin had a long history of blood feuds.
“What if they don’t?” Alar asked, swirling his wine. “What if the Raven Queen has bought them … as she once did you?”
Beathan’s dark eyebrows drew together. “People change sides.”
Alar inclined his head. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from making the dig. The Circines had initially fought for the Shee. Mor had promised them revenge against the High King of Albia … and then, when she pushed south, she’d promised Beathan could have Duncrag. But the Raven Queen’s plans had moved too slowly for the Circines chieftain.
And Alar had exploited his frustration.
After they’d taken back Doure a year earlier, he’d told Lara he needed time to spread word amongst his brethren of their victory and to rally his warriors. And he had. But therealreason he’d waited a moon’s turn before traveling south and marrying the High Queen was to visit The Goatfells. There, he’d met with Beathan and made his own proposal.
“There are other things to consider,” he said after a pause. “What about the Slew … and theirfriends?”
Beathan’s brow furrowed. He didn’t like to discuss the problems they’d been having of late—problems that were growing—but ignoring them wasn’t going to work either. Taking back The Ring of Ard and the lands surrounding it had brought them face-to-face with the fact that various spirits now swarmed in the darkness each night. Some of the wraiths were curious or restless, others mischievous. But many wished to cause harm. And they did.
The Slew had swarmed in on the night they’d taken back the stone circle. Beathan and Alar had camped inside the toweringstones and surrounded their warband with huge bonfires. Even then, some of the wraiths had gotten through. They’d taken warriors, and the fight had drawn out as exhaustion hammered at them. They’d been on the verge of collapse when the Slew finally drew back.
“I’m not going to let those fuckers ruin this,” Beathan bellowed. The Circines chieftain’s expression turned fierce as he raised his cup high once more. “They might stalk the night … but we rule the day.”
Alar didn’t reply. He admired Beathan’s stubbornness in the face of adversity. However, even within the sheltering walls of this fort, their problems with spirits were growing. The Slew hunted with chilling regularity now, and just two days earlier, a grimloch had killed an entire family in the lower fort. It had squeezed through the smoke vent and snuffed out the peat fire, suffocating a carpenter, his wife, and their two bairns while they slept.
No, they couldn’t sweep it all away—although the Circines chieftain was making a valiant attempt.
“Just imagine it, Alar.” Beathan sat back in his chair, his hand playing with Duana’s soft hair. The lass sat, as if carved from stone. Her blue eyes were distant. “The whole of The Uplands …ours. From Darkmere in the northeast, to The Spine and Harra in the far north, and the Isle of Laggan in the east. The High Queen can keep The Wolds … but the mountains, glens, and valleys of the North belong to us.”
Something in the chieftain’s voice called to Alar then.
It was tempting.
Of late, he’d gotten bored. It surprised him how quickly he’d fallen into a routine in Dulross, how quickly he’d forgotten how hard he’d fought to be here.
It was easy to think the solution was to gain more territory, but was it?
Would it ever fill the aching pit in his chest?
Lyall and Dolph exchanged glances then, their gazes glinting.
“The Shee are at their weakest when the weather turns bitter,” The chieftain went on, oblivious to the wulvers’ reactions. “I suggest we wait until mid-winter and then hit Cannich first … rather than taking smaller villages and forts. Strike fast and hard.”
Excited murmuring erupted at this suggestion, and a grin stretched Beathan’s face. His attention then shifted to Alar. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m thinking.”
Beathan cocked a dark eyebrow. “And your conclusion?”
