Forcing herself to focus, she glanced, not for the first time, up at the western sky. The Slew always flew in from that direction. Her ears strained for the familiar shrieks, but all was quiet—for the moment. Her last encounter with The Unforgiven was two days earlier. She’d driven them off, yet had been wracked with fever and bone-deep exhaustion afterward. The reaction wasn’t unusual, although this time, it had lingered. She was primed this evening though, ready to rush to her tent and throw on the voluminous black cloak and leather mask.
Her lips thinned. Many of her followers already suspected that the ‘fire wraith’ wasn’t a helpful spirit but their High Queen in disguise. The next time she went out to face the Slew, she might not be able to slip away afterward.
Next time, the warriors and druids who’d followed her from Duncrag might demand answers.
Ones that wouldn’t make her popular.
Reaching the heart of the camp, she ducked into the largest of the tents—the royal pavilion—to find her attendants readying it for her. Florie was lighting a brazier, while Ani and Lilith were shaking out the furs. Nodding to them, Lara shrugged off her filthy cloak and handed it over to Lilith. She then drew the iron-bladed dagger she always carried at her hip, dropped into a fighting stance, and started going through her drills.
Block. Parry. Strike.Her servants continued their chores as she repeated the movements.They were used to their High Queen doing her daily training while they worked.Block. Parry. Strike.
“Good.” Her gaze cut right as Bree ducked into the tent. Dressed in mud-caked fighting leathers with a longsword at her hip, she flicked her long oak-colored braid over her shoulder as she straightened up. Fatigue etched her pretty features. “Although I’m surprised you want to spar this evening. Aren’t you tired?”
“Aye.” Lara flipped the blade, as Bree had shown her, and caught it by the handle. She then flashed her warder a grim smile. “But revenge never sleeps.”
Bree huffed a laugh before drawing the knife strapped to her thigh. “Right. Let’s work on your counter strikes … you still aren’t fast enough.”
Lara pulled a face. “I’m getting quicker.”
“Aye … but Alar moves like a snake.”
At the mention of her husband, Lara’s belly clenched. The bastardwasfast, thanks to the earth magic that flowed through his veins. His wolf’s head tattoo had sharpened his reflexes and instincts, making him hard to beat. But she would. When the time came though, the element of surprise could only be used once. She wouldn’t waste it.
The two women faced off against each other.
“Remember, the key to making a lethal counter strike is to give yourself enough space to work with,” Bree explained, her fingers flexing on her dagger hilt. “Careful though … get too close, and your opponent’s blade will find you … stray too far and your strikes won’t land.”
Lara nodded, impatience bubbling up. “All right. Let’s—”
“My Queen!” Cailean shoved his way into the pavilion then.
Lara cast him a sharp look. Her chief-enforcer usually announced himself before entering Lara’s private space. However, one glance at his stunned face and her irritation fled. “What is it?”
“The Shee are here,” he replied roughly. “And their queen is with them.”
2: A LOST LEGACY
“ARE YOU SURE there are just ten of them with the queen?” Lara peered into the darkness that fringed the bright ring of torches ahead. “There aren’t more lurking amongst the trees … ready to attack the moment I show my face?”
“We checked.” The chief-enforcer’s tone was gruff. “Only Mor’s Ravens accompany her. I wouldn’t let you anywhere near them otherwise.”
Lara frowned. Cailean and Bree flanked her, while Skaal—his fae hound—stalked behind them. She trusted her chief-enforcer’s judgment, yet it still felt as if she was walking into a trap. Her last encounter with Mor’s Ravens—her personal Guard—had left a bitter taste in her mouth.
“Do you wantmeto meet with Mor?” Bree asked. “It would be safer.”
“No,” Lara replied firmly, even as heat ignited under her ribs. “A High Queen doesn’t cower.”
“No … she doesn’t.” Censure edged Bree’s voice now. “But you shouldn’t put yourself at unnecessary risk either. And since I have … history … with Mor, she might treat with me instead.”
“Or she might kill you,” Cailean pointed out.
The warrior druid had a point. Since Bree had once been Mor’s assassin—before fleeing Sheehallion and shifting sides—the Raven Queen was likely still looking for retribution.
Lara quickened her stride, one hand drifting to the cairn stone safely tucked away at her belt. She carried her dagger as well, but if things turned nasty, fire would be her greatest ally. She didn’t want to wield it openly, for it would expose her secret to all, but if Mor tried anything, she’d have to.
“I’m not facing Mor without youbothat my side,” she reassured her chief-enforcer and warder. “Keep that torch with you, Cailean.”
Her pulse leaped into a canter. This could be your chance to kill Mor. Cut off the head of the serpent.
