“Well, I’ll have that if you don’t want it.”
Gratefully, he passed it over, watching as she tucked into it. She appeared to be enjoying her food. Eating in a dingy cave like this would be new for her, but she seemed at ease all the same.
“You’re subdued this eve,” Mor noted after swallowing a mouthful.
“I’m tired,” he answered, guarded now.
She studied him for a few moments. “Those scars are impressive,” she said softly. “How did you get them?”
Alar tensed, aware that others nearby were now watching them—Fern and Sablebane included. Lara was the only person he’d told about his scars. He didn’t like having an audience and thought about refusing to answer. However, a challenge glinted in Mor’s eyes now.
His pulse quickened. She was testing him.
“Both are testament to how much the Marav despise your kind,” he replied.
That got everyone’s attention at the fireside. Lara glanced up from where she’d been staring absently at the flames, while beside her, Cailean frowned. Focusing on Mor once more, Alar lifted his hand, tracing the scar that slashed down his cheek. “This was from when a villager tried to kill me as a child.” His hand lowered to the second scar around his throat. “And this is from when the local overking’s brother attempted to string me up a few years after … as you can see … they both failed.”
He wasn’t sure why he did it, but he glanced over at his half-sister and father then.
And what he glimpsed there surprised him. Fern’s expression was almost … anguished, while Sablebane’s face was all taut angles, his eyes shadowed.
Alar stared his father down, issuing a challenge of his own.
Did you think I had an easy time of it, you rutting bastard?
“A half-blood must weather much,” Mor murmured, drawing his attention once more. “You are a reminder of a truth that neither of our races wishes to accept.”
Sourness flooded Alar’s mouth. He wasn’t enjoying this conversation. “And what’s that?”
Mor’s lips curved into a rueful smile. “That there are more things that unite us than separate us.”
“Maybe things need to change then,” Lara spoke up, her voice carrying across the hearth. “After we’re done at The Shattered Crown, you and I need to talk, Mor.”
The two queens locked gazes then, Alar forgotten.
The silence drew out before Mor slowly nodded.
After supper, Alar gratefully took his turn at watch. Standing at the entrance to the cave, listening to the murmur of voices behind him as his companions tried to get comfortable on the hard ground, he stared moodily through the line of torches.
A long, harrowing wail split the night.
Alar stiffened, murmuring an oath under his breath. The Weeper had found them.
They’d had regular visits from her at Dulross, but had been spared of late. He grimaced then. Not that they didn’t have other, far more dangerous, spirits to contend with.
Even so, the keening cry made his temples ache. Numbness settled over him. Hopelessness dug its claws deep.
The scuff of heavy boots on hard-packed earth made him turn. Cailean stepped up at his side. A moment later, Skaal pushed in between them, tail wagging. She nudged at Alar, demanding affection.
Trying to ignore the despair that rolled over him in dizzying waves, Alar reached out and stroked her neck. He glanced up then, marking the severe cast of the chief-enforcer’s face. “You know it’s my tattoo, don’t you?” he said, lifting his other hand to his chest as Skaal nuzzled into him. “It gives me a bond with wolf-kind.”
Cailean snorted. “I don’t give a fuck about that.”
Alar lifted an eyebrow.Liar.
Cailean met his eye then, his gaze narrowing. “But what Idocare about is my High Queen’s well-being.” His voice was low and gruff, almost a growl.
Silence fell while Cailean’s words hung in the air. Alar stiffened. He wanted to tell him that he too cared about Lara, yet he wisely refrained. Such a response would likely earn him a fist in the mouth.
