Warcry (15 page)

“Warm me,” she whispered, and gasped as Heath moved over her, covering her with his warm, solid body. “No talk, Heath. Just . . . this.”

“As you command,” Heath said, and claimed her mouth.

CHAPTER 22

OTHUR PAUSED TO CATCH HIS BREATH AT THE top of the stairs before heading to the Queen’s chambers. He was certainly feeling the stairs this morning, but then it had been a rough time of late. He leaned against the rough stone of the wall and huffed. It didn’t help that he was carrying the Crystal Sword of Xy. He shifted the sash where it rubbed into his neck and ran his hand through his hair.

It also didn’t help matters that he’d been up half the night with Anna planning a wedding. Flowers, dresses, food. The ladies of the court were all trying on gowns and demanding help from the staff even into the wee hours.

Ah, it would be worth it. Lara wed under the laws of both lands, an heir in the nursery, and new hope for the kingdom. Xy had been isolated too long; it might hurt to stretch old muscles, but there was no alternative.

Then there was Heath. Othur smiled with satisfaction. He was so proud of his boy.

Heath had slipped into the role of Seneschal as easy as a duck slips into water. Heath had kept control of the Guard without a protest. Even if he didn’t know it, Othur knew that Heath had the skills to step into his shoes someday. His son was loyal to the House of Xy; to have him leave and live on the Plains would be a waste of his talents.

Atira was a warrior of the Plains. A fine woman, Othur could see that. Strong and sensible, but he doubted that she would ever be content in Xy. Most of the Plains warriors had trouble adjusting to walls and restraints. She’d be no different. Othur sighed and shook his head.

Well, they’d just see. One way or another, things had a way of working out for the best, given time.

“Lord Othur?” One of the kitchen pages came running up the stairs and slid to a stop beside him, not even breathing hard. “Cook says she wants ya.”

Othur put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Tell Cook you found me with the Queen, and that I’ll be down after the Justice. If it can’t wait, she should send someone to me with her questions.”

“Aye, lord.” And the boy was off like the wind.

Othur straightened his doublet and headed toward the Queen’s chambers. After this Justice and the wedding, once things had settled down after the birth, he’d promised himself a rest. Some long afternoons playing chess with friends, draining a few casks of ale, and long walks in the garden with Anna.

He gave a nod to Ander and Yveni, standing guard at the doors, and walked into the chamber to find Lara seated by the fire, looking tired, disgruntled, and all together unhappy.

“Walk,” Eln said to her, standing at her side. “It will help—”

“I know that,” Lara snapped, then heaved a sigh. “But knowing and doing are two very different things. I guess I am paying the price for all the banalities I said to patients as a healer.”

“Banality makes them no less true,” Eln said.

“Walk, beloved,” Keir said as he helped Lara to stand. “Later, after this senel, we will rest and balance the elements within you.”

Lara snorted as she leaned on his arm, one hand pressed to her belly. “I’m fairly sure that is how
we
got into this in the first place.”

“It’s a Justice,” Othur reminded him. “Not a senel.”

“Justice,” Keir corrected himself as he walked Lara around the room.

The door opened, and Heath and Atira walked in. Heath took one look at Lara and frowned. “Is the baby—”

“No,” Lara snapped. “It’s not. It’s fussing and cramping and kicking, but it’s not coming. It’s going to stay within until it’s a year old, from the feel of things.”

Heath blinked and took a step back, bumping into Atira.

“We were up most of the night,” Keir explained with a shrug.

“Perhaps we should consider delaying the Justice,” Othur suggested.

“No.” Lara shook her head. “No, that needs doing, and soon. Bad enough I’ve put it off this long.”

“I’d ask you to remember our traditions then,” Othur said. “Monarchs are not supposed to actually use the Sword of Xy to lop off heads during the Justice. That is for your designated executioner.”

Lara laughed in spite of herself. “I’ll try to remember that, Othur.”

Keir glanced at the sword. “Could I see the blade? Is there a tradition against that?”

“Please, my lord,” Othur said, holding out the sheath with a smile. He’d been looking forward to showing off the blade.

Atira took Keir’s place, assisting Lara as the Warlord took the sword. The tall man drew the weapon, and his head jerked in surprise. “It is
stone
?”

“Aye, it’s crystal,” Othur said. “The only one of its kind.”

Everyone craned their necks to look as Keir pulled the sword free of its sheath. The blade was as a traditional one, but as clear as water. It had a thin furrow down the center and it glittered in the light. The hilt was bronze and wire-wrapped.

Keir held it up, admiring it. “It’s no heavier than a regular sword. And well balanced.”

“Still sharp,” Heath said. “Or at least it was the last time I drew it.” Heath glanced at Othur and grinned. “Got punished for it, too, as I remember.”

Othur smiled, shaking his head at the memory. “Not sure how either of us survived your childhood, my boy.”

Keir sheathed the sword and handed it back to Othur. “I’d fear to hit anything with it. That blade would surely shatter.”

“It dates back to the reign of Xyson,” Othur said. “Legend has it that it was wielded by that ancient king, but that after a particularly fierce battle, he announced that he would never draw the blade again. It has served as the ceremonial blade since that time.”

Marcus and Amyu entered the room with trays of kavage and food. The scarred man focused his eye on Othur. “Your bonded is looking for you, with a small army in her wake.”

Othur rolled his eyes. “One would think we were preparing for battle instead of a wedding.”

Marcus held up the pitcher and a mug, and Lara nodded. “Please, Marcus.”

“As you like it,” Marcus said. “More milk than kavage.”

Lara took the mug with a smile of thanks.

“Marcus,” Keir began, but Marcus turned his back on him.

Lara chortled into her mug.

“I will serve you, Warlord,” Amyu said, doing just that. “I have kavage for you. Strong and black.”

“My thanks,” Keir said with a grumble, staring at Marcus’s back. “Seeing as how no other will serve me.”

“Seeing as how you have ignored my wishes,” Marcus growled without turning around. “I have served you well and do not deserve—”

“Liam deserves to have his truths heard, at the very least,” Keir said.

Marcus stomped off into the bedchamber.

Keir grimaced as he took the mug from Amyu. Lara left Atira and moved back to Keir’s side, leaning up against him.

Othur stepped over to Atira. “So, Marcus and the Warlord Liam, they are a couple?”

“Yes.” Atira nodded, speaking softly. “They are . . . were . . . bonded. But when Marcus was scarred . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she bit her lip.

“When his ear burned away, Marcus declared the bonding sundered by the elements.”

Keir finished for her. “Is that a problem?” His sharp blue eyes focused on Othur even as Lara gave him a worried look.

“No, Overlord, not for me,” Othur responded easily. “But it will be with the church.”

“The last thing we need is another
issue
,” Lara sighed, starting another circle around the room.

“One good thing is that, in some ways, their argument and the wedding have taken some of the attention off the Justice,” Othur offered. “It’s still important, but now they’ve other things to think on.”

“Have they gathered?” Lara asked.

“There’s time yet,” Othur assured her. “Have you thought of how you are going to resolve this?”

“Oh yes,” Lara nodded. “I have a few ideas.”

“And are you going to share those ideas with your Seneschal?” Othur arched an eyebrow.

“What, and ruin the surprise?” Lara smiled, then shook her head. “I will wait until they have presented their cases, Othur. Then I will decide. They deserve to have their truths heard.”

“Just remember, Lara,” Othur said. “Some of the lords wait to see what actions you will take before deciding on their own. You need to be careful—”

A commotion outside the door caught everyone’s attention. The doors opened, and Anna spilled within, her arms filled with cloth, followed by two maids, their arms filled as well.

Othur took the wisest path and pressed himself against the wall, well out of the way.

ATIRA WATCHED IN AMAZEMENT AS ANNA GLARED around the room. “Don’t you know there’s a wedding this night? And you’re all standing around like there’s nothing needs doing.”

“There’s a Justice,” Heath offered, but Anna would have none of that.

“They’ll wait.” Anna went to a small table off to the side and set her burden down. “I sent sweet rolls and herbed tea to the lot, and with any luck, they will stuff themselves silly and be happy and sated when you arrive.”

“One could only hope,” Othur muttered.

“And where have you been?” Anna demanded. “There’s been a thousand and one things that needed deciding, and you not to be found.”

“Alas, I was concerned with the Justice,” Othur said. “I am sure whatever you decided will be fine. But Lara needs to go—”

“They can wait a while,” Anna said firmly. “They can’t start without her, now, can they? Time enough to measure you for a dress.”

Lara sighed and looked ruefully at the fabric. “It’s traditional to wear your mother’s dress, but I’d never fit into it. The noble ladies are all going to whisper behind their hands and talk of my belly.”

“Since when have you cared one whit for what those geese think?” Anna said. “And you can wear the regalia of a royal bride easily enough. I’ve the mantle here.” She gestured for the maids, and they started to unfold the bundle of fabric.

“I don’t care. Not really.” Lara sighed again, shifting in her chair with a grimace. “It’s just that . . .” her eyes welled with tears. “I just wanted to be pretty.”

Atira caught her breath, sharing Lara’s sorrow.

Keir knelt, putting his arm around Lara and looking up into her eyes. “You will be the loveliest woman there, flame of my heart.”

Tears ran down Lara’s face, and she pulled Keir into as much of a hug as her belly would allow. “I’m so sorry—I can’t seem to stop being silly.”

Atira looked away in time to see Anna and her women spread out a lovely cloak that seemed to stretch out for miles. She gasped as the light glittered on the gold cloth.

“What is that?” Amyu asked, her voice hushed as she drew nearer.

“The mantle of Xy, worn by the royal brides for many years,” Anna said proudly.

She was right to be proud. The mantle was of embroidered gold cloth that shimmered as it moved. Along the collar and the edge of the entire garment was a trim of white fur, with spots of black.

“The fur is ermine,” Anna explained to Amyu.

“What are these?” Amyu asked, her fingers brushing the embroidery that decorated the mantle all down the back and along the length. “It’s the same as on that cloth hanging in the hall.”

“That cloth is called a tapestry,” Anna explained. “An ancient symbol of the House of Xy—a creature of legend called an airion. The body, head, and legs of a horse, with the beak, wings, and claws of an eagle. They were the ancient protectors of Xy, keeping us safe from the monsters of old, or so the stories say.” Anna pointed at the animal. “Look at the detail in the stitching. You don’t see that these days.”

Lara lifted her head from Keir’s embrace. “I’d forgotten how lovely it is,” she said, wiping her eyes.

“And I’ve white cloth to match for a dress,” Anna said. “So stand up and let us be about this.”

“But the lords are waiting,” Othur protested.

“They can just wait. Time enough to make a dress, but we need to make sure of things.” Anna scowled at the lot of them. “You men can just scoot. Go on now, shoo. Shoo!”

“We have our orders,” Othur said as he headed for the door. “I’ll head down to the throne room and stall for a bit. But do not keep us waiting too long, mind.”

“Your escort will be outside,” Heath said.

Keir stood. “I’ll go and armor myself.” He looked down at Lara with a twinkle in his eye. “Apparently a wedding is like any battle. We show up, obey our orders, and hope that the plan survives the first engagement with the enemy.”

Lara laughed as Anna protested and fussed all the rest of them out of the room.

DURST TRIED NOT TO SHOW HIS WEAKNESS AS HE took his seat at the morning table. Mornings were the worst; it took time for his body to rouse for the day.

Lanfer paced nearby, anger barely held in check.

Durst sighed within, and for a moment thought of his lands and his home. If they left now, in four days they’d be within sight of his own small keep. There would be peace there, and Xylara would probably allow him to live out his life there in seclusion and privacy. But even as the thought formed, the vision of Degnan’s head and body being carried by the guards—his wife’s keening voice raised at the sight—flashed before his eyes. His rage returned so hot and hard he choked on his drink.

Damn the Firelanders to the deepest hells.

His resolve strengthened. His land needed him to prevent what was about to happen. Xy must be kept pure and the Firelanders slaughtered or driven from the land.

His wife’s gentle hand came into view, placing warm bread and oats before him.

Lanfer had the courtesy to wait until Durst had swallowed his spoonful of oats before speaking. “If we wait, Warren will return, and that will be even more blades against us.”

“Many of the lords are waiting to see what happens,” Durst said mildly. “If Lara rules against the marriage, then they will join our cause. Aurora’s father is so angry, he may take up a sword himself.”

“It’s risky,” Lanfer growled.

“It’s prudent,” Durst growled back. “We will wait. Now, if you don’t mind, I wish to eat before I go to the throne room.”

“They will start any minute,” Lanfer warned.

“Xylara will arrive, and they will start the proceedings,” Durst corrected him. “And if Lord Korvis starts to espouse about the interruption of his son’s marriage, it will be a good while before anyone else is heard.” Durst took up his cup. “There’s time.”