Warlord (34 page)

Amyu, holding two buckets of steaming water. She looked up, then dropped to her knees, the buckets sloshing over as they thumped down. Amyu lowered her head, showing the back of her neck.

"Keir," I cried out, afraid that he'd kill her. But Keir managed to stop, and stood over the poor girl.

A soft snort, and Marcus stepped in with a tray. He raised that eyebrow of his as he stepped past Amyu to set the tray on the bed. "Foolish child." Marcus carefully pushed the tray close to me. "You serve a warlord now, not a warrior. Never sneak up on a warlord. Always give warning, to let him know where you are and what you are doing."

"Forgive me, Warlord." Amyu spoke carefully. She remained on her knees, her head down.

Keir sheathed his dagger.

"Hisself is even more on edge than normal, given events," Marcus scolded Amyu as she rose to her feet. "You should know better. Fetch drying cloths now."

Amyu left as fast as she could.

"Marcus." I eyed the tray next to me, with two bowls of stew, a pile of bread, and two mugs of kavage. "There is enough here to feed an army."

Marcus snorted. "Eat what you can. You were wasting away on the slop the warrior-priests were feeding you, no doubt, if you ate at all."

There was a cough from outside, and Amyu's hands pushed through the flap, filled with cloths. Marcus accepted the bundle, and Amyu's hands disappeared. Marcus shook his head, and placed them at the foot of the bed. He then eyed Keir, who had not moved. "Simus has the watch. Rafe and Prest are outside. My daggers are sharp, as are Amyu's."

Keir drew in a deep breath, then gave a quick nod. He started to shrug out of the mail shirt, and Marcus moved to help him.

"I'll see to this," Marcus offered, as he placed the heavy mail over his arm. "You'll see to your own blades, before they are all over with rust?"

Keir nodded.

"I'll bring what you need, then. Call if you need anything else."

"Thank you, Marcus." I smiled at him.

He paused, then reached out to cup my cheek with his hand, a rare gesture from this man. "Sleep well, Lara."

I turned my attention to Keir as Marcus left. My Warlord was standing there, in his leather trous and thick quilted tunic he wore under the chainmail. His face was grim as he looked at me.

"Keir," I started, but he shook his head. He hefted a bucket and moved it close, then grabbed up one of the drying cloths. "Why did you say you could not command them?"

"Let me see to your hands." He knelt before me, and soaked one end of a cloth in the warm water. I held out my hands, palms up, and he lightly stroked the wet cloth over them.

I looked at his head, his black hair shining in the light from the brazier. But he was focused on his task, so I could drink in the sight of him. It seemed forever since I'd seen him last, although I knew it had been only days.

"What has happened?" I asked softly.

Keir sighed. "A warlord is responsible for the lives of the warriors that follow him, Lara." He kept his eyes on his work. "Those lives are dear, and are not to be wasted. Death in battle is honorable and expected. Death from affliction is a horror."

"The Council held you responsible for the plague?" I asked.

"For the deaths," Keir continued, his voice soft. "I am stripped of my title, Lara. No longer a warlord of the Plains. No army at my command."

I sucked in a quick breath.

Keir paused, and looked at me with tired eyes. "You may wish to claim another, Warprize."

I glared at him. "I did not come all this way, Keir of the Cat, to claim another. You are my chosen Warlord."

"Lara, this changes—"

"Nothing." I replied. Keir was worn, and tired. I could see it in the tautness of his jaw, in the depths of his eyes. "It changes nothing."

Keir shook his head, and focused back on my hand. "Oh, but it does. Antas made much of sending a messenger to Water's Fall, to the warriors I left there. What will they do, when they learn that I am no longer a warlord? What will your people do?"

"I am the Queen of Xy, Keir. That has not changed. You are still Overlord of Xy, and my chosen consort."

"There are those that will take advantage of this, Lara." Keir spoke softly, still focused on my hand as he cleaned it. "Durst will certainly see it as an opportunity to—"

I leaned in closer and whispered in his ear. "It changes nothing between us."

Keir's hands stilled, his head down.

"I thought you dead, lost to me forever," I choked out. "Yet here you are, warm and alive and next to me."

He lifted his head, his eyes brilliant with his own tears. Some of the light in their depths was dimmed. The Council's actions had been a blow to him, I could see that.

"Nothing else matters, Keir," I repeated. "Nothing except our love."

He drew a shuddering breath, and I leaned in and kissed him gently. His lips were soft and gentle, and the touch reassured us both. It might have led to more, except that my stomach chose to grumble at that moment. I broke the kiss, and Keir chuckled,

"Finish your work, my Warlord, so that I can eat." I held out my hands so that he could finish. "The warriors in Xy will probably do exactly what Rafe and the others have done. Continue to follow you. Besides, there is little chance that the messenger will get through the snows in the mountains."

Keir shrugged. "Only the elements can say."

"What did Rafe mean, when he said, 'That which has been lost can be regained'?"

"The Council agreed that I can enter the combats again, in the spring, and fight for warlord status," Keir said quietly. "A named warlord has only to defeat any that offer direct challenge. But I would have to fight my way through the tiers to win the status again." He flashed me a look. "Not an easy thing. Lara."

"You are a Warlord of the Plains, Keir of the Cat," I told him. "To me, to your warriors, to the People of Xy. What care I for the word of a Council of stupid bracnects?"

He gave me a wry look.

I made no further comment as he worked on my hands, getting them as clean as he could. I felt his need to care for me, as I needed to care for him.

Finally, when it was done to his satisfaction, he spread the salve over my hands, working it in carefully. I smiled at him when he stoppered the jar. "Another day or two, and they will be fine."

"So you say," Keir responded. He tore one of the drying cloths into strips, and wrapped my palms again.

"So I know." I sat back and flexed my fingers. Keir gathered up my things, and placed them back in the satchel, heedless of the order. There was a soft cough outside, and Marcus entered with a small wooden box. He said nothing, merely handed it to Keir, snatching up the used drying cloth on his way out.

"Keir." I patted the bed next to me.

He hesitated, then nodded and stood, to remove his swords and daggers, and placed them on the bed, well within reach. When that was done, he lowered himself to the edge of the bed, next to me.

I turned, settled myself so that I faced him. Carefully I pulled the tray around so I could reach it easily. "Keir, you did what had to be done. At Wellspring. At the Council. My hands are fine, and there's no sign that they'll sour."

"I never thought they'd draw blades in a senel. When Antas called for your death—" Keir shuddered. He opened the box in his hands, and I caught the faint scent of clove oil. Keir picked a cloth out of the box, reached for one of his swords, and started to clean it.

I took up a bowl of stew, dipped some of the bread in and started eating.

"They'd stop at nothing to prevent your confirmation." Keir scowled at his blade. "Honor and truth were abandoned in an instant when they thought they would lose."

I said nothing, merely ate, and listened.

"I should take you away from here. Back to Xy, where you would be safe and protected."

I reached for more bread. "Would I?" I dipped some bread in the rich broth and held it out to Keir. He opened his mouth, and I fed him the piece. "Would it really be safer, Keir?"

He chewed, looking at me though dark lashes. "We still don't know who attacked you on the journey to the Heart."

"I am safest here, within your protection, My Warlord." I took up another piece of the flat bread, scooped up some of the meat, and offered it to him. Keir obediently opened his mouth and took it. "You yourself told me that you were trying to bring change to your people, and change is rarely bloodless." I held out the bowl. "Hold this, would you?"

Keir swallowed and took the bowl from my hand, which let me reach for kavage. He reached for more bread as he spoke. "When word came that you and Keekai had been attacked, I feared the worst." He dug into the stew. "Simus arrived almost with Keekai's messenger. Atira and Heath were with him."

I handed him the mug of kavage, and he took a long drink. "What is the story behind Heath's eye?" I asked.

Keir handed me back the mug. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and his eyes danced. "Your Xyian friend has odd ideas. He leaped between Atira and her opponent, apparently to 'protect' her, or so he said." Keir shook his head. "As if that warrior needed protecting. He's lucky all she did was hit him for that insult."

I chuckled, taking his mug and pressing more bread into his hand. "Yet you leap to my defense fast enough."

Keir gave me a wry smile. "Your pardon, but you are not a warrior, Lara."

"True." I smiled as he started in on the stew. I picked up the other bowl of stew.

"Rafe and Prest told me what you did at the birthing." Keir looked at me oddly. "Is it true, you cut her open and pulled out the babes? And they all lived?"

"So far as I know, they live. Maybe now I can check on her openly." I smiled in quiet satisfaction as Keir mopped up the last of his stew. "I felt so much better that Rafe and Prest were there. I was reassured, knowing that they were watching over me, even from a distance."

Keir nodded, chewing. But then his head jerked up, and he swallowed and fixed me with his glare. "But there will be no more sneaking under tent walls to go healing!"

"I promise, Keir." I reached out, took the empty bowl and handed him the full one. "After what happened in the village, I promise that I will tell you where I go and why." I gave him a sly glance. "Not that I promise to obey, mind you."

"Might as well order the wind not to blow," Keir muttered. But the corners of his eyes were crinkled, and I knew he understood. I eyed him over the rim of my kavage mug, but said nothing. He smiled then, his shoulders easing down under his quilted tunic. He reached for more bread, and started eating again.

I reached for the gurt, and popped a few in my mouth. For some reason, it still tasted wonderful, and I chewed with enjoyment.

Keir reached the bottom of the bowl, and mopped up the last of the broth with the last of the bread. Marcus had been right. Not enough to feed an army, but enough to feed one empty warlord.

"I'll miss Keekai." I spoke softly, putting my empty kavage mug on the tray and reaching for a few more pieces of gurt. "She was a true friend to you."

"Even in death." Keir placed the empty bowl on the tray. "She kept you safe for me."

"She did." I caught my breath, remembering the pain. "I thought it was you, riding behind me, guarding me."

Keir lifted the tray and set it by our feet. "I could not find you." Keir's voice was just as soft. "I thought I'd sent you to your death."

I looked at him, my tears welling up. "Keir."

He reached out, and I went into his arms and hugged him tight, crying at what might have been. The gurt dropped from my hand, forgotten. No threat of chainmail, so I rested my head on his shoulder, and listened to the beat of his heart. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I should be so happy, but I was so afraid. And now . . ."

"We're out of balance." Keir reached for my hand.

I smiled. "It takes the touch of another to bring us back, to center us, am I right?"

"That is so." Keir rubbed my knuckles, and then started to stroke the back of my hand. "The soul is made of fire, and sits within the left hand."

I watched as his fingers moved lightly over my skin. "Seems to me it's a convenient reason to touch another."