Authors: Elizabeth Vaughan
CHAPTER 14
ATIRA WATCHED AS HEATH FIDGETED IN THE depths of his bed. “What did you say?”
“You heard me,” Heath growled. “The only reason Marcus sent me into the forest to gather wood is that I was the only warrior with an axe.”
“We have axes—” Atira protested, but Heath cut her off.
“Only ones that you’ve stolen.” Heath’s voice was sharp, ringing against the stone walls. “Everything you have, with the exception of gurt and gurtle fur, is stolen. Looted.”
“We raid—”
“Exactly,” Heath snapped. “You raid, loot, steal—”
“Steal?” Atira sat straight up. “We do not—”
“Steal,” Heath raised himself on his elbows. “It’s a hard truth, but it is the truth, and I probably should ask for your token.”
She glared at him.
Heath’s eyes dropped to her breasts, and she watched as he turned his head toward the fire and swallowed hard. She felt a rush of pleasure that she affected him that way, even as her anger at his words rose.
“The point is that you make nothing,” he growled. “And gurt and gurtle pads don’t count. The people of the Plains destroy, they don’t create.” Heath rolled onto his side. “I suspect that is part of the change Keir wants to bring to your people.” He glanced over at her. “All I am saying is that the ways of Xy aren’t evil or stupid. You know better than that.”
Atira felt some of her anger fade, but she wasn’t quite ready to concede the battle. “As you say,” was all she said.
The silence fell between them, and all that she could hear was the crackle of the flames and Heath shifting in his bed. The air was laced with the smell of burning wood and old spices. Atira tried to relax into the comfort of her bedroll, but sleep eluded her. Maybe because she was trying hard to ignore the truth of Heath’s statements.
And the Warprize’s request of the Warlord still bothered her. That a bonded couple would plan and commit to each other even beyond the snows . . .
She’d never had an interest in bonding. Never saw any benefit to it, truth be told. Why imprison yourself with promises to any one person?
Heath and his demands of bonding . . . bonding was for special people. There was nothing extraordinary about her or Heath. His demands were foolish.
She sighed as she remembered the look on Lara’s face and on Keir’s. They shared something that stirred her. That made wanting more seem almost . . . possible. Was it?
“Enough of this.” Heath’s voice cut through her thoughts, startling her. He sat up in bed and threw back his blankets. “Lara is right. I can’t get comfortable.”
Atira blinked as he stood and stalked close to stand over her. Those thin trous left nothing much to wonder about, and she felt heat bloom within her as he drew closer.
But Heath just gathered up his bedroll. “Come on,” he said, heading for the shuttered window. “Bring your bedroll.” He snagged up his sword, then turned back to his press. “You’d better wear one of my tunics.”
“Where are we going?” Atira whispered, getting to her feet. Heath tossed her a tunic and then turned to the window. “Where?” she repeated, as she pulled the spice-scented cloth on over her head.
Heath was outlined against the window as he lifted the bar and opened the shutters. “Out,” was all he said.
THERE WAS JUST ENOUGH LIGHT TO SEE BY, although Heath knew the way well enough that he could have done it blindfolded. He jumped over to the roof of the shed and held out his hand for Atira.
She ignored it and landed beside him with ease.
He puffed out a breath at her stubbornness, and then led the way along the roof, back toward the tree that they had climbed. But instead of climbing down, Heath ducked under the branches and along the roof to the next building over. Here the slate was only slightly slanted, and the stone beneath his feet was warm.
“What is this?” Atira asked as she came to stand close, her voice little more than a whisper. From here she could see more of the courtyard, which contained a well and what looked to be a sparring circle.
“The baking ovens,” Heath whispered back, kneeling to lay out his bedroll. “The cooks keep a steady fire going all day, so the stone will be warm for hours. I used to climb out here all the time and watch the stars.”
She hesitated. “We’ll fall.”
“We won’t fall,” Heath said.
Atira looked at the edge of the roof doubtfully. “We’ll—”
“Move slowly and keep your feet pointed toward the edge,” Heath said. “You won’t fall.”
Atira set about spreading her bedroll next to his. “This is what Xyians do when they can’t sleep?”
“Hardly,” Heath chuckled as he stretched out, his feet inches from the edge of the roof. “But I never got caught. The tree blocks the view from the castle, and no one comes out here at night. Mama has a flock of chickens that she keeps in a coop, but they are penned at dusk. As long as we’re quiet, they won’t put up a fuss.”
Atira placed her weapons close, and then she settled onto her bedding, rolling onto her side to face him. Heath admired the way her hips shifted under his tunic, offering glimpses of the shadowed area between her thighs.
He tore his gaze away and stared up at the night sky. The heat of the roof was coming up through the gurtle pads. He should have been relaxing into it, but he still felt tense. Tight.
It didn’t help that Atira was staring at him, her head propped up with one hand.
“I should have the tree cut down,” he said. “If I could figure out how to use it to gain access, someone else can do the same.”
“That seems wrong,” Atira said. “A thing that has grown there for so long dies because it is an inconvenience to you?”
Heath stretched his arms over his neck and arched his back, trying to work out the kinks in his shoulders. “There is truth to that. But it would be foolish to leave it there.”
“Sit up,” Atira commanded.
Heath sat up on the bedding, his legs crossed. Atira settled behind him and started to work his shoulders. “Foolish to suffer when I can work those knots out.”
Heath grunted as she started to knead his muscles. It felt good, and without thinking, he sighed.
“That’s better.” Atira’s voice was a warm whisper in his ear.
“The tree is a weakness,” Heath said. “That wasn’t a fear before, when Xymund was King. But now . . .” He straightened as Atira worked her way down his spine. “Now it needs to be addressed.”
“As does the state of the warriors in your guard,” Atira said. “Detros is a man you trust, but look at the size of his belly.”
Heath shook his head. “Don’t be fooled. Detros may not be young and fast, but he knows the men well, and their strengths and weaknesses. He knows the castle, too. He’d be a good choice to lead the Guard, after—” Heath cut off his words, not sure he wanted to talk about the future. Not now. Not yet.
Atira didn’t seem to notice. She was stroking his arms now, tracing down them with her fingertips. The cloth of the tunic she wore brushed against his skin, and he could smell the spices rising from the warmth of her body. He drew the scent in, breathing deeply.
Atira chuckled, seemingly sure of herself, and her hands rose to his chest, stroking over his nipples.
“I need to know something,” Heath whispered.
“Yes,” Atira said, and it wasn’t a question. Her hands drifted lower, close to his trous.
“If you are so against bonding with me, why are you trying to seduce me?”
Atira jerked her hands back, her anger flaring once again.
Heath looked over his shoulder at her, his blue eyes deep in the fading light.
Atira flushed, but lifted her chin. “Try? I don’t have to try hard. You want me.”
She gestured to the front of his trous. “Deny that.”
“I don’t.” Heath turned his back. “But I want more. Much more.”
“City-dweller ways,” Atira snorted, moving over to her bedroll to sprawl on its length. “Can’t it just be about pleasure? Enjoying ourselves?”
“I desire you, Atira,” Heath said. “You are the air I need to breathe, the very heart of me.” He knelt on his side, propping his head on his hand. “I want more than sex, more than sharing. I want to create a life with you. Sharing our hearts, our laughter and sorrow, our plans. How can I make you see that—”
“I see that your body hungers,” Atira said. “As does mine.”
She reached for his groin, but Heath caught her wrist. “No. Bonding is more than sex. How can I make you understand that—”
“Fine,” Atira snapped as she pulled her hand back. She sat up and pulled off the tunic.
“What are you doing?” Heath growled.
Atira rolled the tunic into a pillow and lay back slowly. “If you will not see to my pleasure, I will take my own.” She arched her back, and cupped her breasts in her hands, closing her eyes as her nipples tightened.
A strangled noise came from Heath’s direction, but she ignored him, keeping her eyes closed. “You were right, the stones are warm, and the air is sweet on my skin.” Atira pinched her nipples, rolling them between her fingers. She drew one leg up, and flexed her hips.
“Can you smell my desire, Heath?” she asked. She eased her eyes open just a bit so that she could see Heath’s face. It might have been set in stone, his eyes glittering as his chest heaved. “Can you taste the salt of my skin on your lips?”
She moved her right hand down, stroking the skin of her belly. “I want your touch,” she whispered. “I want you, deep within me.” She moved her fingers lower, just touching the top of her mound as she let her leg fall, exposing her folds. “But if I can’t have—”
Heath pounced.
He grabbed for her wrists, trying to pin her with his body. But Atira fought back, using his weight against him, rolling them over so that she was on top, flushed with her victory.
Heath growled and rolled them back onto the pads, half on, half off, his leg pressed between her, forcing them apart.
Atira chuckled, and used her hips to flip him again, determined to win.
Heath’s eyes went wide, and she shrieked as they rolled off the roof.
CHAPTER 15
“IDIOT,” DURST SNARLED. “HOW COULD YOU BE SO stupid?”
Lanfer was bent over a table, his leathers down around his ankles. He winced as Browdus poured wine onto his buttocks. “It was necessary. It will throw them off balance.”
“Horseshit,” Durst growled. “You and the Seneschal’s son have been at odds since birth. You brought personal feelings into this for the wrong reasons.”
Lanfer twisted around to look at the man. “And your reasons aren’t personal?”
“Yours is a squabble between boys.” Durst’s tone was cold. “I am avenging the death of my son with a cool head and a steady hand.”
Lanfer winced as Browdus spread open the wound and rinsed it again. “Hold still,” the cleric muttered.
“You can’t stay in the castle,” Durst continued. “We’ll need a reason to get you—”
“I am not leaving,” Lanfer said.
“You won’t be able to sit for a week,” Durst pointed out. “And your man will walk with a limp.” He sniffed. “At least you had the brains not to leave a blood trail to my door.”
“I will be fine,” Lanfer said. “The pain is nothing compared to the healing. My man can take my horses out to the farrier and leave that way. But I am staying.”
Durst lifted his cane and brought the tip up under Lanfer’s chin. Lanfer lifted his head, craning his neck until he winced with pain.
“You stay only so long as you obey me,” Durst said. “Our plans rely on quiet and subtlety. No one must suspect until it’s too late.”
Lanfer pulled his head off the tip of the cane. “I will obey,” he growled.
“Good.” Durst turned to the man tending him. “How bad is it?”
Browdus shrugged. “I’ve got the bleeding stopped. The wound is small but fairly deep. We can’t risk a healer, so he will have to suffer my ministering.”
“Suffer is the word,” Lanfer said.
“I’ve washed it with wine, and I’ll bandage it as best I can.” Browdus took the clean rags from Beatrice.
“You need to get back to the church,” Durst said. “My wife can apply the bandages to his ass. I don’t trust the Archbishop’s nerves.”
“Best if I keep him far from the court.” Browdus stepped back, taking up his cloak.
“As far as you can.” Durst smiled grimly. “Let there be no reminders.”
“Plans within plans,” Browdus said. “Remember that plans fail and—”
“Rest assured, priest,” Durst arched an eyebrow. “My plans do not call for bedding.”
Browdus flushed, bowed, and went swiftly out the door. “What was that about?” Lanfer asked. He was clearly trying not to flinch as Beatrice packed the wound.
“Nothing you need know of.” Durst limped over to the window. “Just an ill-conceived plan that Browdus came up with early on.” Durst settled into his chair with a sigh. “Admittedly, it was done quickly, with little time for planning. But my web has been woven over months.” He settled back with a sigh. “They will never see the blows coming.”
“I UNDERSTAND THERE WAS A BIT OF A RUCKUS last night,” Lara said as she stepped out of her sleeping chambers. Her eyes were lit up with mischief.
“Did Keir and Atira leave already?” Heath asked, trying to avoid the topic. Bad enough he still had the taste of willowbark tea in his mouth.
“Yes, and Marcus, with Keir’s token.” Lara frowned at that thought, plucking at her skirts. Once again she was dressed in the Xyian manner, with a high-waisted blue gown. She’d slung a belt over her belly, a dagger at her side. It looked odd, but that hardly mattered. Other than her walk into the city, Heath doubted she’d ever be without a weapon again. “Keir wouldn’t take anyone else with him,” Lara continued. “He left them to guard me.”
“The Warlord needs no others for a senel,” Amyu said. “Worry about yourself, Warprize.”
“Prest and Rafe are waiting in the hall,” Heath said. Yveni and Ander were rising, strapping on their weapons. “You’ll have the four of them and myself with you at all times.”
“As if I have a choice in the matter,” Lara said crossly. She titled her head, considering Heath for a moment. Then her smile was back. The impish one. “Anna told me all about it when she brought breakfast.”
“If you are ready, Your Majesty?” Heath extended his arm. “Your Council is waiting.”
Lara laughed, placed her hand on his wrist, and they started off.
“Seems an animal of some kind crushed Anna’s chicken coop last night,” Lara continued. “Smashed it flat. Set off a terrible racket, with chickens squawking and fluttering around.” She gave him a sly look. “Isn’t that just under your hiding place?” she inquired innocently. “The one where you’d star-gaze for hours at a time?”
“A fox, perhaps,” Heath suggested. “I’ll have the Guard set some traps.”
“That seems a lot of damage for a fox,” Lara said. “I told Anna I thought it was a bear.”
Heath gave her a look out of the corner of his eye. Lara laughed.
“Father is already in with the Council,” Heath said softly, changing the subject. “He limped in early with the documents. They have been poring over them for about an hour.”
“Good,” Lara said. She pressed her free hand to her belly. “I want this resolved quickly.”
“You’ll be back in your chambers with Keir at your side before you know it. He said he didn’t think his senel would last any longer than your meeting,” Heath said.
“Maybe.” Lara sighed. “With all the truths being exchanged, he will be longer at it than I will.”
“I don’t know,” Heath paused. “Lord Durst is in there.” He nodded down the corridor.
Lara stopped abruptly, standing in the hall, looking sick. “That’s right. He is on the Council. I’d forgotten. Last time, he wasn’t able to attend—”
“Because Keir thrust his sword through his chest,” Heath finished for her.
“Goddess.” Lara closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Give me strength.”
“We could return to your chambers,” Heath said. “Plead exhaustion on your part.”
“No.” Lara opened her eyes and lifted her chin. “This needs to be done.”
“Have no fear, little bird. Father and I will be at your side, and your guards will be close at hand,” Heath said with a smile.
Strength flooded back into her face. Lara gave him a grateful smile and then started toward the double doors. “Let’s be about this, then. We’ll deal with the terms of the regency, I’ll announce the High Court dinner and the Justice for tomorrow, and then I will nap.”
“As you command,” Heath said as the guards opened the double doors and the Council members rose to greet them.
Othur was seated closest to the head chair, and he was struggling to rise. Lara put her hand on his shoulder. “No need, Lord Othur,” she said as she took her place before her chair. She looked around the table. “My lords, I wish you a good morning.”
Heath took his position just behind his father’s chair. The Council room hadn’t changed in years. Still the same tapestries covering the stone walls, and the long oak table that the maids kept highly polished. Out of habit he checked the nearest corner of the table. Sure enough, he could still make out the faint blue stain in the grooves.
The Crystal Sword of Xy lay on the table, sheathed. It was an old tradition, dating back for as long as anyone could remember. The old blade normally hung on the wall here in the chamber, but it was set on the table during Council meetings, the hilt toward the monarch, the point toward the far wall. It only left these chambers when it was needed for ceremonies in the throne room.
Heath smiled when he saw it. He’d used to beg for his father to draw the sword so he could see it. The blade was thick and clear as glass, and none knew the secret of its forging. Seeing it on the table was almost like seeing an old friend.
Each lord had his designated seat, and Heath scanned their faces as they waited. Some were forbidding, some harsh, some wise, some serene. Lord Durst’s was bland, but Heath wasn’t fooled. The weapons in this room weren’t swords, but they were just as deadly in their own way.
Othur looked at Lara, and for a moment, Heath feared that Lara had forgotten the rituals of the Council, but she placed her hand on the hilt of the Sword of Xy as if she’d done it a thousand times before. “I, Xylara, Daughter of Xy and consecrated Queen, do hereby open this Council,” she said. She sat then, and Heath moved to help her adjust her chair as the lords settled into theirs. “Let us start to work, gentlemen, for I tire easily. I believe you’ve seen the documents?”
ATIRA STOOD NEXT TO KEIR AND FUMED.
“I would tell you the truth, Warlord,” Elois of the Horse began, standing before the gathered warriors with Keir’s token in her hand.
“You hold my token,” Keir acknowledged calmly. He was seated on a stool set before the throne at the same level as the warriors.
“My truth is that I feel betrayed,” Elois said.
Atira kept her hands clenched behind her, her eyes focused on the far wall, her anger simmering in her gut.
Just as well she was angry. It took her mind off her bruises and the taste of that horrible tea that Heath had made her drink. She wondered how he was faring; he’d taken the brunt of the fall. She’d check on him after this senel.
Provided she didn’t challenge Elois first.
The sight of Marcus, cloaked and hooded, standing against the back wall, helped. If he could control his temper, she could keep hers.
The Warlord had called senel for all of the warriors that had remained in Water’s Fall and had claimed the throne room, the only room that would hold them all, for that purpose. And almost all had decided to attend, to hear his truths. The room was overflowing, and unlike a tent, these walls did not roll up to allow light and air.
But if the air was thick, the tension was thicker. Elois continued to speak. “We were promised much, War—” Elois paused, then continued. “Keir of the Cat.”
That caused a stir, but Keir didn’t react.
“We honored our pledge to remain here through the snows, to secure this city for you. We stayed when the rest of the army went with you to the Plains. We stayed, even when the winds brought word that the army had suffered losses from illness, and that Epor and Isdra had died. A bonded pair, in your service, Keir. Still, we stayed.
“We coped with the Xyians. With their language, their odd ways, their insults.” Elois drew a breath. “We adapted to their stone tents and accepted this life as the warriors we are.”
Atira grit her teeth at Elois’s tone.
“Then the Council of Elders summoned Atira to give testimony, and Simus left to return to your side. And still we stayed.”
Elois looked around, as if seeking support. The warriors around her were nodding, as if in agreement. “Again, a messenger came, but this time from the Council. Word that you were no longer Warlord. Yet, we still stayed, in honor of our vows and the Warprize.”
“But now? Now you return, but not as the conquering Warlord. No, instead you follow behind, silent, as the Xyian returns to her land as the triumphant one.” Elois averted her gaze. “I mean no offense to the Warprize, for the Council has proclaimed her so. But spring has come, and I have no Warlord to serve. At least, this is the truth as it seems to me. And I would know your intent.”
It was clear that Elois had finished; it was also clear that she intended to keep the Warlord’s token in her hands.
Keir stood, tall and relaxed, his dark hair and black leathers a stark contrast to the white stone of the throne. “I thank you for your truths, Elois of the Horse, and will answer to them.”
He looked out over the room.
“Harsh truths, but truths that must be faced and dealt with.”
“It is true that I no longer am Warlord. The Council held me responsible for the deaths of my warriors. Isdra and Epor were a great loss to all of the Plains.”
Keir spread his hands. “If you wish to hear the winds laugh, tell them your plans.”
There were murmurs of agreement then, and nods of understanding.
“So we must deal with what is, and face these truths. The Council, in its judgment, proclaimed that I could strive to regain my status, and I would have done so this spring. But the Warprize bears a child, and her traditions require that the birth be here, in the Xyian tents, where the Xyians may witness the birth.
“While I am no longer a warlord, still am I Overlord of this land,” Keir said. “But what use is there in repeatedly striking a foe that has already surrendered to me? Instead, the focus is on the Warprize and her babe, not on us. In this matter, I am her second. It is for the Warprize to rule her people and resolve conflicts such as the fate of the child you rescued.” Keir had a small half-smile on his lips. “But while the winds have altered my plans, they have not defeated them.”
Keir lifted his head, and looked around. Atira had a feeling he was deliberately looking each warrior in the eye. “I would release any warrior who no longer wishes to remain in my service. They will depart with my thanks and packs full enough to hold them in good stead on the Plains. But for any willing to forge a new path with me, there will be even bigger rewards if my plans come to pass.”
“And what are those plans?” Elois asked, confusion and hope warring in her face.
“I will regain my status next spring,” Keir said firmly. “Simus will contest for Warlord this season, and Joden will offer himself to the Singers.” He smiled, almost to himself. “Liam of the Deer will aid me as well, and there are others of the Warlords who will listen, and I hope, support me. If the Council of Elders can be reunited, then—”
Elois looked at him in astonishment. “You would be Warking,” she said, her voice the barest whisper.
A thrill ran through Atira’s body at the idea as the other warriors stirred, exchanging looks.
Keir nodded, slowly. “The need is there, Elois. Can you deny that? Too long the warrior-priests have—” Keir cut off his words. “Enough. If that debate starts, we’d be here a day and a night exchanging tokens.”
Even Elois chuckled at the truth of those words. Many of the other warriors smiled as well, and tensions eased.
“My plans must start here in Xy,” Keir said. “For this land must also change. The Warprize and I have discussed the matter, but I need the aid of another to show it to you.” Keir nodded to Marcus, who opened the door of the antechamber.