Warcry (19 page)

“Swords,” Atira said. “Knives, and other things. I thought they commanded the elements themselves, but the elder told me they only work together. That no one commands the elements.”

Yveni shook her head in disbelief. “A city-dweller understands that? These people amaze me.”

Atira looked at her. “They are amazing, aren’t they?” She hadn’t really thought of it like that, but it was a truth. She closed her hand over her nail. “Now, where are those baths?”

“SO IT HAS COME TO THIS.” DURST EASED BACK IN his chair and extended his leg.

Beatrice knelt before him, her full skirts billowing around her, and pulled on his boot for him.

With some effort, Durst pulled that leg back and extended the other one. “Lanfer says that all is in place, my love. The bribed castle guards, the sell-swords we’ve hired, the other lords who have offered their support. All is in readiness.”

Beatrice’s face remained neutral, her expression bland, her eyes vague. As it had been since Degnan’s death. The only time Durst saw her eyes flicker with any emotion was when there was talk of vengeance.

But she didn’t speak. Not anymore.

Durst pointed his toe to aid her. “In some ways, I welcome this. It seems appropriate. When this tale is told, it will be a tale of a son avenged, and a kingdom saved.”

Beatrice rose and walked slowly to the table to pick up his embroidered tunic, shaking out the wrinkles that were not there.

“We tried reason, Beatrice.” Durst shifted to the edge of the chair and then used both hands to push off, pausing as he came upright. The weakness of his body was never more obvious than when he stood. “We tried talk. We tried appealing to her morals, her religious beliefs. So, let it be blades. Xy will be reborn in the blood shed this night.”

Beatrice held out his garment, and Durst struggled into the sleeves. She came around to stand before him, her face placid and serene. She tugged at the tunic, then started to fasten it for him.

“A son for a son, beloved,” Durst said softly. “The Firelanders will die this night. Lara will be our prisoner and live long enough to bear the child.” He raised his neck to allow her to adjust the collar. “We will tell the kingdom that she has died in childbirth.” He shrugged his shoulders, getting comfortable. “We’ll take the child from her body and raise it as a proper Xyian, won’t we, dear one?”

Beatrice stood before him, the sheath of his bejeweled dagger across her palms, her eyes glittering with hate.

“Thank you, my dear.” Durst kissed her cool and impassive cheek.

CHAPTER 27

HEATH STOOD IN THE CORNER, HIS HAND ON THE hilt of his sword, and watched the throne room fill with the nobility. The sun was near to setting, and the sconces around the room had already been lit for the ceremony.

Outside, trumpets sounded, announcing the lords as they entered the hall to the throne room. The Herald was in his element, standing just outside the door with his staff of office, escorting people to their proper places.

There were a few warriors of the Plains scattered about, craning around and watching, curious to see the ceremony. Most of the audience would be made up of Xyian lords and the craftmasters who wished to witness the event. They were all dressed in their finest, and a few had their ladies on their arms, escorting them within.

Some of the lords had adopted the style of the Plains, wearing armor and weapons. Heath noted their positions about the room.

Lord Durst arrived without his lady, wearing an embroidered tunic and a dagger on his belt.

Heath forced himself to draw a long, slow breath to ease his jangling nerves.

Lara was already waiting in the antechamber with Atira, Amyu, and Yveni. They’d tucked themselves in there early, talking and laughing with one another. All had been fully cloaked, concealing their finery until the moment they walked into the throne room. Heath had been pleased to see the flush of happiness on Lara’s cheeks. She’d given him a teasing smile as she’d retreated into their all-female refuge. They were up to something, that was sure. But with guards on both doors, they’d be safe enough until the ceremony started.

As soon as Lara was safe within the antechamber, Rafe and Prest trotted to the throne, taking up positions on either side, just at the back. Like Heath, they stood unmoving, arms at their sides, trying to disappear in the minds of the crowd.

Keir was still up in the chambers, waiting for the ceremony to begin. The Warlord had frowned at the idea of being separated from Lara, but the weight of Xyian tradition held him prisoner to a certain extent. Keir had wanted to prowl the halls like a stalking cat, but Othur had talked him into remaining sequestered. So he remained behind, no doubt pacing back and forth, waiting to be summoned to the ceremony.

“The Warlord, Liam of the Deer,” boomed the Herald, and Heath watched as the tall Plains warrior stalked into the room. The Herald tried to guide him to a position at the front, but Liam shook his head. “ . . . tall enough to see . . .” Liam said, so the Herald placed him toward the rear of the room.

Anna had wanted to use Aurora and Meara as the Sun God’s children, letting them scatter wheat kernels before the bride. Heath had stopped that, and Othur had supported him. “Lara has already proved that she’s fertile,” Othur had whispered to his wife. “Let’s not draw any more attention to it than we must.”

Anna had agreed, to Heath’s relief. He wanted no children underfoot.

The Castle Guard was well placed around the room. Heath had put as many guards as he could fit in the throne room. He’d placed even more outside in the hall and the outer courtyard. Detros had courtyard duty, keeping a canny eye out for trouble.

Eln had insisted that he be in the throne room, in case Lara had a need for his services. As a Master Healer, he was more than entitled, but Heath had made sure he sat in the very front, just in case.

All the arrangements were made, all the participants knew their places. It was just a matter of starting the ceremony now—which couldn’t happen fast enough for Heath. As important as this ceremony was, Heath just wanted it done and over.

He stood unmoving and silently urged the nobles to a faster pace.

Finally, the trumpets sounded a fanfare of long notes, and the Archbishop appeared in the doorway, resplendent in white-and-gold robes. With his tall, white hat emblazoned with the sun motif, and the golden staff topped with the image of a blazing sun, he glittered in the light.

A hush came over the room and heads turned. The Archbishop stood calmly, taking in the attention as his just due.

The Herald bowed and then pounded the floor three times with his staff. “The Devoted One, Drizin, Archbishop of Xy.”

The trumpets sounded again, and the Archbishop started forward with his entourage. Browdus was right behind him, incense burner swinging from a silver chain, and two acolytes walked behind him. They were all wearing their clerical robes, and it wasn’t possible to see if they had weapons concealed within.

Heath decided to assume that they did, just on the off-chance.

The Archbishop mounted the dais to stand before the throne and turned to face the room. Browdus stood at his shoulder, a step behind. The other two priests knelt on the step, facing him.

The Herald hurried two final lords into position, then returned to his place at the door. The man took his time getting into position, giving the crowd a chance to settle. Once he was satisfied, he drew a breath and thumped his staff down three times. “Lord Othur, Seneschal of Water’s Fall, Warden of the Kingdom of Xy, and Lady Anna.”

Heath’s father and mother appeared in the doorway.

Love and pride surged through Heath, catching him by surprise. He loved his parents, and it pleased him to see them both so happy and proud. Anna was in her newest dress, his father in a fine, embroidered tunic with his badges of office, the Crystal Sword of Xy at his side.

The trumpets sounded again as they moved forward, Anna’s skirts brushing against the legs of those standing along their path.

Heath pressed his belt pouch, feeling through the leather to see if the rings were still there.

They were.

Othur and Anna had reached the dais. They bowed and curtsied to the Archbishop and took their positions off to the right. As Othur escorted Anna to their place, Heath saw Browdus lean forward to whisper urgently in the Archbishop’s ear. Probably trying one last time to change his mind.

To Heath’s relief, the Archbishop shrugged Browdus off.

The Herald pounded his staff again and called out, his voice resounding above everyone’s head. “Lords and ladies, the Queen’s escort.”

Heath’s gaze returned to the doorway to see Atira standing there, cloaked, her hair up over her head in a mass of curls, with a white ribbon woven through. Behind her stood Yveni and Amyu, each with white ribbons and cloaks.

Atira stood there for just a breath, and then all three women reached up, unfastened their cloaks, and let them fall.

Heath’s mouth went dry. By all the gods above, they were all lovely. But Atira . . . she was gorgeous.

Atira stood tall, her tanned skin glowing in the torchlight. The Xyian dress was of blue, with a bodice laced tight and a long, flowing skirt.

Yveni and Amyu wore the same dress, their skin glowing. Amyu was slighter than either of the other two, but her curves were more pronounced.

Heath sucked in a breath as Atira walked forward. The dress seemed to flow around her as she moved smoothly toward him.

The room remained quiet as the three women advanced, every eye glued to them.

Heath’s body reacted, his blood rushing to his groin. He growled under his breath, cursing the woman as he shifted his body, certain she’d planned this from the start.

Atira’s mouth quirked in the corner.

She drew closer, and Heath realized that this was the first time he’d seen her without a weapon. It shocked him somehow, the contrast between Atira as warrior and Atira as a woman of Xy. It seemed wrong . . . and he frowned slightly at the thought.

But when she stepped up onto the dais, he caught a glimpse of a sheath, and he understood. They had slit the skirts, she and the other women, and hidden weapons beneath them. At least they’d had that much sense. The dress wasn’t going to protect Atira from much of anything, should the worst happen.

And when the ceremony was over, if all went well, he’d be the one to untie those lacings.

OTHUR MADE DAMN SURE HIS GAZE WAS ANYWHERE else other than on the Plains women. Anna would kill him, otherwise.

The women floated down the aisle, Atira in the lead, and they moved to stand in a row on the left side of the throne. Atira turned her back on Heath pointedly. Othur caught a glimpse of his son’s face. Heath’s skin looked hot enough to burn.

Although perhaps it wasn’t anger that fueled that flame.

Othur smiled and adjusted the sash of the Sword of Xy. His son was a smart man. He’d figure things out.

“Lords and ladies of Xy, and warriors of the Plains, Xylara, Daughter of Xy, Queen, and Warprize.”

Lara stood in the doorway.

She wore a flowing dress of white, and on her shoulders was the mantle of Xy, the ermine framing her body. Her hair was up in tousled curls with both white and gold ribbons wound through. Her blue eyes were bright with joy as she paused, then started toward the throne.

The crowd knelt as she approached, rising only after she passed. Lara didn’t acknowledge them, as was proper. She kept her pace steady, her face to the front. The long train of the mantle rustled as it passed over the marble floor, stretching out behind her.

Othur’s eyes grew misty. She’d been such a tiny child, running through the gardens with his son, her brown curls flying. Grown right before his eyes, in the blink of an eye. So stubborn and insistent that she learn the skills of healing, even if she was a Daughter of the Blood. Until that terrible day that Xymund demanded that she sacrifice herself for Xy. That terrible, wonderful day.

Anna had tears running down her cheeks and chins, and Othur lifted her hand and kissed it.

Lara continued forward and moved to stand before her escort. The three women knelt to help her with the train, then rose to stand behind her. Othur averted his gaze.

Once again, the Herald pounded with his staff. Othur had to suppress a grin—old Kendrick was enjoying his duties more than seemed right for a man of his age. His voice was almost youthful as it rang out, “Lord and ladies of Xy, warriors of the Plains, I give you Keir of the Cat, Overlord of Xy.”

Keir didn’t bother to stand in the doorway. He just came stalking up toward the throne, making it more than halfway before anyone even knew he was there. He was wearing those black leathers and chain armor, and the combination was dark and fierce. Othur noted the two swords strapped to his back and the dagger at his side. The message the Overlord was sending to the Xyian nobles was obvious.

Keir approached the dais and stood there, facing the Archbishop. But he only had eyes for Lara.

“Keir of the Cat, Overlord of Xy, you stand before me, the earthly representative of the Sun God, he who blesses and preserves the Kingdom of Xy. What would you have of me?” the Archbishop asked.

“Devoted One.” Keir’s voice was deep and clear. “I would take Xylara, Daughter of Xy to be my wife, to pledge my marriage vows to her before the Sun God and these witnesses. By my own free will and hand.”

“How say you, Xylara, Daughter of Xy?” the Archbishop asked.

“That I would take Keir of the Cat to be my husband, to pledge my marriage vows to him before the Sun God and these witnesses. By my own free will and hand.”

“Who represents the House of Xy in this matter?” the Archbishop said.

Othur took a deep breath. “We do, Devoted One, who stand in the place of Xylara’s parents. We consent to the marriage of Xylara and Keir before the Sun God and these witnesses.” Othur looked at Anna, and they spoke together, “By our own free will and hand.”

“So it has been said and declared.” The Archbishop’s voice shook slightly. “Are the witnesses satisfied?”

Othur held his breath.

“We are,” was the scattered response of the crowd, but one man stood forth to stand in the center of the aisle.

“No,” Lord Durst said.