CHAPTER
13
HEATH’S STOMACH
CLENCHED AS HE WATCHED everyone in the room go pale.
Well, everyone except
Eln. He was at his table, serenely arranging his
supplies.
Atira caught Heath’s
eye and stepped closer, her arm brushing his. Heath wasn’t sure if
she was offering support or if she needed it herself, but he was
grateful.
“Keir,” Lara said
firmly. “I am healthy, and Eln has delivered many babies. But you
and I have talked about what happened to Kayla.”
Othur raised an
eyebrow.
“Keir and Kayla
shared a tent as children,” Lara explained. “They were as close as
Heath and I. She died in childbirth and—”
“The babe did not
come, and the theas gave her mercy. The child was dead when it was
cut from her body.” Keir looked off into the distance for a long
moment. Finally, he looked at Lara’s hand in his, and continued.
“The warrior-priests did nothing.” Keir’s voice was cold and
unforgiving. “They refused to aid her in any way—”
“But that is not the
case here,” Eln pointed out.
“We can’t ignore that
women die in childbirth, and there is always a chance that
something will go wrong,” Lara said.
Keir’s face was a
mask.
“I am a healer, and I
know the risks,” Lara said. “It is the same risk every time you
take up your sword.”
“No,” Keir said.
“It’s different.”
“We all die,” Lara
said gently. “None of us are immortal.” She reached out to stroke
his face. “You said to me once that you would seek the snows if I
died. So I must ask for your promise, beloved. Your oath that if
something happened to me, you will live to care for our child, a
child of two worlds.”
Keir bent his head to
hers.
Heath felt Atira’s
fingers intertwine with his.
Lara continued. “I
remember full well Isdra’s pain at Epor’s death. I know the Plains
tradition that bonded couples follow each other to the snows.”
Lara’s voice was soft. “But we have chosen to try to change your
people and mine, and this is one of those changes.” She pressed
Keir’s hand to her belly, covering it with her own delicate
fingers. “You must live, beloved, to raise our child. This babe
will need your guidance and strength.”
Keir lifted his head,
his eyes glittering. “I swear it, beloved. I will not seek the
snows until our child has reached adulthood.”
Lara looked at each
of them. “He will need all of your help, to care for my
babe.”
“Of course we will
help,” Anna scolded. “Not that there is anything to be concerned
about. T’ch, you’ll worry yourself into a state, and that’s not
good for you or the babe.”
“And the invalid
needs to return to his bed,” Eln said. “His recovery can start in
the morning.”
“Perhaps we should
delay a day or two,” Othur said softly. Meara was curled in his
arms, asleep. “Use that as an excuse to give you time to
think.”
Keir was pulling Lara
to her feet. “No, best not to let things fester,” Lara said. She
grimaced as she stood and put a hand to her back. “Best to deal
with things before the birthing.”
“Especially if they
are already attacking from the shadows,” Keir said.
“I’ll call for a
council tomorrow afternoon,” Lara said, planting a swift kiss on
Othur’s head. “I will name Keir as my designated regent for our
child, and require their signatures, witnessed and
sworn.”
“They will push for a
Justice,” Othur warned.
“I will yawn and
claim exhaustion.” Lara smiled.
“That will only work
so many times,” Eln said.
“Call for a High
Court dinner,” Anna said, taking Meara up. The baby girl was limp
in her arms. “Distract them with precedence, and I’ll stuff them so
full of food they will sleep for a day.”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
Lara asked. “I wouldn’t add to your work.”
“No more extra work
than stuffing their mouths for a regular dinner,” Anna scoffed
quietly.
“If we did that, I
could announce the Justice for the day after next,” Lara said.
“That would give us time to talk.” She smiled at Othur. “I have a
few ideas.”
“And give me time to
call the warriors to a senel,” Keir said. “We will discuss the
various truths.”
“A brilliant idea, my
ladywife.” Othur smiled at Anna. “Eln can announce that I have
revived upon seeing Lara and all can rejoice at my miraculous
recovery. I’ll get a walking stick and totter down to the baths
tomorrow.”
“You’ll go to the
baths with a guard, Father. I’ve placed two at your door,” Heath
spoke up. “For you as well, Mother. To be with you at all times,
even in the kitchen.”
Anna looked at him
with wide eyes. “Surely that’s not necessary,” she
started.
Heath cut her off.
“It is.” He faced Eln. “I didn’t think of you, until just now. But
there should be guards for you, as well. Gods forbid we lose you
before Lara is brought to her bed. If you will wait here, I will
send for more.”
“As you wish,” Eln
said.
Lara and Keir nodded
grimly. “Lara will have her four bodyguards at all times,” Keir
said.
“And you, my
Warlord,” Lara said softly.
“What about Heath?”
His mother turned on him, glaring even as she cradled the sleeping
child. “They have already attacked you once!”
“He’s mine,” Atira
said.
ATIRA KNEW THE WORDS
WERE A MISTAKE THE moment they left her tongue. Her cheeks grew
heated as everyone stared at her. She dropped her gaze to avoid
seeing Heath’s face. “He’s my responsibility,” she clarified. “With
your permission, Warlord.”
“It makes good
sense,” Keir said, with a glint in his eye. He looked as though he
was about to say more, but thankfully, Lara yawned just at that
moment.
“Enough of this,”
Othur said. “Off with you. The rest can wait until
tomorrow.”
“I’ll see to the
guards,” Heath said, and he slipped out into the hall.
“Is your back
bothering you, Lara?” Eln frowned as he looked at her.
Lara grimaced. “It
wasn’t until I took a nap on the Xyian mattress in the Queen’s
chamber. I’ve grown used to the way of the Plains.” She gave Anna a
rueful look. “Don’t tell anyone, but Marcus and Amyu are making up
a bed for me of gurtle pads and blankets.”
“Best to sleep on
what you’re used to for now,” Anna said. “You can return to a
proper bed after the baby is born.”
From Lara’s face,
Atira could see that it was not something she looked forward
to.
“Send scribes to me
in the morning, and I will weakly dictate the regency documents,”
Othur said.
“I will.” Lara took
Keir’s arm and began to waddle toward the door. Keir raised an
eyebrow in Atira’s direction.
With a start, she
realized that her charge was in the hall without her protection.
Atira flushed, following Keir and Lara through the
door.
HIS ROOM WAS JUST AS
HE’D LEFT IT.
Well, not exactly.
Heath smiled ruefully as he recalled throwing things around in his
haste to pack his saddlebags and follow Simus and Atira. The light
of the small candle on the mantel showed that the room had been set
to rights. Heath suspected that his mother had washed all his
clothing and put it in his clothes press.
It was a small room
with a simple bed, a chair, and a hearth in addition to the press.
Nothing too fancy. His father had offered a larger chamber, but
Heath knew full well that might cause hard feelings with his fellow
Guardsmen. He’d avoided special privileges and taken some of the
worst posts, just to prove himself to the men he’d be working with.
It had earned him their respect, and to be honest, he was used to
its plainness now. Although after so long on the Plains, the stone
walls felt oddly wrong.
His packs and bedroll
were on the bed; there was another set against the far wall—Atira’s
by the look of them.
Heath knelt at the
hearth and used a taper to light the fire already laid there. It
would take the chill off the stone.
The tinder caught
quickly. Heath went to the window, looking out over the courtyard
and the tree. There was a slight breeze, and the leaves rustled in
its wake. He could just make out some of the stars appearing in a
darkening sky. He started to close the shutters—
“Don’t,” Atira said.
She was standing just inside the door. “The walls are already close
enough. Let us at least have air.”
Heath shook his head
and swung the wooden shutters closed. “We’ve been attacked once
already tonight. Let’s not invite another.”
Atira sighed as he
placed the bar over the shutters, but she reached for her packs
without another word.
“What, no comments on
the silliness of Xyian ways, or the strangeness of stone tents?”
Heath asked.
Atira ignored him.
She started to roll her bedding out in front of the
door.
“What are you doing?”
Heath snapped. “You can’t sleep there.”
Atira paused, giving
him a mild look. “Where else would I sleep?”
“Well.” Heath pointed
at the bed. “Here.”
Atira raised her
eyebrow. “I would not string you along.
You placed a price on sharing, remember?”
Only too well. Heath
clamped his jaw shut on the words he wanted to say, but she was
right. He’d meant what he’d said there under the pines, but right
here, right now, he wanted . . .
Gods. She would drive
him insane long before their enemies killed him.
“Fine.” Heath started
to remove his weapons, moving toward his press. “But at least sleep
closer to the fire.”
“Fine,” she snapped.
Atira had her back to him, stiff and as disapproving as a back
could get. She continued to lay out her gurtle pads and blankets in
front of the door.
Heath cursed under
his breath as he stripped down, hanging his sword-belt from the
bedpost. He opened the lid of the clothes press, looking for the
thin linen bedclothes.
“What’s that smell?”
Atira asked.
Heath didn’t look up.
“Spices. Mother refuses to waste anything. If a spice gets too old
to cook with, she makes up small bags and hides them in the
clothes. She claims it keeps vermin out of the press.” He pulled
out a pair of sleep trous.
“And that thing, it
is filled with clothes?” she asked.
“Yes.” Heath closed
the lid and started to pull on the trous.
“That’s more clothes
than any of the Plains warriors I know,” Atira said.
“You only have what
you can carry on a horse,” Heath said.
“True,” Atira said.
“Although there are stories of a Singer whose tent is filled with
more than ten horses can carry,” she chuckled. “But those are only
words the wind brings, and they can’t be trusted.”
Heath pulled back the
blankets on the bed.
“That scent,” Atira
said, her voice slightly husky. “It’s nice.”
Heath looked over at
her.
She had placed her
weapons on the floor within easy reach, then followed the Plains
tradition of sleeping naked. She stripped down to her bare skin,
and was stretching in the firelight, letting her hair down from the
braid she wound around her head. She was being careful not to look
at him.
He couldn’t have
looked away if he’d wanted to. She was lovely, strong and golden in
the firelight. His mouth went dry and his body betrayed him as his
desire rose. He’d been an idiot to say that he would not lay with
her unless they bonded.
Atira ignored him as
she slid into her blankets, but there was a smirk on her lips that
told him that she’d seen and she knew, and . . . he blew out the
candle and went to his own bed before he did something
stupid.
Hells, he’d already
done something stupid, falling in love with a warrior of the
Plains. What had he been thinking? Heath smiled ruefully as he slid
into the cold bed. He hadn’t exactly been thinking, now, had he? In
fact, quite the opposite.
The fire crackled,
warming the room, and Heath pretended to watch the flames. But his
gaze kept wandering over to Atira, sleeping on her side, her face
toward him, her hair spilling around her head. He just needed to
make her see . . . to make her understand that he wanted her oath,
and for her heart to be his alone. As his heart was
hers.
Finally, he forced
himself to look up at the ceiling, laying there waiting for sleep
to come.
The rustle of
blankets told him that Atira was stirring, which wasn’t like her.
She usually dropped off fast and rarely stirred in the night. So he
wasn’t really surprised when her voice came out of the darkness.
“Do you think she knew what she asked of him?”
“Huh?” It was about
all Heath could manage; he didn’t have an idea of what she was
talking about.
“The Warprize,” Atira
said. “Do you think she understood what she was asking Keir to do?
To suffer?”
Heath turned on his
side and looked over at her. He could see the glitter of her eyes
in the firelight. “Yes,” he said softly. “I think so. But Lara has
the right of it. The child will need him.”
“The theas would
raise the child and raise it well,” Atira protested. “Your parents
would aid them.”
“That’s true,” Heath
said. “But Xyians believe that a child should be raised by its
parents. We also believe that life is a gift of the Sun God, and it
is not our place to decide if it should end. That lies in the hands
of the Sun God, and our duty is to live, to bear our burdens and
sorrows, for as long as we draw breath.”
“But to force him to
remain . . . to not permit him to follow her to the snows.” Atira’s
voice was filled with pain. “So hard . . .”
“If he’s willing to
die for her,” Heath pointed out, “why shouldn’t he be willing to
make the greater sacrifice to live for the child? A child of two
worlds. And if that child is to take the throne of Xy, then it must
be raised here.” Heath stared up at the dark ceiling. “But nothing
is going to happen to Lara.”
“True enough,” Atira
agreed. “She has good hips for bearing. She should have no
problem.”
Heath snorted a
laugh. “Don’t let her hear that without a token.”
“Why
not?”
Heath chuckled again.
“It’s not exactly a compliment to Xyian ears.”
He shifted under the
covers, trying to get comfortable, and almost missed her next
words. “Those of the Plains would understand and accept the truth
of it. Xyians are fools.”
Heath shifted again,
punching up his pillow in an effort to make it lie right. But he
paused in his efforts to growl at her. “Well, if we’re so stupid,
how come I was the only guy who had an axe?”