CHAPTER
20
OTHUR STRUGGLED TO
KEEP HIS FACE IMPASSIVE as Eln and the castle guards caught the
Archbishop and kept him on his feet. Served the man
right.
Keir ignored the
uproar, turning instead to face Othur and Anna. Keir knelt, in full
view of the assemblage, presenting his blade, hilt up. He cut quite
a figure in his black armor, his blue eyes bright.
Othur extended his
hand to Anna as they rose from their chairs. Anna placed her hand
on his wrist, tears already gathering in her eyes.
“Lord Othur,
Seneschal of Water’s Fall, Warden of Xy. Lady Anna of Xy.” Keir’s
voice rolled through the room, strong and confident. “I, Keir of
the Cat, Warrior of the Plains, Overlord of Xy, do kneel before you
in humble petition and ask permission to seek the hand of Xylara,
Daughter of Xy in holy matrimony, in the traditions and under the
laws of Xy. Will you say me aye?”
The gasps from around
the room were loud as people craned to see what was
happening.
“Keir of the Cat,
Warrior of the Plains, Overlord of Xy.” Othur had to clear his
throat before he could proceed. “Answer me this. Xylara is a true
Daughter of Xy, the daughter of Xyron. She is not a daughter of our
blood, but she is the daughter of our hearts. Would you cleave to
her and her alone, forsaking all others, swearing your oath before
the Sun God of Xy?”
“I would,” Keir said.
“For all my days and beyond.”
Othur blinked to
clear his eyes and then turned to his ladywife. Anna was smiling
and weeping, tears running down her face. “How say you, my
lady?”
Anna nodded with a
smile, her chins jiggling, unable to speak.
Othur faced the room
and boomed out his answer. “We grant your petition, Keir of the
Cat, and offer our blessings on you and Xylara. May the Sun God and
the Lady of the Moon and Stars bless your union, your lives, and
your children.”
Keir stood, sheathed
his sword, and turned to face the high table. Marcus and Amyu were
helping Lara to rise. Othur caught his breath at the happiness that
shone in her face.
“Xylara, Daughter of
Xy, Queen, Warprize, and Master Healer,” Keir began, once again
going to one knee. He placed one hand on his chest and bowed his
head.
Lara’s smile grew
even brighter, and tears formed in her eyes.
“I, Keir of the Cat,
Overlord of Xy and Warrior of the Plains, kneel before you with a
humble heart, and ask for your hand in marriage according to the
traditions and laws of Xy.” Keir raised his head. “I offer you my
hand, my heart, and my sword for all of our lives and
beyond.”
“I will marry thee,
Keir of the Cat, Overlord of Xy, and Warlord of the Plains.” Lara’s
voice was clear. “I will accept your offer, and in return, I offer
my hand, my heart, and my skills for all our lives and
beyond.”
With one smooth
movement, Keir once again leapt over the table to stand at Lara’s
side. She offered her hands, and he kissed them both before kissing
her full on the mouth.
A single cheer rose
from the back of the room, to be joined with other voices. Othur
scanned the faces, and the silent ones were no surprise. Except old
Lord Sarrensan. Othur was certain that there was some softening in
the old badger’s face. The man looked at his own wife and started
cheering.
Well. Othur smiled
and raised his voice in a cheer, as well, sharing a happy look with
Anna. A bright day, this. A bright day, indeed. Nothing like a
wedding to bring out the best in people.
And the worst, come
to think on it.
As smooth as if
they’d practiced, Lara and Keir broke their kiss and turned to face
the Archbishop as the cheering stopped. “Devoted One,” Lara said
sweetly. “Would you conduct the ceremony tomorrow at sunset, as
tradition requires?”
HEATH LEANED FORWARD
SLIGHTLY, LOOKING down at the Archbishop.
The man was visibly
pulling himself together, thinking quickly. “Your Majesty, I mean
no offense . . .” he said. Browdus was standing just behind him,
readjusting the man’s robes and whispering in his ear. The
Archbishop took a deep breath and straightened. “But . . . what
does a Firelander know of our faith? Does the Overlord understand
the vows being required of him?”
“The vows are almost
the same to the words my bonded and I have already exchanged,” Keir
said. “I have no reservations,” he continued. “I will take these
vows in order to protect my wife.” Keir paused and narrowed his
eyes. His voice was deeper. Intense. “And the child she
bears.”
Heath nodded,
appreciating the message and its delivery.
So did everyone in
the hall. The slight whisperings faded away as they took in the
Warlord’s message.
“I . . .” the
Archbishop began, but then he seemed to sag as he stared at Keir.
Browdus leaned closer, his whispers even more urgent.
The Archbishop
glanced once more around the hall, took a breath, and waved Browdus
silent. “Well, then, of course, Your Majesty. Tomorrow at
sunset.”
Another cheer rose,
louder than the first, echoing off the walls. Lara and Keir
returned to their seats and signaled for the meal to
begin.
The Archbishop
plopped back into his chair, and Heath was fairly certain that the
sick look on his face was not feigned this time.
“So, the wind blows
in a new direction?” Atira leaned into him, keeping her voice
low.
Heath drew a breath,
enjoying the scent of her hair. “Apparently. But this isn’t over,
Atira.” His gaze traveled down to where Lanfer was
sitting.
Lanfer was staring at
him, his eyes hot with hate.
Heath met the look
and returned it, hard and implacable.
Lanfer looked
away.
“That one’s hatred is
his weakness,” Atira said. “As is yours.”
Heath shrugged,
watching as Keir and Lara settled back into their chairs and
everyone started to eat. The tensions in the room were easing, but
Heath wasn’t fooled.
“Lara is happy,”
Atira said. “It is good to see.” She shifted back, returning to the
shadows of the balcony. “Why must the ceremony wait until
sunset?”
“It is thought that
the Sun God’s attention is upon his duties during the day,” Heath
said as he moved next to her. “He gives his full attention to his
people just before the sun rises and sets. So weddings, and the Sun
God’s witnessing of the vows, usually take place at sunset.” He
leaned against the wall and sighed. “Once the Justice is over and
the ceremony is complete, we’ll lock Lara and Keir in their
chambers with guards three deep around them until after the
birth.”
Atira shivered. Heath
gave her a questioning look, and she shook her head. “To be locked
in . . . within stone walls, unable to feel the wind or the sun. It
would be a kind of death.”
“There are windows in
the chambers,” Heath protested, but his stomach sank as she
grimaced. He’d set his hopes on her staying in Water’s Fall. What
if—
“Captain.” A whisper
from the next guard down.
There was a lad at
one of the doors off the balcony. Heath summoned him with a nod of
his head.
“Captain.” The boy
was still breathing hard. “Message from the city walls. There’s a
force of Firelan—” he caught a glimpse of Atira. “Of Plains
warriors outside the gates. They sent me on ahead to tell you that
the Warlord Liam of the Deer has arrived, and they’s escorting him
to the castle. He’s coming right behind me.”
“Good.” Heath put a
hand on his shoulder. “Let’s you and I get word of this to the
Warlord.”
The lad’s eyes went
big.
“THIS SOUP SMELLS
FABULOUS, AND I BET IT TASTES even better,” Othur said. His wife
didn’t respond, her gaze on the crowd and her lips pressed tight.
“Anna?” he asked.
“Marcsi had best be
after those serving girls,” Anna huffed. “That young Vona nearly
spilled hers all over that table.” She gave him a smile
though.
Othur chuckled and
tucked in. Even the lords with sour faces were eating. Anna’s
cooking was best when she was pleased, and she was well pleased
this night.
Lara and Keir were
still talking together but not yet eating. Marcus and Amyu were
still waiting to see if there were any ill effects. Othur wasn’t
sure that was truly necessary, but then again, he’d never seen so
much hate as in Durst’s eyes. Best to take care, even if it meant
cold meals.
Heath appeared then,
quietly approaching Keir with one of the runner lads.
Keir turned his full
attention to the boy, listening intently to what he had to say. The
lad was speaking rapidly, gesturing toward the main
doors.
Marcus was setting a
plate down before the Warlord when he suddenly froze. Lara leaned
forward, asking a question, and Amyu had a shocked look on her
face.
Keir seemed to thank
the boy. Heath sent him off toward the kitchens, probably for
something to eat. Othur waited until Heath looked in his direction
and then raised a questioning eyebrow.
Heath nodded toward
the main door, even as Marcus retreated behind the high seat,
retreating deeper into his cloak and hood.
The Herald stood at
the door and pounded his staff three times in quick
succession.
“The Warlord, Liam of
the Deer.”
Ah, the warlord Keir
had been expecting—the one that had announced that he would support
Keir’s ideas and plans. Othur watched the man stride toward the
high table, his long legs eating up the distance in no time. He was
a tall man with long blond hair, silver mixed in with the gold. His
eyes were hazel, his smile warm. His left ear sparkled with the
same kind of decoration that Lara’s ear did—the symbol of a Plains
bonding.
There were three
warriors with him, but they remained by the door, looking about
them with a studied casualness that was betrayed by their wide
eyes. Othur looked, but none of the women had the bonding
decoration. Odd, that—Keir had said that bonded couples rarely
traveled apart.
Liam stopped before
the high table and bowed his head to Lara. “Warprize, Warlord,” he
greeted them in the language of the Plains. “It is good to see
you.”
Liam lifted his head,
scanning the area, and Othur sucked in a breath at the look in his
eyes: haunted, like a man longing for something. Hungry. Thirsty.
Desperate.
Then his eyes—hells,
his entire face—lit up. Othur shifted his gaze to see Marcus, his
face barely visible under the cloak, peering out, with the same
hunger in his eyes.
The moment was gone
in an instant. Marcus was serving Keir; Liam seemed as stoic as
stone.
Othur glanced about
to see if any others had caught it. But Anna was busy glaring at
Vona, and the Archbishop had his eyes on his plate.
Othur dropped his
gaze to the table and frowned at the hapless chicken laying there.
Wild rumor had it that Firelanders were indiscriminate. They’d
breed with anything on two legs or four. Othur hadn’t put much
stock in the four-legged stories . . . but he’d listened when
people spoke of other kinds of relationships.
Such things were
considered sinful by the church. Othur had known some men of that
kind when he’d served in the guard. Such couples stayed out of the
public eye, keeping themselves to themselves. He hoped those of the
Plains had the sense to do the same.
Lara and Keir had
both caught the look and had exchanged one of their own. “Liam,”
Keir said in the language of the Plains. “You are very welcome.
Come join us. Sit here beside me.”
Othur winced inside.
He’d need to talk to Keir about High Court etiquette.
Liam deliberately
surveyed the room. “An odd feeling, Warprize. To enter a city
without laying siege or people trying to kill me.” Liam arched an
eyebrow in her direction. “This will take some getting used
to.”
Lara laughed. The
Plains warriors around the room chuckled at that; even Othur smiled
at Liam’s dry delivery.
“I thank you,
Warlord, for the courtesy,” Liam said. “But if someone will tell us
where to set up our tents in this stone city of yours, I will see
to my people first.”
Heath stepped
forward. “I thought perhaps the palace gardens would be best. I’ll
have my men show you where.”
“Excellent idea,”
Lara said, as Amyu filled her goblet.
“What news of the
Plains?” Keir asked.
“What little I have,
I will share,” Liam spread his hands. “Simus and Joden are at the
Heart. Confusion abounds, and the warrior-priests are of no help.
They have gathered at the Heart in droves. It almost seems they are
all there, but there is no way to know for certain. They have made
every warrior leave the area of the Heart, and the winds have it
that they forced Essa to move his tents.”
Keir frowned. “Have
the spring challenges begun?”
“No,” Liam shook his
head. “The warrior-priests have delayed them, with no reason why.
Simus will send word as soon as he is able.”
Keir grunted, clearly
concerned, as Marcus refilled his goblet.
“I issued a call for
warriors,” Liam said. “So many came to my call that I decided not
to wait for Simus to qualify as Warlord. He and I agreed it would
be best if I came now, to prevent troubles. I left my main force at
the border of Xy and the Plains, as we had discussed over the
winter. But I came to greet you, and remind you, Warlord, and you,
Warprize, of the price I placed on my aid.”
Othur frowned. What
price were they talking about?
Marcus stiffened, the
pitcher of kavage in his hand.
“We remember,” Keir
said. “But recall, Liam—Marcus is his own man.”
“He is not,” Liam
growled. “He is my bonded and I would—”
Marcus threw his
pitcher. It shattered at Liam’s feet, sending shards and wine all
over the floor. “I am no longer your bonded, fool. The elements
have declared it, have they not?” With a savage gesture, Marcus
yanked back his hood, showing his scars, and his ear burnt clean
away.
So much for subtlety, Othur thought.
Anna leaned over.
“What are they arguing about?”
He blinked at her,
then smiled. “Military tactics. Anna, my love, this chicken is
fabulous. What did you stuff them with?”
“Dried cherries,”
Anna said as she eyed the arguing men. “They take their tactics
seriously, don’t they?”
“Oh yes,” Othur
replied. “Is there any more bread?”