CHAPTER
22
OTHUR PAUSED TO CATCH
HIS BREATH AT THE top of the stairs before heading to the Queen’s
chambers. He was certainly feeling the stairs this morning, but
then it had been a rough time of late. He leaned against the rough
stone of the wall and huffed. It didn’t help that he was carrying
the Crystal Sword of Xy. He shifted the sash where it rubbed into
his neck and ran his hand through his hair.
It also didn’t help
matters that he’d been up half the night with Anna planning a
wedding. Flowers, dresses, food. The ladies of the court were all
trying on gowns and demanding help from the staff even into the wee
hours.
Ah, it would be worth
it. Lara wed under the laws of both lands, an heir in the nursery,
and new hope for the kingdom. Xy had been isolated too long; it
might hurt to stretch old muscles, but there was no
alternative.
Then there was Heath.
Othur smiled with satisfaction. He was so proud of his
boy.
Heath had slipped
into the role of Seneschal as easy as a duck slips into water.
Heath had kept control of the Guard without a protest. Even if he
didn’t know it, Othur knew that Heath had the skills to step into
his shoes someday. His son was loyal to the House of Xy; to have
him leave and live on the Plains would be a waste of his
talents.
Atira was a warrior
of the Plains. A fine woman, Othur could see that. Strong and
sensible, but he doubted that she would ever be content in Xy. Most
of the Plains warriors had trouble adjusting to walls and
restraints. She’d be no different. Othur sighed and shook his
head.
Well, they’d just
see. One way or another, things had a way of working out for the
best, given time.
“Lord Othur?” One of
the kitchen pages came running up the stairs and slid to a stop
beside him, not even breathing hard. “Cook says she wants
ya.”
Othur put his hand on
the boy’s shoulder. “Tell Cook you found me with the Queen, and
that I’ll be down after the Justice. If it can’t wait, she should
send someone to me with her questions.”
“Aye, lord.” And the
boy was off like the wind.
Othur straightened
his doublet and headed toward the Queen’s chambers. After this
Justice and the wedding, once things had settled down after the
birth, he’d promised himself a rest. Some long afternoons playing
chess with friends, draining a few casks of ale, and long walks in
the garden with Anna.
He gave a nod to
Ander and Yveni, standing guard at the doors, and walked into the
chamber to find Lara seated by the fire, looking tired,
disgruntled, and all together unhappy.
“Walk,” Eln said to
her, standing at her side. “It will help—”
“I know that,” Lara
snapped, then heaved a sigh. “But knowing and doing are two very
different things. I guess I am paying the price for all the
banalities I said to patients as a healer.”
“Banality makes them
no less true,” Eln said.
“Walk, beloved,” Keir
said as he helped Lara to stand. “Later, after this senel, we will
rest and balance the elements within you.”
Lara snorted as she
leaned on his arm, one hand pressed to her belly. “I’m fairly sure
that is how we got into this in the
first place.”
“It’s a Justice,”
Othur reminded him. “Not a senel.”
“Justice,” Keir
corrected himself as he walked Lara around the room.
The door opened, and
Heath and Atira walked in. Heath took one look at Lara and frowned.
“Is the baby—”
“No,” Lara snapped.
“It’s not. It’s fussing and cramping and kicking, but it’s not
coming. It’s going to stay within until it’s a year old, from the
feel of things.”
Heath blinked and
took a step back, bumping into Atira.
“We were up most of
the night,” Keir explained with a shrug.
“Perhaps we should
consider delaying the Justice,” Othur suggested.
“No.” Lara shook her
head. “No, that needs doing, and soon. Bad enough I’ve put it off
this long.”
“I’d ask you to
remember our traditions then,” Othur said. “Monarchs are not
supposed to actually use the Sword of Xy to lop off heads during
the Justice. That is for your designated executioner.”
Lara laughed in spite
of herself. “I’ll try to remember that, Othur.”
Keir glanced at the
sword. “Could I see the blade? Is there a tradition against
that?”
“Please, my lord,”
Othur said, holding out the sheath with a smile. He’d been looking
forward to showing off the blade.
Atira took Keir’s
place, assisting Lara as the Warlord took the sword. The tall man
drew the weapon, and his head jerked in surprise. “It is
stone?”
“Aye, it’s crystal,”
Othur said. “The only one of its kind.”
Everyone craned their
necks to look as Keir pulled the sword free of its sheath. The
blade was as a traditional one, but as clear as water. It had a
thin furrow down the center and it glittered in the light. The hilt
was bronze and wire-wrapped.
Keir held it up,
admiring it. “It’s no heavier than a regular sword. And well
balanced.”
“Still sharp,” Heath
said. “Or at least it was the last time I drew it.” Heath glanced
at Othur and grinned. “Got punished for it, too, as I
remember.”
Othur smiled, shaking
his head at the memory. “Not sure how either of us survived your
childhood, my boy.”
Keir sheathed the
sword and handed it back to Othur. “I’d fear to hit anything with
it. That blade would surely shatter.”
“It dates back to the
reign of Xyson,” Othur said. “Legend has it that it was wielded by
that ancient king, but that after a particularly fierce battle, he
announced that he would never draw the blade again. It has served
as the ceremonial blade since that time.”
Marcus and Amyu
entered the room with trays of kavage and food. The scarred man
focused his eye on Othur. “Your bonded is looking for you, with a
small army in her wake.”
Othur rolled his
eyes. “One would think we were preparing for battle instead of a
wedding.”
Marcus held up the
pitcher and a mug, and Lara nodded. “Please, Marcus.”
“As you like it,”
Marcus said. “More milk than kavage.”
Lara took the mug
with a smile of thanks.
“Marcus,” Keir began,
but Marcus turned his back on him.
Lara chortled into
her mug.
“I will serve you,
Warlord,” Amyu said, doing just that. “I have kavage for you.
Strong and black.”
“My thanks,” Keir
said with a grumble, staring at Marcus’s back. “Seeing as how no
other will serve me.”
“Seeing as how you
have ignored my wishes,” Marcus growled without turning around. “I
have served you well and do not deserve—”
“Liam deserves to
have his truths heard, at the very least,” Keir said.
Marcus stomped off
into the bedchamber.
Keir grimaced as he
took the mug from Amyu. Lara left Atira and moved back to Keir’s
side, leaning up against him.
Othur stepped over to
Atira. “So, Marcus and the Warlord Liam, they are a
couple?”
“Yes.” Atira nodded,
speaking softly. “They are . . . were . . . bonded. But when Marcus
was scarred . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she bit her
lip.
“When his ear burned
away, Marcus declared the bonding sundered by the
elements.”
Keir finished for
her. “Is that a problem?” His sharp blue eyes focused on Othur even
as Lara gave him a worried look.
“No, Overlord, not
for me,” Othur responded easily. “But it will be with the
church.”
“The last thing we
need is another issue,” Lara sighed,
starting another circle around the room.
“One good thing is
that, in some ways, their argument and the wedding have taken some
of the attention off the Justice,” Othur offered. “It’s still
important, but now they’ve other things to think on.”
“Have they gathered?”
Lara asked.
“There’s time yet,”
Othur assured her. “Have you thought of how you are going to
resolve this?”
“Oh yes,” Lara
nodded. “I have a few ideas.”
“And are you going to
share those ideas with your Seneschal?” Othur arched an
eyebrow.
“What, and ruin the
surprise?” Lara smiled, then shook her head. “I will wait until
they have presented their cases, Othur. Then I will decide. They
deserve to have their truths heard.”
“Just remember,
Lara,” Othur said. “Some of the lords wait to see what actions you
will take before deciding on their own. You need to be
careful—”
A commotion outside
the door caught everyone’s attention. The doors opened, and Anna
spilled within, her arms filled with cloth, followed by two maids,
their arms filled as well.
Othur took the wisest
path and pressed himself against the wall, well out of the
way.
ATIRA WATCHED IN
AMAZEMENT AS ANNA GLARED around the room. “Don’t you know there’s a
wedding this night? And you’re all standing around like there’s
nothing needs doing.”
“There’s a Justice,”
Heath offered, but Anna would have none of that.
“They’ll wait.” Anna
went to a small table off to the side and set her burden down. “I
sent sweet rolls and herbed tea to the lot, and with any luck, they
will stuff themselves silly and be happy and sated when you
arrive.”
“One could only
hope,” Othur muttered.
“And where have you
been?” Anna demanded. “There’s been a thousand and one things that
needed deciding, and you not to be found.”
“Alas, I was
concerned with the Justice,” Othur said. “I am sure whatever you
decided will be fine. But Lara needs to go—”
“They can wait a
while,” Anna said firmly. “They can’t start without her, now, can
they? Time enough to measure you for a dress.”
Lara sighed and
looked ruefully at the fabric. “It’s traditional to wear your
mother’s dress, but I’d never fit into it. The noble ladies are all
going to whisper behind their hands and talk of my
belly.”
“Since when have you
cared one whit for what those geese think?” Anna said. “And you can
wear the regalia of a royal bride easily enough. I’ve the mantle
here.” She gestured for the maids, and they started to unfold the
bundle of fabric.
“I don’t care. Not
really.” Lara sighed again, shifting in her chair with a grimace.
“It’s just that . . .” her eyes welled with tears. “I just wanted
to be pretty.”
Atira caught her
breath, sharing Lara’s sorrow.
Keir knelt, putting
his arm around Lara and looking up into her eyes. “You will be the
loveliest woman there, flame of my heart.”
Tears ran down Lara’s
face, and she pulled Keir into as much of a hug as her belly would
allow. “I’m so sorry—I can’t seem to stop being
silly.”
Atira looked away in
time to see Anna and her women spread out a lovely cloak that
seemed to stretch out for miles. She gasped as the light glittered
on the gold cloth.
“What is that?” Amyu
asked, her voice hushed as she drew nearer.
“The mantle of Xy,
worn by the royal brides for many years,” Anna said
proudly.
She was right to be
proud. The mantle was of embroidered gold cloth that shimmered as
it moved. Along the collar and the edge of the entire garment was a
trim of white fur, with spots of black.
“The fur is ermine,”
Anna explained to Amyu.
“What are these?”
Amyu asked, her fingers brushing the embroidery that decorated the
mantle all down the back and along the length. “It’s the same as on
that cloth hanging in the hall.”
“That cloth is called
a tapestry,” Anna explained. “An ancient symbol of the House of
Xy—a creature of legend called an airion. The body, head, and legs
of a horse, with the beak, wings, and claws of an eagle. They were
the ancient protectors of Xy, keeping us safe from the monsters of
old, or so the stories say.” Anna pointed at the animal. “Look at
the detail in the stitching. You don’t see that these
days.”
Lara lifted her head
from Keir’s embrace. “I’d forgotten how lovely it is,” she said,
wiping her eyes.
“And I’ve white cloth
to match for a dress,” Anna said. “So stand up and let us be about
this.”
“But the lords are
waiting,” Othur protested.
“They can just wait.
Time enough to make a dress, but we need to make sure of things.”
Anna scowled at the lot of them. “You men can just scoot. Go on
now, shoo. Shoo!”
“We have our orders,”
Othur said as he headed for the door. “I’ll head down to the throne
room and stall for a bit. But do not keep us waiting too long,
mind.”
“Your escort will be
outside,” Heath said.
Keir stood. “I’ll go
and armor myself.” He looked down at Lara with a twinkle in his
eye. “Apparently a wedding is like any battle. We show up, obey our
orders, and hope that the plan survives the first engagement with
the enemy.”
Lara laughed as Anna
protested and fussed all the rest of them out of the
room.
DURST TRIED NOT TO
SHOW HIS WEAKNESS AS HE took his seat at the morning table.
Mornings were the worst; it took time for his body to rouse for the
day.
Lanfer paced nearby,
anger barely held in check.
Durst sighed within,
and for a moment thought of his lands and his home. If they left
now, in four days they’d be within sight of his own small keep.
There would be peace there, and Xylara would probably allow him to
live out his life there in seclusion and privacy. But even as the
thought formed, the vision of Degnan’s head and body being carried
by the guards—his wife’s keening voice raised at the sight—flashed
before his eyes. His rage returned so hot and hard he choked on his
drink.
Damn the Firelanders
to the deepest hells.
His resolve
strengthened. His land needed him to prevent what was about to
happen. Xy must be kept pure and the Firelanders slaughtered or
driven from the land.
His wife’s gentle
hand came into view, placing warm bread and oats before
him.
Lanfer had the
courtesy to wait until Durst had swallowed his spoonful of oats
before speaking. “If we wait, Warren will return, and that will be
even more blades against us.”
“Many of the lords
are waiting to see what happens,” Durst said mildly. “If Lara rules
against the marriage, then they will join our cause. Aurora’s
father is so angry, he may take up a sword himself.”
“It’s risky,” Lanfer
growled.
“It’s prudent,” Durst
growled back. “We will wait. Now, if you don’t mind, I wish to eat
before I go to the throne room.”
“They will start any
minute,” Lanfer warned.
“Xylara will arrive,
and they will start the proceedings,” Durst corrected him. “And if
Lord Korvis starts to espouse about the interruption of his son’s
marriage, it will be a good while before anyone else is heard.”
Durst took up his cup. “There’s time.”
His gaze fell on his
wife, standing at the side table, slicing bread with a steady hand.
She caught his eye, and they exchanged a long, steady
look.
“Plenty of time.”
Durst smiled.