Текст книги "Warprize"

Автор книги: Elizabeth A. Vaughan

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

“It’s possible that one wouldn’t break.” My argument sounded weak, even in my ears.

“Unlikely,” Prest observed.

“Horses get captured with quivers full.” He shrugged. “But the fletching is Iften’s and he’s not lost a horse that I know of.” Rafe paused, not looking at anyone in particular. “And Iften has been in the city.”

I put my hand over my mouth. “Remn said that Iften met with Xymund alone.” Or had he? I tried to remember what he’d said, but it slipped away from me.

Keir interrupted my thoughts, and I focused on him. “Yet those scum were paid well. That speaks of Xyians.”

“My people would not risk the peace.” I responded firmly. “One of your people could have hired them just as easily.”

Keir shook his head. “My people are just learning about coinage and money. More like it was a Xyian.” He hesitated. “Or a Xyian King.”

I glared at him. “Xymund has sworn. He will not risk his crown or break his word.”

“Risk to his head, I believe,” Keir retorted. “I’m not so certain of his oath.” Keir moved closer to me. “ Not certain that he understands that if you die there is no peace.”

“And if you die, Warlord?” I asked softly. “Would the peace hold? You were attacked as well, they even doubled up on you.” The memory flashed before my eyes, and suddenly my stomach dropped. I had a flash of vision, of a wounded and dying Keir. Dearest Goddess. I closed my eyes and swallowed hard.

A warm hand on my shoulder pressed me into one of the chairs by the fireplace. I opened my eyes to find Keir kneeling in front of me. “I am sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be. You did well.” Then that little-boy-mischievous look sparkled in his eyes. “For a healer.”

Prest and Rafe snorted, a kind of nervous chuckle. I sat up straighter and tried to appear offended. “If you think that Xy-mund is behind this, confront him. Ask him—”

“No.” Keir grew serious. “His actions tell me more than words. Say nothing about the attack to anyone. Let our enemy speculate as to what occurred.” Prest and Rafe nodded. I did as well, all too willing to drop the subject. Keir stood, and gestured Rafe to the door.

When the door to the antechamber opened Xymund entered, followed by Lord Marshall Warren and the members of the Council. I moved to stand, but Keir’s hand on my shoulder pressed me down. I looked up, puzzled, but Keir’s gaze fixed on Xymund.

Xymund bowed his head to Keir. “Warlord.”

“Xymund.” Keir’s voice sounded cold to my ears.

There wasn’t time for more, for Othur had moved to the large double-doors. “Honored Lords, the Herald is ready to commence the ceremony. Please take your places.” Keir moved to the doors as well, and everyone in the room started to adjust their position for the entrance into the throne room. I rose from the chair unsure of where to stand. As I did, my cloak fell open, and there were harsh intakes of breath around the room. Xymund, standing behind Keir, turned his head. His eyes widened as he took in the scarlet on both the dress and my cheeks. While his face remained impassive, his eyes danced.

Determined to retain some dignity, I spotted Prest and Rafe toward the back and moved in their direction.

“Warprize.” Keir’s voice cut through the sounds in the room.

I turned. “Warlord?”

His eyes flickered over to Xymund standing behind him. “Your place is here, beside me.”

I gaped at him. The rest of the room quieted, recognizing a power struggle when they saw one. That blue-eyed gaze stayed calm and confident. My eyes darted to Xymund, who was clearly struggling with his temper.

“Here.” Keir spoke again, indicating the place beside him.

I moved, to Keir’s side. “Yes, Warlord.” He looked down at me, scrutinizing me closely. I could feel Xymund’s eyes like daggers on my back.

Othur had been watching the action, and had maintained a neutral face. Keir gestured for him to open the double doors. He did so and stepped out into the throne room. The Herald, standing there in full uniform, pounded the floor with his staff three times. “Lord and Ladies, all hail Keir, Warlord of the Firelanders —”

“No.” Keir’s voice rang out over that of the Herald’s, causing a stir in the throne room.

The poor man’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Warlord?”

“That is your word, not ours. We are of the Plains.”

The Herald blinked madly for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Lord and Ladies, all hail Keir, Warlord of the Plains, Overlord of Xy.” He looked at Keir, who gave him a nod. The Herald seemed to relax, until he spotted me, but years of training kept his voice steady. Without hesitation he continued, “… and Xylara, Warprize.”

Keir advanced into the room, every step strong and confident. I walked at his side and one step behind. The throne room overflowed, with people crammed into every nook and cranny. There were as many of Keir’s men as there were nobles. All bowed as we crossed and rose as we passed. The murmurs started at once, reacting to the presence of the Warlord, and his slave walking right behind him. I stared straight ahead. A second, smaller chair had been placed to the right side of the throne. Keir stepped to the throne, turned and faced the room. I made a move to the left, to stand at his side. Keir gave me a quick glance, then gestured to the smaller chair. My eyes widened, but I obeyed. Behind me, I heard the Herald announce Xymund.

Who now had no place to sit.

The crowd reacted when I turned to face them, displaying the dress in all its crimson glory. I ignored it, because as he walked across the room, I saw the exact moment Xymund realized what had happened. I dropped my eyes, unwilling to see the look in his as he drew closer. Keir must have made a gesture of some kind, because Xymund went to stand to the left of the throne. I heard the Herald announcing Lord Marshall Warren and the members of the Council, who followed him in and went to stand along the left side, ranging out from Xymund.

Once all were in position, Keir sat. I waited a pause, then sat as well. Everyone else remained standing.

Archbishop Drizen, followed by two acolytes appeared before us, bowed before the Warlord, and began the ceremony. The ancient chants flowed over me, a somber and bittersweet prayer for the dead. The incense smoked from the censers held by the two priests who swung them in slow arcs. Frankly, they could have paraded naked and rubbed dung on their bodies for all the attention I gave it. Instead, my thoughts lingered on Xymund and the insult Keir had just given him. Xymund was not dumb, he would not jeopardize the peace. I hoped. But to place a slave in precedence above the King…

I risked a glance at the Warlord, who sat on the throne with a confidence that I had never seen in Xymund. I tore my eyes away from that profile and tried to concentrate on the priests. I could not see Xymund from where I sat, but I could just imagine his expression.

I suspected that he would not be inviting us for a drink after the ceremony.

The Archbishop had concluded the prayer and bowed before Keir. The lords and ladies seemed to think this the end of the ceremony, but Keir motioned with his hand, and Joden emerged from the crowd. His round face held a somber look, and he was dressed in his finest armor and weapons. He ap-proached the throne and bowed. Keir nodded in return. “Jo-den, you grace our ceremony.” He glanced about the room. “Our tradition is to lament the dead with song. Joden has agreed to sing for us.”

Joden raised his right palm to the sky. He spoke in his language. “May the skies hear my voice. May the people remember.”

The response rose from those who understood him. “We will remember.”

Joden lowered his hand, took a deep breath, and began to sing.

His voice sounded richer and far deeper than I expected. It filled the room and brought the small rustles and murmurs to a halt. Somehow, the sound of his voice pulled us all in, let us share his pain, and for a brief moment, be as one within it. Language didn’t seem to be a barrier. For those who understood, the words spoke of a loved one that would never see the sky again, nor share the sweetness of a glass of wine. Or the joy of a laugh. It spoke of an emptiness at the table, at the fireside, and in the heart. My eyes filled as I thought of my father, and the warrior who had died giving me his blessing. I lowered my head and tried not to give in to my grief.

Others were moved as well. A glance showed me Keir’s hand clenched on his knee, knuckles white.

The song changed then. Joden’s voice rang with the hope of reuniting, riding again under endless skies, sharing wines not yet tasted. I managed to lift my head at that and looked at Joden as the last notes hovered in the air. As I wiped at my eyes and snuffled my nose, I noticed others doing the same.

The last notes faded. Joden lifted his palm again. “May the people remember.”

Again, the response came. “We will remember.”

Keir echoed the words, then continued, “My thanks, Joden. You honor us.”

Joden bowed, and moved back into the crowd.

The Archbishop came forward, prepared to give the traditional blessing of the monarch. With an uneasy glance in Xy-mund’s direction, he stood before Keir, bowed, and recited the blessing. Keir nodded deeply to him at the conclusion.

Without further thought, the Archbishop turned toward me, and I saw his eyes widen when he realized what he had done. Tradition required a blessing for the Queen as well, hardly appropriate for a warprize. The poor man seemed quite flustered for a moment, then elected to nod his head in my direction. I returned the nod. I doubt he even realized the sigh of relief that he gave as he turned to render the benediction to the crowd.

Even before he stopped speaking, Keir stood. I waited but he extended a hand to help me rise, so I joined him at his side. We walked toward the antechamber in silence.

The crowd, a mixture of Xyian and Firelander, had filled in the space before the door, and they parted to allow us though. The Xyians were unsure as to the courtesies to extend, whether to bow or curtsey and to whom. The Firelanders had no such problem. They remained tall and upright, with solemn looks. As we moved closer to the door, I saw many familiar faces, including Lord Durst. Scowling, he stepped back as if to avoid touching me, his lip curled in a snarl. He craned his head forward, having caught my eye. “Whore.”

Durst spoke forcefully, his voice low, but it carried. I flushed and looked away, mortified. I barely registered that Keir dropped my hand. There was a sound of drawn steel and a flash of movement. I looked back to see Keir’s sword buried deep in Durst’s chest.

In endless time, the man’s eyes bulged and he sank slowly to the floor. Keir pulled the weapon out of Durst’s body and flicked it, sending blood onto the clothes of those nearby. Durst made an odd huffing noise as his hands clutched at the wound. People stepped back to allow Durst to fall at their feet, then the screaming began as they jostled both to escape and to get a better view.

“Silence.” Keir’s command rang out, even as he pulled out a cloth to wipe the blade clean. The room watched in horrified silence as he dropped the bloody cloth and sheathed his sword in a ring that hung from his belt. The sound of metal on metal almost did more to grab everyone’s attention than his voice. “ The insult is avenged.” The quiet grew even deeper, but to my horror, Xyian nobles started to place their hands on their swords, eyeing the Firelanders around us.

“Warprize.”

My eyes snapped up to see Keir standing there, his hand held out for mine, the hand that had slain Lord Durst in an instant. The same hand that had saved my life in the market.

Everyone was frozen, focused on that hand, and I knew that the peace, in that instant, was balanced on the edge of a sword. Reject that hand, kneel to aid Durst, and there’d be those who’d use it as an excuse to draw their swords.

Mindful of my status, mindful of my obligation, and mindful of the dead still being buried beyond these walls, I placed my hand in Keir’s and allowed myself to be led from the throne room.

Xymund followed, along with Lord Warren. The voices rose behind us, only to be cut off as the door to the antechamber shut.

We stood in silence for a moment, then Keir moved to the fireplace. “The ceremony went well.” His voice was as calm as if nothing had happened. As if a man had not died in the throne room. As if I had not left him lying in a pool of his own blood.

Xymund did not respond. Warren cleared his throat. “Thoughtful of you to include our priests. It is appreciated.” He too was ignoring what had happened.

Keir tilted his head. “We honor the dead of both sides.” He gave Warren an appraising eye. “We haven’t spoken outside the confines of negotiations or parley. I would welcome an opportunity to talk with you about your strategies, especially your use of the river.”

Warren’s mouth curled in a wry smile. “I would welcome that.”

“Tomorrow? At the nooning. Bring your officers and we will dine.”

Numb, I watched as they talked of nothing, as if all were well and fine, as if Keir hadn’t just killed a man for a simple insult. My heart drammed in my chest and the air in the room seemed close and over-warm.

Keir pulled his cloak off the chair where he’d thrown it before the ceremony. “I wish to see the castle.”

Xymund’s voice grated. “Othur will show you the building.”

“No,” Keir interrupted. “I wish to see it through the eyes of the warprize.”

Xymund’s jaw clenched. Never had I seen him so angry and so afraid. His right eye seemed to twitch very slightly, his hands clenched in fists. I held my breath, waiting to see which emotion would win out.

Xymund’s hands relaxed. His head jerked as if to nod, and he went to the door. With a resigned look, Warren made to follow.

“I will need to know the extent of that lord’s holdings.” Keir’s voice came as a low purr. Xymund stopped dead in the doorway. Keir continued, “I will need to appoint a new lord as soon as possible.”

Warren half-turned toward Keir. “Warlord, our tradition is that a man’s son inherits his father’s holdings. Durst’s son, Degnan, is his heir.”

“Is this Degnan capable?”

Warren shrugged, clearly at a loss. He looked to Xymund for support, but none came. Finally, he looked back at Keir. “He is the heir, Warlord.”

“I will consider this.” Keir lifted an eyebrow. “You are excused.”

Goddess, was he deliberately provoking Xymund?

Xymund said nothing and left. Warren followed.

I released the breath I had been holding. Didn’t he understand, didn’t they know what a horrible thing had happened? To slay a man without warning, for a slur? Bad enough to insult Xymund’s pride, to humiliate him before the Court. The Warlord had made very clear that his token was not for me to use, I had no protections from the consequences of my words, but if the peace were to last past the dawn someone had to voice this truth.

“Rafe, I want company for our tour. Ask Joden, Yers, Oxna, Senbar and Uzania to join us. I saw Epor and Isdra in the crowd, ask them as well. Tell the rest to return to camp. In a group, no stops. Tell them to be alert.”

“Your sword, Warlord?” Rafe paused by the door. “Do you wish me to see to it?”

“It’s well enough. I will see to it myself.”

Rafe nodded and slipped out.

Keir watched the fire. I moved closer, licked my lips and drew in a breath. He glanced my way. “You wish to point out my mistake.”

I closed my mouth. His blue eyes glittered in the light of the fire and I waited for that temper to flare. Instead he gave me a rueful smile. “So much for my talk of change, eh?”

I didn’t understand, and would have asked, but a knock at the door brought Rafe into the room with the others, talking quietly among themselves.

The moment was lost. I might risk the truth in private, but not in front of others. As Keir stepped away, I looked for a friendly face and found it in Joden. “You have a wonderful voice, Joden.”

His smile was wide and a relief to see. “My thanks, Warprize.”

“Come,” Keir gestured us to the door. “Show us this stone tent of yours.”

I took them to the highest point, in the tallest turret, to start. The young guard at the top almost dropped his spear, startled to find himself hosting the Warlord when normally his only company were the bees that buzzed in and out of the skeps that Anna kept on the heights. The sun was down, but in the fading twilight, we could still see.

The battlements fascinated Keir. The views from this height allowed one to look clear into the valley below, and even beyond their camp. Keir, Rafe, and the others pressed themselves against the outer wall, trying to look down as far as they could. The breeze that always blew at this height whistled past, catching at our hair and clothing. Prest, on the other hand, pressed himself against the opposite wall by the door, his eyes wide, the whites showing, his dark complexion turning ashen. He seemed quite grateful when I pulled them away from the views and we headed back down.

They asked question after question about the building, about how I could stand to be surrounded by walls all the time. Some of the narrow corridors made them nervous, and I’d see them all looking up, as if searching for the sky. Some of their questions I knew the answer to, some I didn’t. They admired the thick walls, wrinkled their noses at the privies with their small holes, and mock fought on the circular staircases. I showed them the places where old kings had started building, and young kings had built on. Impressed as they were with its age and fortifications, I gathered that Keir did not care for the length of time it had taken for the castle to rise to its current heights.

The halls and corridors were strangely quiet as we proceeded, empty of the normal traffic of servants and nobles. It made me uneasy even as I led them into the castle chapel.

The room was lit with hundreds of candles, and behind the altar, the white marble statute of the Goddess gleamed brightly. She was lovely, her arms holding a basket of herbs and flowers, her face serene and peaceful. I paused in the center aisle and smiled.

“So it’s true. You worship people.” Surprised, I turned to see Joden standing behind me, looking around in amazement.

“This chapel is dedicated to the worship of the Goddess, The Lady of the Moon and Stars.” I fumbled around for the right words. “She is more than a ‘person.’”

“He means no offense,” Keir spoke softly as the others gathered around us, gaping and gawking. There was a general sense of disapproval. “It’s odd to see, that’s all.” Keir waved his hand to encompass the room. “Another difference between us.”

“A big difference,” Yers muttered, his crooked nose twitching.

On that note, I turned and lead them out, before one of the Priestesses should appear. Tensions were high enough without a religious debate.

“Your Goddess, she is a healer?” Keir moved up beside me.

“Yes,” I decided to show them my old room and headed in that direction. “She is the Goddess of Healing and Mercy.” I looked over my shoulder. “Not the kind of mercy granted on a battlefield.”

Keir grunted.

“There is a temple in the city to the God of the Sun, who is the God of Purity and Strength.”

“You worship the sun as a man?” Joden asked, his disbelief apparent in his voice.

“How did you come to be a healer?” Keir changed the topic so smoothly I had to smile.

“I was playing with one of my friends in the castle gardens, chasing him down the paths. We were very young and the kitchen maids lost track of us. We were running and laughing, and suddenly down he went, tripping over a huge… porcupine?” I wasn’t sure if they knew what the creature was, but a few people winced in sympathy.

“Needle-rat,” Rafe clarified, and now everyone understood.

“His face and arms were filled with quills and he started screaming and crying, and the kitchen maids came running, Anna came running, everyone was screaming and crying, so I started screaming and crying too.”

“A man appeared, a tall man who looked like a gray lake bird, tall and quiet. With a few words he calmed everyone down, and had my friend giggling as he dealt with the quills. Like a miracle, peace was restored.” The memory was a good one and I smiled at Keir. “He restored my world with his quiet voice and gentle skill.”

“As you wish to do.”

I nodded as I opened the door to my old room.

The room had been stripped down to its simple furnishings. Keir looked around and frowned. “This was your bedroom?” Prest and Rafe crowded in with us, the others watched from the door. Keir continued. “ Seems small for a Daughter of Xy.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t need a lot of room. Besides, I had other rooms to play in. I will show you.”

Keir looked at me and slowly smiled in response.

Rafe stood by the fireplace. “Guess they are using it to burn trash now.”

I turned. There in the fireplace were the ashes of books and papers. The pile looked familiar.

It was.

I could still make out the cord I had used before I had left. The fire must have been huge. A wonder that it had not caught the chimney on fire. I knelt and reached out, but the ash collapsed at the touch of my fingers. A lump rose in my throat.

“Something important?” Keir asked.

I stood. “No. Nothing important.” I wiped my hands together as I moved woodenly toward the door. “ We should move on. There is much more to see.”

Othur was standing in the hall when I emerged. The lump in my throat grew tighter when he saw my pain. “He burned my books,” I whispered.

Othur reached out a hand, his eyes crinkled in sympathy, but let it drop when Keir appeared in the doorway. “Seneschal, your presence is not required. The warprize is guide enough.”

Othur bowed his head. “Warlord, forgive me. I was told that you had no need of me, but I have served two kings in this castle, as my father did before me. Excuse an old man his pride.”

Keir paused. “Did you ‘inherit’ your place?”

“No, Warlord. Xyron selected me for my skills, and Xy-mund chose to retain me as Seneschal.”

“And your son?”

“My son has no interest in serving in this capacity, Warlord. He prefers the way of a warrior.” Othur smiled. “I would be honored it you would permit me to show you the castle defenses.”

“Lead on.”

Othur did, and was soon explaining about battlements and murder holes. I fell back, not really paying attention to what was being said. Why had he done that? For certain, Xymund burned my notes and books. I couldn’t imagine it. I’d done as he commanded. Why was he so angry? So furious that he couldn’t even greet me, or note my presence in a room.

Othur led us to the rooms above the castle’s main entrance, and everyone was enthralled with murder holes and the winches for the portcullis. I drifted to the back, and Othur managed to slip to my side. “ Durst?” I whispered.

“He lives, but barely. Eln is with him.” Relief surged over me as Othur continued, keeping his voice low. “ Warren’s clearing the castle and the courtyard of hot-tempered fools. He’s got things under control for now. I had Degnan locked in his rooms, under guard. Can’t decide if he’s angrier over the attack or the loss of his inheritance.”

“Xymund?” I breathed, fearing the answer.

“In his chambers, refusing to see anyone.” Othur passed a hand over his damp forehead and dried it on his trous. “I fear a bloodletting if Durst dies.”

Keir and the others were still focused on the defenses. “Othur, there is a ceremony, a ritual. You ask for the person’s token.” I spoke quickly. “It protects you when you tell a Fire-lander something insulting or that would upset them. I’m not allowed—” I cut my words off as Keir approached.

“A wondrous tent of stone, Othur.” Keir looked about the room. “I wonder at your ability to keep it repaired and supplied.”

Othur smiled. “No more that I wonder at the skills required to keep an army on the march, Warlord.” He cleared his throat. “I have a question, Warlord, but I would not offer offense.”

Keir looked rueful, and glanced at me. “Ask, Seneschal.”

“Would you be willing to explain the use of tokens by your people?” Othur’s voice was reasonable, but he tensed, waiting for Keir’s reaction.

“I would.” The tone of Keir’s voice surprised me, for I heard a sense of shame behind his words.

“Perhaps over food and drink? My Lady Wife is the Castle Cook and would welcome you in her kingdom.” Othur placed a hand on my shoulder. “She’s very fond of the warprize.”

“That would be Anna?” Keir asked. At Othur’s nod, he nodded. “It’s not wise to offend a cook,” Keir smiled. “Lead the way.”

The kitchen was empty, save for Anna and one of the serving lads. Anna looked drawn and tired, dressed in a clean gown and fresh apron, her spice keys on her belt. Her face lit up like the sun when she saw me. Either she hadn’t noticed the dress, or someone had seen fit to warn her of its color. We paused in awkward uncertainty for a moment as she debated how to greet me, but I took matters into my own hands. “Warlord, allow me to present Anna, who rules this kitchen and all our hearts.”

Anna gave out a nervous laugh, and after a quick glance at the Warlord, stepped forward to sweep me up in a hug. As the others came in she turned slightly, and indicated the table, set with sweets and goodies. “Please sit and refresh yourselves, my lords.” The serving lad started forward to hand out mugs of ale and Keir and Othur settled at the table, deep in conversation, Anna kept one arm around my shoulders and pulled me over to the great hearth. She clung to me fiercely as she whispered in my ear, “ Are you all right?”

“I am fine and well,” I said, smiling at her.

She pulled back a bit, and gave the scarlet dress an evil look. “No.” She shook her head so hard all her chins bounced. “Are you all right?” She searched my face anxiously.

I flushed and pulled her back into the hug. “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, I am all right.”

She pulled away, wiping her eyes, her face full of doubt. “Remn said as much, but what does he know?” She frowned, more to keep back her tears than in anger. “You must be starved.”

Now my eyes filled with tears, for that was Anna’s response to any problem or pain. She pulled a mug for me and pushed one of her confections into my hand.

“Warprize.”

I turned to find Keir gesturing me over. With an apologetic look at Anna, I moved to sit by his side. Keir shifted on the bench to make room, and as he did I felt his breath in my ear. “Do not eat or drink.”

Everyone else was laughing and eating, trying the various treats that Anna had prepared. I kept my head near Keir’s, and my voice down. “Excuse me?”

Keir stared into his cup, still filled with ale. “Prest will tell us when it is safe.”

I stared at him, the reason for his behavior dawning on me slowly. I opened my mouth to say something sharp, when Prest leaned across the table. “Warlord, you must try these!” In his hand was one of Anna’s special treats, a small tart with nuts and honey.

Keir reached out for the one in Prest’s hand, and bit into it. His face melted into a look of pure pleasure. “Anna!” She spun around. “Anna, what’s in these wonderful things?”

She glanced at Othur, who reassured her with a smile. Cautiously, she replied, “Warlord, they are just flour, sugar, eggs, and vanilla, with nuts and honey from the castle bees.”

Keir looked at me, with that boyish smile. “Vanilla. That’s why I like them so much.” He took another bite. “Could you teach my cook to make these?”

She looked at him through narrowed eyes, and I knew that she found it hard to see the wild-eyed killer in the eager, boyish face before her. “Aye, Warlord, if your cook has any skill at all.” She seemed to relax slightly.

Othur leaned forward. “About the tokens, Warlord.”

As they talked, Anna bustled about, making sure that the others had enough to eat and drink. I stayed by Keir’s side, and listened as Keir explained the use of the tokens much as Atira had.

“So, if I have your token, and I use that to insult you, what then?” Othur asked.

“I’d reply that the truth you voice is a false, and would issue challenge.” Keir looked grim. “Your choice is to withdraw your words or fight me.”

“So insults are only made under the protection of a token?”

“No, but when insult is given without a token, it’s expected that you have a weapon ready, for the insult will be answered immediately.”

“Ah,” Othur responded. “We give insult, but expect to be challenged before a sword is drawn.”

“I know that now.” Keir placed his mug on the table. “We must return to camp.”

As the others stood, I placed a hand on Keir’s arm. “Let me show you something.” I led the way to the still room door. “I spent a lot of time here over the years, distilling medicines and herbs in this room.” I swung the door wide. “This was my kingdom.”

The door opened on an empty room.

I stared. Not a table, not a jar, nothing remained. Only the faint lingering scent of herbs in the air betrayed the fact that it had been a stillroom.

Othur came up behind us. “I should have warned you, Lara. The King had it cleaned out the night you …” He paused almost imperceptibly. “Left.”

I rounded on him. “Othur, there were valuable supplies here, not to mention my… the equipment. What did he do with it?” Othur studied the floor. I grabbed his arm. “Please tell me he sent it all to the Temple of Healing.”

Othur did not look at me. “He may have. But I don’t know.”

I spent most of the ride back to camp lost in my own thoughts. Keir had allowed no long farewells. One hug from Anna and we were mounted and gone, traveling quickly through the night, weapons at the ready. Keir hadn’t bothered with the niceties of farewells to Xymund either, and I was convinced that it was calculated.

The night covered the fields, so I was spared another glimpse of the graves. The stars gleamed bright in the night sky, and I heard the Firelanders muttering something that sounded like prayers. I sighed softly. I shouldn’t use that term anymore, since it wasn’t what they called themselves. I wondered for a moment why Xyians called them ‘Firelanders’.

Of course, I wasn’t really Xyian anymore, was I? I wasn’t really anything, was I? I closed my eyes, and lost myself in my pain.