“Come and see me tomorrow, little healer!” Simus laughed. “I wish to hear all the details of your newest escapade.” He shook his head with a great smile. “Healed a broken leg. The warrior-priests will curse the skies!” With a grunt, the men lifted his cot and started moving away, staggering under the weight. “ Have a care!” Simus growled, then laughed. “Have a care!” Guards held the main flaps open as they left.
Keir turned and gestured for me to precede him into the sleeping area. His growl came from behind me even before the tent flap fell closed. “You’re not to use the token.”
I turned and faced him, clasping my trembling hands in front of me. “There was a need—”
“There was no need.” Keir growled, his jaw clenched. “This is hard enough to accomplish without you —”
“I cannot heal without—”
“Damn the supplies! This is about the peace.” Keir bellowed.
I blinked.
Keir ran his hand through his hair. “A peace you seem determined to threaten.”
“I!” My back stiffened at that. “I’ve kept my part of this bargain, Warlord. Nor has Xymund violated its terms.”
“The attacks on the horses—”
“There may be a few malcontents, as there are in this camp.” I raised my voice to match his, and glared just as hard. How dare he imply—
“My people hold to their word, Warprize. Explain why your brother offers such insult?”
I dropped my eyes and stepped back a pace. How to explain what I didn’t understand myself? Lowering my voice, I fell back to my strongest argument. “He will not risk his people by violating this peace.”
“His head, you mean.” Keir stalked about, as if needing to pace.
My temper flared back. “His head, then. He has no reason to jeopardize his life or throne.”
“His actions will speak for him.” Keir snapped. “If he’s behind these attacks on the herds, he’ll answer for it.” He turned on his heel to go.
Marcus popped in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. “Done with your snapping?”
Keir raised his eyes to the ceiling. “What?”
“You are taking her to a mourning ceremony? Tomorrow?”
“Yes.” Keir cast a glance back at me. “It would not be a bad thing for her to be seen in the city. Rumor has her treated badly.”
Marcus tightened his lips. “What’s she to wear? Trous is fine for camp, but city women wear dresses more often than not. I’ve managed to keep her clothed so far, but she needs other things.”
I pressed my lips together and looked away.
Keir’s voice was thoughtful. “I had not thought of that.”
Marcus snorted. “Seems to be happening a lot of late.”
I looked over at that, to see Keir arch an eyebrow and tilt his head. “So, the clothing of one woman is a task beyond your skills, old man?” He moved past us, to the main flap. “Who’d have thought it?”
“Where are you off to?” Marcus demanded.
“To Simus’s tent.”
“And me?” I demanded.
“As you like.” Was the comment tossed over his shoulder. With that Keir disappeared.
Marcus glared at me.
I glared right back. “This is not my fault. I wasn’t permitted to bring anything with me!”
Marcus nodded. “As it should be. The Warlord has claimed you. You take nothing except from his hands.” He frowned. “I will think on this, Warprize.”
“Lara!”
He sniffed and moved away to finish cleaning.
I stomped out, half a mind to stomp all the way back to the castle and home. How dare he imply that Xymund or I would risk breaking the agreement. Admittedly Xymund was motivated more out of self-interest than anything else, but motivated he was. Still, the hatred in his voice had been so strong. The idea that Xymund would take such a risk made me furious and sick, all at the same time. There’s been other times in the past that he’d taken actions that benefitted himself more than the country. The fact that Warren and Othur cared deeply for the kingdom gave me some measure of comfort. They would stop him, if they knew what he was doing. Xymund had a slyness that I did not trust.
Rafe and Prest were waiting for me when I emerged from the tent, and thoughts of flight went out of my head. But other thoughts whirled about, skittering around like colts on ice. I turned toward the healing tent, guards in tow.
How had Keir’s opinion of me come to be so important so quickly? My fears came up in my throat, and for a moment I could barely breathe. I’d been well treated so far, better than I’d hoped. The demands on me… my face flushed at the thought… had not been uncomfortable. Truth be told, they had been… interesting.
I wondered how many warprizes Keir had. I knew he had taken other cities, there might have been more. Was it one warprize per kingdom? Where were they?
Were they happy?
I frowned at the ground beneath my feet. At least I was being allowed to practice my craft. Whatever the future held, I had that at the very least.
Of course, who knew what would happen when the army returned to its homeland. I took a deep breath and focused on my feet again, watching myself take one step after another. I had been promised. I had fulfilled the promise, and would continue to do so. I was sure that Keir would not harm me physically.
But there are other kinds of pain.
***
The healing tent was in an uproar when I arrived.
There were people everywhere, spilling out of the tent and milling around like bees on honey. The sides of the tent had been rolled up, and people were gathered on all sides. I lengthened my stride, leaving Rafe and Prest behind, and pushed my way through the crowd.
At the center lay Atira, surrounded by admirers. There was a piece of wood laying on her chest, with stones on top in some kind of pattern. Atira was craning her neck to see, as the people who crowded around her cot reached down and moved the stones around. There was lots of talk and laughter, and Atira’s face was flushed.
“Word travels on the wind.” Rafe commented. Prest nodded his agreement.
“What in the name of the Goddess is going on!” I stood there with my hands on my hips.
Everyone turned in consternation, took one look at my face, and took to their heels. The few that remained tried to offer explanations, and there were mentions of a dance and the pattern, and their plan. Atira was trying to hide the board with both hands, and I realized that she was trying desperately not to laugh.
“Out of my tent!” I shooed at them with my hands. “Out! Out!”
Atira lost her fight as hardened warriors fled before me. Rafe was laughing, leaning on Prest, who was roaring as well. “Silly fools,” I grumbled. “This is no way to treat an injured warrior.” I gestured to the sides. “Help me lower the sides.” I grumbled as we worked, and Rafe and Prest were hard pressed to keep their faces straight.
“Warprize, we were planning the pattern.” Atira was wiping her eyes with her hands. “They meant no harm.”
“What is a pattern?” I asked as I moved up next to her.
“For the dance!” She hastily covered the board. “Don’t look, Warprize! It’s bad luck.”
“Very bad luck.” Joden walked into the tent. I smiled to see him. “I heard the noise, and came to see if you needed aid.”
He looked around the tent. “I see that you have routed the enemy without my help.”
“Atira’s needs rest.” I started to check the leather and the straps.
“May I speak with her for a moment?”
Atira’s eyes grew round. I looked over at Joden, but his face was calm and serene. “Of course, Joden. But not for too long. Do you need privacy?”
“No, Warprize.” Joden moved to a seat by Atira’s cot. “Warrior.”
“Singer.” Atira’s tone was respectful and questioning at the same time.
Joden shook his head. “No. I am not a Singer yet. But that is why I have come to see you.”
“Really?” Atira propped herself on her elbows.
Joden nodded. “I am working on a song. I would sing of your injury.”