“No,” Keir responded. He knelt down in front of me and pulled off one of the bright red slippers with a gentle touch. “We need sleep, Marcus. Go to bed.”
Marcus gave him a doubtful look, but he left. Keir removed the other slipper as well, but I didn’t look up. “Why would he do it? Why would he burn them?” I asked.
Keir paused and glanced at me.
“They were just my notes, my observations. Scribbles really.” I stopped as the pain welled up inside my chest.
Keir snorted. I looked at him in surprise. “You are attacked in the market, insulted by the court and your brother, and what troubles you the most is the loss of some papers.” He stood rather abruptly.
Anger surged up inside me. “They may have just been papers, but they were important to me.”
Keir lifted an eyebrow. “That’s why they were burned.”
I sagged, exhaustion flowing over me like a wave.
Keir sat next to me on the bed and removed his boots. He started in on his armor, carefully removing each piece and setting it on the benches. I gathered strength, stood and went into the bathing area to remove the dress carefully. I tried to fold it, but the material slipped and slid, the dress ending up on the floor every time. Tired, frustrated and upset, I finally gave up and left it lay on one of the benches. A tunic and trous were set out for me, and I climbed into them for sleeping. After washing out my undergarments, I washed up quickly. My hair was windblown from the tower and the ride, so I gathered up a comb and returned to the other room to try to deal with the tangled mess.
Keir slipped into the room as I came out, and I heard him splash about as I tried to draw the comb through my hair. It hurt, but not as much as the idea of all that work burned, or all those herbs and mixtures destroyed. It made no sense, to ruin the stillroom. Why do it? Why think that Anna would poison me? The idea was laughable. Nor would Xymund hire mercenaries to destroy the peace. My head hurt with thinking about it, and I yanked my hair into a handful and started working at the tangles with a vengeance.
The bed sagged, and the comb was tugged out of my hand. Keir moved behind me, and wrapped me in his arms, and held me tight. I lowered my head, embarrassed at how good it felt to be held. It was strange to be held so, embraced so intimately. Yet how quickly his touch had become familiar and welcome. We stayed that way for a long moment, then with one hand, Keir swept the hair from the back of my neck, and nuzzled my nape. His warm breath stirred the smaller hairs, and I shifted slightly, uncomfortable with the touch and yet stirred by it. Keir moved his hands to my shoulders and stroked down my arms until he reached my hands.
He cradled my right hand in both of his and started caressing it, tracing each finger slowly, and moving his fingertips over my palm. I could feel his sword calluses against my skin. His lips were at my ear as he spoke. “I was taught that we are of the elements. Flesh, breath, soul, and blood.” His voice was a mere whisper as he kneaded the ball of my thumb. “Sometimes, the elements within us become unbalanced, and it takes the touch of another to bring us back, to center us.” His hands continued to work on mine, rubbing the nails and working my knuckles. I felt a warm tingle building in the center of my palm.
I sighed, leaning back against his chest, and Keir switched to my left hand, moving slowly and carefully. “ The soul is made of fire, and sits within the left hand.” He repeated his actions, I absorbed it all in silence. “The breath is made of air, and sits within the right hand.” He continued until that hand tingled as well. I felt my heart slow and my breathing fall into harmony with his. The warmth of his body seeped into me through the fabric of my tunic.
“The peace will work, Lara.” His hands took mine and wove our fingers together to form a fist. “ Together, our peoples will be stronger. A united whole, under one ruler.”
“Under your rule.” I whispered.
Keir pulled me back slowly to lay against the pillows, then moved to the end of the bed. He took my left foot in his hands and started rubbing gently. “The blood is made of water, and sits within the left foot.” His words seemed like a ritual of some kind and his touch was pure pleasure. I lay quiet, in a daze of warmth and bliss.
“Xymund has sworn fealty to me as Warlord.” Keir’s touch was still gentle, but his voice had an edge to it. “He will obey.” He flexed my foot in his hands, pulling at my toes and working his fingers into the muscles.
It took me a bit to gather my thoughts. “Yet you deliberately provoked him this evening.”
“Yes.” Keir released my foot and moved to the other one. “I did. His actions will speak louder than his oaths.” He worked this foot as he had the other. “The flesh is made of earth and sits within the right foot.”
I focused on him and smiled, feeling safe and lethargic. Keir’s eyes glittered, and he released my foot and crawled up the bed to lay by my side. He hovered there, looking down, his eyes glittering. I looked up, expecting, waiting…
He sighed softly, and eased back to the foot of the bed. It seemed somehow that I had failed him in some way, but I wasn’t certain what made me think that. I stared at his back as he sat there. I had to say something to break the silence. “And Durst?”
Keir’s head came up with a jerk. He sighed and shook his head, turning slightly to look at me. “A mistake. I knew it even as I pulled my sword free.” He got off the bed. Marcus had stoked the braziers before he had left, and they radiated warm heat into the room. Keir moved over and threw a handful of leaves into the closest one. It flared up, but the flames died quickly. The room gently filled with a soft spicy scent that hung in the warm air. Amazing how much warmer a tent was than a stone castle.
Keir settled on one of the benches, pulling bottles and cloths from a small chest below. His sword was there, and he took it up, looking at it ruefully. He started wiping it with one of the cloths. I curled on my side to watch him as he wiped the sword with careful attention. There was a long silence between us before he spoke. “I ask my warriors to change their ways, and yet in the heat of anger I strike according to our tradition.”
I didn’t have an answer to that.
He set aside the cloth, and started to work the edge with a stone, making a soft ‘shushing’ sound. One of the bottles was open, and I got a faint whiff of clove oil. I yawned, watching him in the faint light.
“Go to sleep, Warprize. I will sit for a while, and think on my errors and how to learn from them.”
I had melted down into the bedding, and hadn’t the strength to get under the blankets. Even with blurry eyes, I saw the lines on Keir’s face. “He didn’t die.”
Keir’s hand stopped moving. “He lived?”
“Othur said he was still alive before we went to the kitchens.” I closed my eyes, and started floating off.
The ‘shushing’ sound started back up. “So. Tomorrow will tell the tale. I’ll send for word, or go myself. Sleep now.”
I tried to resist, but the darkness won out.
I swing my leg up and out, the horse shies and moves away. I lose my balance and drop back to the ground abruptly.
The lance passes by my head.
“Death to the…” The lead man never finishes his cry. Keir smashes through his defenses and plunges into the man’s chest in one quick stabbing motion. With his fierce quickness, he moves to strike at another.
I press against the wall, trying to stay small and out of the way. The only sounds are those of clashing blades, heavy breathing, and boots looking for purchase on the surface of the street.
“Wake up. Open your eyes.”
The four remaining attackers shift their focus without a word. Prest has one opponent. Two now press Keir. Rafe faces one as well.
Prest bashes his opponent with his shield and rams him hard enough to get him off-balance and a sword between his ribs. I assume that Prest will aid Keir. But he stays where he is, scanning the street, weapon at the ready.