The streets remained empty as we rode to the castle. Buildings that had once been friendly and familiar now held deep shadows where danger lurked. My reins grew damp from my sweaty hands, my shoulders tight with every step. Fear gripped me hard.
Rafe rode beside me, with bow and arrow in hand. His horse responded to knees and feet alone, the reins lay knotted in front of Rafe’s saddle. Prest rode in the same manner, but slightly behind us. They both scanned the surroundings constantly, focused on catching the slightest hint of an attack.
Keir rode in front, his swords sheathed, looking outwardly relaxed, but with his head moving from side to side, watching the buildings around us as we passed.
I cleared my throat to ask about the lance again, but Keir gestured for silence without even looking back at me. I bit my lip as my throat went even drier, and fought the urge to hunch in my saddle.
The horses sensed our tension and shifted restlessly under us. But Keir held our pace to a walk. It was only when the castle gates appeared in the distance, ablaze with lights and people, that he urged his horse to a trot. We sped up to follow him the final distance into the main courtyard.
People, both Xyian and Firelander, were clustered about, and palace guards moved forward for our horses. The sun still filled the area with light, causing my dress to glow like a bright flame. I tried to look confident and relaxed, but my stomach cramped as the Xyians around me reacted to the dress.
Keir, Prest and Rafe were still on guard, keeping an eye on the crowd. Keir swung down first, and gave me a concerned look as he helped me dismount, as if he sensed the strain. Rafe and Prest joined us, and they surrounded me as we entered the castle proper.
Othur appeared before us. “Warlord.” He bowed. When his head came up, his eyes sought mine, filled with concern. I risked a small smile. His eyes crinkled at the edges as he continued. “Allow me to show you to the antechamber.” He guided us into the same chamber where I had waited for the submission ceremony. It had only been days ago, but it felt like a lifetime. As we entered, my shoulders relaxed, now that we were out from under prying eyes.
Othur stood in the doorway behind us, and bowed again. “I will inform the King of your arrival. He will join you shortly.”
Keir held up his hand. “We will delay for a few moments. I will send for Xymund when I am ready.”
Keir moved further into the room, threw his cloak over one of the chairs, and started to pace. The light of the fire and the lamps played over his face, making his blue eyes dark and forbidding.
“Who were they?” he asked.
“Not one of us.” Prest answered firmly.
“How do you know that?” I asked.
Prest shrugged. “They missed.”
“He’s right.” Keir continued his prowl. “Had one of my people thrown the lance, you would have been hit.”
“The fletching was Iften’s.” Rafe’s voice was soft.
“Iften’s?” I stared at Keir.
“Full-tipped.” Prest added.
“What does that mean?” I asked, frustrated by the cryptic comments.
Keir sighed. “The tip was whole when the lance was thrown. Lance tips are meant to break when they hit. A scavenged lance wouldn’t be whole.”
“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.”