Warcry

bit,” Heath said, putting his arm around her shoulders.
    “I’d like that,” she said, putting her head on his shoulder. “Do you remember?” she asked softly. “When you decided to sword fight in the Council chamber and kicked the ink bottle all over the dynastic charts?”
    “There’s still a blue stain on the table, along the edge.” Heath chuckled.
    “Your father laughed until he was sick,” Anna said. “And the scribes made things worse by giving chase.”
    “I barely escaped with my life,” Heath said.
    Anna smiled. “Bursting into my kitchen, blue ink all over you, screaming at the top of your lungs.”
    Heath nodded. “Right through the doors and out into the courtyard.”
    “How did you get back up to your room without us seeing you?” Anna asked.
    “Well,” Heath said softly. “There’s this tree . . .”

    HEATH RETURNED TO HIS ROOM A FEW HOURS later to find Atira propped up with pillows and yawning madly. Eln had clearly come and gone, as well as Marcsi.
    Atira blinked at him as he closed the door. “You didn’t tell me that . . . Othur . . . your father died, Heath.”
    “There wasn’t exactly time,” Heath said quietly. He started to remove his armor and weapons. “And you’ve slept most of the day. How’s the shoulder?”
    Atira shrugged. “There is pain, but it is distant. The paste is good for pain, but it leaves me . . .” Her voice faded, and she shrugged. “I do not like it,” she added. “But Eln said another night of drugged sleep would aid the healing, so I took it.”
    “Best thing to do.” Heath started to put his sword and dagger on the floor by his bed roll. “Tomorrow is soon enough for our griefs.”
    “No,” Atira said.
    He looked over his shoulder. Atira had managed to get herself to the edge of the bed, close to the wall. Bruised and battered, still she was trying to hold up the blankets. “Sleep next to me, Heath.” Her words were heavy, as she fought off sleep. “I need to feel your skin on mine.”
    His heart turned over in his chest. She was so lovely, her hair all in disarray, her eyes half-closed. He loved her so very, very much.
    He’d been a fool. The truth was that he was of Xy and she was of the Plains, and the very idea that he could keep her in Xy had been a fool’s notion. He’d demanded that she give up her ways, trying to turn her into something she was not. Like the moment he’d seen her in that dress. So very lovely, and so very wrong.
    Atira was herself, like no one else he knew, and he loved her desperately. Loved her so much that he knew that he couldn’t entomb her in a stone tent, far from the lands she loved.
    “Come on,” Atira grumbled, her eyelids drooping. “I’m cold.”
    “As you wish.” Heath hung his weapons at the head of the bed and slid between the covers carefully, trying not to hurt her.
    Atira snuggled next to him as best she could without jarring her arm. With a quiet murmur, she fell asleep.
    Heath lay for a long time, listening to her breathe.

CHAPTER 34
     
    THEY GATHERED IN THE GARDEN AFTER HIS FATHER was laid to rest.
    Not deep within the garden. Heath knew that Liam was camped there, and if Marcus was to join them, or if Anna saw some of the ‘goings-on,’ as she put it, it would disrupt the gathering.
    No, there was a small area by the kitchen gardens that would serve. Heath had benches brought out, and his mother spread a blanket for the children and arranged for food and drink. The public mourning was over; their private grief would take much longer to deal with.
    Marcus helped settle Lara on the bench. Keir had Xykayla in his arms, Amyu was carrying Xykeirson. Heath was amused at the number of things that seemed to accompany babies—blankets, cloths, baskets, and the like. “Like provisioning an army,” he muttered.
    Atira smiled at him, then winced as the scab on her lip stretched. The bruises on her shoulder and face were still ugly and mottled. Her arm was slung tight to her body, but the willowbark tea seemed to help, even if she screwed up her face before each cup.
    Heath looked back toward the kitchens. There were a few guards there, lounging about the rear door. There were more within calling distance, not to mention Liam’s warriors. He was probably being a little too careful, but better too much than not enough.
    “Kavage?” Marcus asked. The man had taken off his hooded cloak, here under the trees. Heath took the offered mug.
    The sparring circle was also well