Warcry

she planned on it,” Heath said.
    Othur nodded. “I will make a miraculous recovery a day or two after her return—attributed to Eln’s amazing healing powers, of course. Or Lara’s.”
    He reached for Atira’s hand. “You’ll forgive my ladywife? She loves Heath, and it may take time for her to adjust to this idea.”
    “Idea?” Atira looked confused. “Idea of what?”
    “Ah.” Othur glanced back between the two of them. “Well, that will wait as well. Best be on your way.”
    Atira went to blow out the candles, leaving only the fire in the hearth to light the room. Othur reached to give Heath a hug at the same time his son reached out for him. He gave thanks to the gods at his son’s return, as those strong arms held him close.
    “Go, go,” Othur said, stepping back into the shadows behind the door.
    With that, they were gone, closing the door behind them.
    Othur sighed, then picked up the tray that Anna had brought and went over to the fire. He sat, replacing the blanket so that he looked the proper invalid, and took up the bowl of broth. It tasted fine; for all of her sharp tongue, his Anna was an excellent cook.
    Othur settled into the chair with a sigh of pleasure. Heath had returned from the Plains, and he looked fit and healthy. Lara would be back tomorrow, and that was cause for joy, and not just because she bore a babe. She and her Warlord would deal with the governance of Xy, with Othur in the background where he belonged.
    Othur grimaced as he contemplated the amount of work that would be waiting for him. But Heath had been trained in a Seneschal’s duties; perhaps he could take over some of the tasks. Captain of the Castle Guard would be a good start.
    Maybe he could start to recover tomorrow, and at least call for real food again. He was fairly sure he could eat a haunch all by himself, and a few loaves of Anna’s good bread.
    Provided her bread was good. Anna’s cooking tended to sour when she was unhappy, and she was not happy about Atira’s role in Heath’s departure.
    But then again, it seemed that Atira was uncertain as to her place in Heath’s life.
    Well, one thing was sure. He’d seen the look in his son’s eyes, and he knew full well that Heath had lost his heart.
    Othur decided to concentrate on enjoying his broth. These things all tended to work themselves out one way or another, and worrying wouldn’t make anything happen any faster.

    “WHAT GIVES HER THE RIGHT TO TALK THAT WAY?” Atira demanded.
    They’d returned to the pines with little more than silent steps through dark halls and whispers to the palace guards. The only delay had been in the last room, the one that Heath claimed as his own. He’d paused, rummaging in one of the trunks, removing something that he’d bundled up and brought with him.
    The horses were resting undisturbed where they’d left them. Heath had filled a waterskin with cold water from a creek, and they had gurt and dried meat to share. The stars gave enough light to see by as they settled under the pines.
    “You ever see a warrior about to make a mistake, and care enough to stop them?” Heath asked.
    “Of course.” Atira took a drink from the waterskin.
    “Well, take that care and turn it into a herd of thundering horses, and you have a mother’s care. That’s what makes her think she has the right.”
    “Think?” Atira asked slyly.
    “My mother doesn’t decide how I live my life,” Heath said firmly. “I do.” He took the waterskin from her. “Clouds are moving in; it will be pitch dark in a few hours. We’ll bed down here and sleep until first light. With any luck, we can get back to camp before they’ve had their kavage.”
    Atira nodded. There was no sense risking the horses in the dark. She offered Heath her pouch of gurt, but he shook his head, so she tucked it back into her saddlebag. “What’s in that bundle that you brought from the castle?”
    “Something for tomorrow.” Heath stood. “I’ll get our bedrolls.”
    “We should share,” Atira stood, brushing pine needles from her trous. “For warmth.”
    “No.”
    “No?”
    “No,” Heath repeated. “If you are not interested in a life with me, Atira of the Bear, then no, I am not going to let you string me along like a spare mount.” He appeared out of the darkness, and dropped the bedrolls at her feet.
    “I am not string—”
    “Yes, you are,” Heath said calmly. “I want a life with you, not just sharing .” He looked off in the