Warcry

the sun. “My Lord Heath has learned your ways quite well. That blow to the face, for example. I assume you also strike for the groin?”
    “When survival is at stake, even so vulnerable a target as that is fair prey,” Atira said. “But I’ve other uses for Heath’s—”
    “Perhaps you’d care to spar, Lanfer,” Heath interrupted.
    “Not with you,” Lanfer said. “But Lady Atira,” Lanfer gave her a bow, “if she is willing.”
    Heath snarled and opened his mouth to forbid it, but a quick look at Atira made him close his mouth with a snap.
    “That would be lovely,” Atira said sweetly. “Which weapon would you prefer?”
    Once before Heath had stepped between an enemy and Atira; she’d given him a black eye for daring to deprive her of a battle. He wouldn’t step between her and a fight again. But it took more than he cared to admit to go stand by the bench where their weapons lay.
    They’d gathered a bit of a crowd since they’d started sparring. A group of women were just outside the doors of the kitchen, plucking feathers from fowl, talking among themselves. The two workmen were still at it, although they didn’t seem to have made much progress.
    Lanfer had some others with him. Members of the court, and mostly second sons for all that. Heath wanted nothing more than to reach over and belt on his sword, but he stood instead, holding the practice daggers, trying to look unconcerned as Atira and Lanfer selected wooden swords and shields and stepped into the practice circle together.
    Heath clenched his jaw as they started to spar.
    Oddly enough, Atira didn’t leap forward for the first attack. She waited, shield up, watching Lanfer as he approached cautiously, and let him take the first swing.
    Lanfer’s friends gathered at the edge of the circle, but some instinct of preservation kept them a good distance from Heath. At first they made comments, cheering Lanfer on, but after a few uneasy glances at Heath they subsided, seemingly content to watch. Quietly.
    A wise choice on their part.
    A few more blows, with Lanfer the aggressor. Heath relaxed his jaw a bit as he realized that Atira was holding back.
    Lanfer was good, there was no mistaking that. Heath knew that. Not just from the various fights that they’d gotten into as kids, either. He’d sparred with Lanfer often enough, usually until blood spilled and they were separated by their teachers.
    But here again, Atira fought as one who’d been taught by the need to survive. She had the keenness of a blade that was used to kill, not displayed on a wall.
    Gods, he loved her. In all her bright, deadly beauty.
    Was he wrong, to want to hold her? Heath’s heart clenched in his chest. Was it wrong to think that he and Atira could have what his parents had? Did he have the right to demand that of her? Maybe he should accept what she was willing to give, except they were both capable of so much more.
    Why should she say yes to him? Why would he think that she would even consider staying in Xy?
    Atira had grown bored with the fight. Heath saw it in her face just before she narrowed her eyes and really went after Lanfer. In the next heartbeat, he was disarmed, down on the ground, staring at the point of her sword.
    Lanfer stared up with her in fury.
    Atira stepped back and flashed a smile. “My thanks, Lanfer. Well fought.”
    Lanfer stood. “Let us go again,” he snapped, reaching for his sword and shield.
    “Nay,” Atira replied. She put her sword in her shield hand and wiped her brow. “You do well, but your skills are not much of a challenge. Still,” she gave him a bright smile. “I thank you for the practice.”
    In a pig’s eye, Heath thought. He eyed Lanfer carefully as the man went white with rage, then struggled to get control.
    “Very well then.” Lanfer turned away from Atira, leaving his practice weapons lying on the ground. “But you must allow me a rematch.” He turned toward his friends.
    “I’d enjoy that,” Atira said, reaching out and groping his ass.

    AS SHE SUSPECTED, ATIRA FELT A BANDAGE UNDER her fingers.
    Lanfer jerked and spun, his face a mixture of outrage and pain.
    Atira opened her eyes wide. “Did I get that custom wrong? Do you not pat each other for a fight well fought?”
    “On the back.” Lanfer’s lips thinned as he spoke through his teeth. “Between the shoulders.”
    “Ah.” Atira gave him a friendly nod. “My mistake.”
    Lanfer walked off stiffly, taking his friends with him, past