Warcry

out the leather book that Iain had used as a token. Keir looked at Othur. “I just wish that Lara had spoken to me of this sooner.”
    “Spoken of what?” Lara stood in the bedroom doorway, rumpled from her nap and looking about in confusion.

    ATIRA WATCHED AS LARA LOOKED AT THEM WITH growing confusion and concern, and Atira’s heart went out to her. The Warprize had dealt with much in the time since she had met Keir. Going to his bed without an initiator, dealing with the Council of Elders, and now life-bearing without a thea to aid and advise her.
    Some took life-bearing in their stride, popping out their babes with ease. But Atira remembered all too well the emotional side, like riding an unwilling horse. One moment weepy, the next furious. Oh, the Warprize was a healer, that was true, and Lara thought she knew the ways of bearing. But experience is a hard teacher, and Atira remembered all too well that until a babe was pressing on your bladder, or your belly extended so far that you moved like an ehat, you didn’t really know how your body or mind would respond.
    And the males were no help, that was certain.
    Keir moved toward Lara, reaching to turn her slightly so that he could pull her into his arms. “We were discussing the fact that Durst wishes to use our lack of a Xyian bonding against us and the child you bear.”
    Lara shot Othur an angry glare, but the older man shook his head and raised his hands in defense.
    Atira moved then, to kneel before the Warlord and Warprize. “Warprize, I was the one that told the Warlord of this. Heath explained it to me, and I decided that the Warlord must know.”
    The anger drained from Lara’s face, and she started to cry. She pressed her face into Keir’s chest.
    “Why not speak of this to me, beloved?” Keir’s voice was the barest whisper.
    Lara lifted her face to look at him, with eyes filled with tears and fear. “I was afraid, beloved. Your pledge to me as my bonded is all I ever need. But our faith . . . and yours . . . I—”
    She hiccupped and sagged in his arms.
    The love in Keir’s face was so powerful that Atira had to look away. She dropped her gaze to the floor and stayed, unmoving, unwilling to interrupt the moment between them.
    “Flame of my heart.” The words were a soft rumble in Keir’s chest. “The words we pledged between us were enough for us. But you marked yourself for my people—can I do any less for yours?” He ran a soft finger over the wires woven into Lara’s ear.
    Lara wrapped her arms around Keir’s neck and kissed him through her tears.
    Iain coughed. Atira glanced back to see the young man blushing, his own gaze on the floor.
    “Your Majesty,” Iain said. “The Warlord has inquired about the nature of our ceremonies. If you are willing, I am the cleric responsible for the castle chapel and charged with the spiritual needs of those who live within these walls. If you wish, I would offer you and your intended counsel.”
    Lara gave him a wobbly smile and nodded.
    “Well then,” Marcus huffed. “Go within and talk. We will know that you speak under the bells and will not interrupt.”
    Keir turned Lara toward the sleeping chamber. Lara resisted for a moment, pausing to lay a hand on Atira’s shoulder. “Thank you,” Lara whispered.
    “Warprize,” Atira gave her a smile, feeling her own eyes go misty. “It is nothing to what I owe you.”
    Lara shook her head as if to deny Atira’s words, but she let Keir pull her away without protest. Iain followed them, and Atira rose and pulled the door shut.
    She caught a quick glimpse of Keir and Lara as the door closed. They were standing together, their arms around each other, their heads together.
    A pain lanced through Atira’s heart. A shaft of pure envy . . . or perhaps longing was a better word. To have that certainty in another . . . to love and trust and bond. As much as she wished to deny it, she longed for that with every bone in her body.
    And to leave the Plains? What else was there for one such as she? Or was that what she really feared?
    Atira pulled the door shut with a click and turned to see Heath staring at her.
    She looked away, confused, then angry at herself. What had she to fear? He was a city-dweller, born and bred, and she was of the Plains. There was no way—
    She heard his step then, and looked up to see him rise and stalk toward her, a look of pure stubbornness on his face. As if—
    The door opened and Anna walked in, balancing a bundle