Warcry

smiling, and Durst wanted nothing more than for the Sun God to strike him dead. Othur hadn’t lost two sons in this battle—the first against the Firelanders and the second in an ill-advised attack on Xylara. He hadn’t had to hold Beatrice as she’d wept her heart out in his arms, or face a future with no heir.
    He glanced at his silent wife, standing behind her chair, her hands resting quietly on its back, her eyes cast down. Something had broken within her with the deaths of her boys. Then to have to nurse him through his own injury when the Warlord had attacked without warning or provocation . . . Durst took a deep breath as he looked at her bent head.
    There would be other ways, other opportunities, even if the Archbishop bent with the wind. This wasn’t over.
    But as the Sun God was his witness, he’d see Othur and his wife weeping over the dead body of their son. Lanfer would be more than willing. And more than able.
    With that, Durst had to be satisfied. For now.

    ATIRA CRANED FORWARD AS THE HERALD POUNDED his staff three times on the floor. “Lords and ladies—Xylara, Queen of Xy and the Overlord, Keir of the Cat.”
    Everyone bowed as Lara and Keir made their way up the central aisle between the tables and took their places at the high table. Marcus and Amyu were waiting there, behind the seats. Prest, Rafe, Yveni, and Ander took up their positions around the table, making every effort to be seen. Atira nodded in satisfaction. The Warprize was well guarded, and should anyone try an attack, she had her bow at the ready.
    Lara was wearing one of the oddly shaped Xyian dresses that seemed more like a large tent than a garment. Atira had never seen so much fabric to cover one woman before. It was a lovely blue color, like the sky in spring. Just for a moment, Atira wondered how many garments Lara had, and what it would feel like to have different clothing for every day.
    Lara was waiting until the room settled, each person standing behind their chair. “Lord and ladies, my thanks for your welcome. I would take this opportunity to dedicate this feast to the memory of my father, Xyron, Warrior-King.” She raised a mug of kavage that Marcus handed to her. “To Xyron.”
    “Xyron.” The hall echoed with the sound of raised voices as all drank.
    With that, Lara sat, with Keir a heartbeat behind. Everyone in the room sat then, taking their seats with a murmur of talk.
    “Devoted One, I am glad to see you.” Lara leaned forward to smile at the man. “I am glad to see that you were well enough to join us this evening. Would you bless this meal?”
    Atira couldn’t see the man’s face, but she watched the back of his neck flush as he stood, pushing his chair back so abruptly it almost toppled over. “Your Majesty.” The man’s voice was thin and shaky. “Your Majesty, I fear . . . I would not offend the Overlord. His faith is not ours.”
    “I take no offense.” Keir’s voice was a low pleasant rumble. “Please proceed.”
    The Archbishop sagged a bit, and then seemed to gather strength from somewhere. He straightened up. “Your Majesty, I fear I am unable to offer a blessing for this meal.”
    “No?” Lara asked, all innocence. “Why so, Devoted One?”
    The man’s voice cracked. “Your Majesty . . .” He trembled in his robes. “Your Majesty, I cannot offer a blessing to a couple living in sin, outside of the bonds of holy matrimony.”
    His words echoed through the silent room.
    Lara looked pale, but her voice was calm. “Devoted One, the Overlord and I are bonded according to his beliefs and the customs of his people.”
    “His people,” the Archbishop said. “Not ours. Our faith requires—”
    Keir rose from his seat. “It seems I must deal with this.” He drew his sword and placed one hand on the table, leaping over it.
    The Archbishop fainted dead away.

CHAPTER 20
     
    OTHUR STRUGGLED TO KEEP HIS FACE IMPASSIVE as Eln and the castle guards caught the Archbishop and kept him on his feet. Served the man right.
    Keir ignored the uproar, turning instead to face Othur and Anna. Keir knelt, in full view of the assemblage, presenting his blade, hilt up. He cut quite a figure in his black armor, his blue eyes bright.
    Othur extended his hand to Anna as they rose from their chairs. Anna placed her hand on his wrist, tears already gathering in her eyes.
    “Lord Othur, Seneschal of Water’s Fall, Warden of Xy. Lady Anna of Xy.” Keir’s voice rolled through the room, strong and