Warcry

chair, and Heath was fairly certain that the sick look on his face was not feigned this time.
    “So, the wind blows in a new direction?” Atira leaned into him, keeping her voice low.
    Heath drew a breath, enjoying the scent of her hair. “Apparently. But this isn’t over, Atira.” His gaze traveled down to where Lanfer was sitting.
    Lanfer was staring at him, his eyes hot with hate.
    Heath met the look and returned it, hard and implacable.
    Lanfer looked away.
    “That one’s hatred is his weakness,” Atira said. “As is yours.”
    Heath shrugged, watching as Keir and Lara settled back into their chairs and everyone started to eat. The tensions in the room were easing, but Heath wasn’t fooled.
    “Lara is happy,” Atira said. “It is good to see.” She shifted back, returning to the shadows of the balcony. “Why must the ceremony wait until sunset?”
    “It is thought that the Sun God’s attention is upon his duties during the day,” Heath said as he moved next to her. “He gives his full attention to his people just before the sun rises and sets. So weddings, and the Sun God’s witnessing of the vows, usually take place at sunset.” He leaned against the wall and sighed. “Once the Justice is over and the ceremony is complete, we’ll lock Lara and Keir in their chambers with guards three deep around them until after the birth.”
    Atira shivered. Heath gave her a questioning look, and she shook her head. “To be locked in . . . within stone walls, unable to feel the wind or the sun. It would be a kind of death.”
    “There are windows in the chambers,” Heath protested, but his stomach sank as she grimaced. He’d set his hopes on her staying in Water’s Fall. What if—
    “Captain.” A whisper from the next guard down.
    There was a lad at one of the doors off the balcony. Heath summoned him with a nod of his head.
    “Captain.” The boy was still breathing hard. “Message from the city walls. There’s a force of Firelan—” he caught a glimpse of Atira. “Of Plains warriors outside the gates. They sent me on ahead to tell you that the Warlord Liam of the Deer has arrived, and they’s escorting him to the castle. He’s coming right behind me.”
    “Good.” Heath put a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s you and I get word of this to the Warlord.”
    The lad’s eyes went big.

    “THIS SOUP SMELLS FABULOUS, AND I BET IT TASTES even better,” Othur said. His wife didn’t respond, her gaze on the crowd and her lips pressed tight. “Anna?” he asked.
    “Marcsi had best be after those serving girls,” Anna huffed. “That young Vona nearly spilled hers all over that table.” She gave him a smile though.
    Othur chuckled and tucked in. Even the lords with sour faces were eating. Anna’s cooking was best when she was pleased, and she was well pleased this night.
    Lara and Keir were still talking together but not yet eating. Marcus and Amyu were still waiting to see if there were any ill effects. Othur wasn’t sure that was truly necessary, but then again, he’d never seen so much hate as in Durst’s eyes. Best to take care, even if it meant cold meals.
    Heath appeared then, quietly approaching Keir with one of the runner lads.
    Keir turned his full attention to the boy, listening intently to what he had to say. The lad was speaking rapidly, gesturing toward the main doors.
    Marcus was setting a plate down before the Warlord when he suddenly froze. Lara leaned forward, asking a question, and Amyu had a shocked look on her face.
    Keir seemed to thank the boy. Heath sent him off toward the kitchens, probably for something to eat. Othur waited until Heath looked in his direction and then raised a questioning eyebrow.
    Heath nodded toward the main door, even as Marcus retreated behind the high seat, retreating deeper into his cloak and hood.
    The Herald stood at the door and pounded his staff three times in quick succession.
    “The Warlord, Liam of the Deer.”
    Ah, the warlord Keir had been expecting—the one that had announced that he would support Keir’s ideas and plans. Othur watched the man stride toward the high table, his long legs eating up the distance in no time. He was a tall man with long blond hair, silver mixed in with the gold. His eyes were hazel, his smile warm. His left ear sparkled with the same kind of decoration that Lara’s ear did—the symbol of a Plains bonding.
    There were three warriors with him, but they remained by the door, looking about them with