Warcry

the care of the theas, not traveling with warriors. But she had saved the life of the Warprize, in defiance of the elders of her tribe. The Warprize had claimed her for the Tribe of Xy, which was why the child traveled with them.
    “And you know so well what it takes to feed a warlord,” Marcus growled.
    Amyu flushed, but she lifted her chin. “I am learning,” she replied.
    “Barely,” Marcus said. He fixed his gaze on Atira. “Go tell Herself and Himself that I’m stopping to cook, even if Herself won’t. That might get through their thick heads.”
    Amyu’s eyes went wide.
    “Send the child,” Atira snapped, her temper rising.
    The red on Amyu’s cheeks grew brighter, but this time she looked away.
    Regret washed over Atira, dousing her anger. What was she thinking, to lash out at a child who was unable to defend herself? She opened her mouth, but it was too late. Amyu slowed her horse, dropping back to ride next to Yveni and Ander.
    “What’s wrong?” Marcus asked from the depths of his hood. The cloth shifted slightly as he lifted his head to look ahead. “Ah. Your city-dweller still—”
    Her rage flared. Atira pulled her dagger, only to have Marcus parry it with his own, his blade held in his scarred hand, his one eye calm as he studied her face.
    “Rein in your wrath, Atira of the Bear,” Marcus said, his tone and manner even. “No offense was intended.”
    Atira took a deep breath, then jerked her blade back and rammed it into its sheath. She faced forward, cursing under her breath as her cheeks filled with heat.
    “We travel through the lands of Xy,” Marcus continued as he slipped his blade into the depths of his cloak. “A people with far different customs than ours. The Warlord and the Warprize cannot afford to have one of their warriors killing Xyians unfamiliar with our ways. You’d best watch that temper of yours, warrior.”
    “He is not my city-dweller,” Atira snapped.
    “You’ve shared his tent.” Marcus’s voice was mild, but he was clearly intent on making a point. “And neither of you have shared with another since.”
    “No longer,” Atira snapped. “Heath . . .” She paused, trying to get herself under control. “Those who dwell in the cities have strange ways. Strange ideas.” She tried to match calm for calm and failed. “All he will speak of is bonding.”
    “Ah,” Marcus said.
    “He wants to own me.” Atira stared at the figure on the rise, feeling Heath’s gaze. “To control me.”
    She clenched her jaw, suddenly remembering who she was confiding in. She didn’t look at Marcus, preferring the silence but expecting a sharp word at any moment.
    “Bonding is not like that,” Marcus said softly.
    Atira gave his cloak a startled glance, but Marcus was not looking at her. His hood had fallen forward, covering his entire face in shadow. He was staring off into the distance.
    Marcus had been bonded, that she knew, to the Warlord Liam of the Deer. But the ear that had held the symbol of his bonding had been burned from his head, and the bonding had been severed.
    “A bond is not a prison, nor is it shackles,” Marcus continued, with an odd tone in his voice. “It can become that, if both parties do not take care. But when a bonding works, when it is solid . . .” He sighed. “. . . It is . . . liberating . . .”
    Marcus caught himself then, as if remembering whom he was speaking to. “Here now,” he growled. “You go talk to Lara. I will speak to Himself. Between the two of us, we can convince them to stop for the night.”
    Atira gave him a sharp nod, and urged her horse forward.

    HEATH WATCHED AS KEIR SETTLED LARA ON A BED made of gurtle felt pads and heaped with blankets and furs. “I’m fine,” Lara said, trying to stifle a yawn. “Honestly, Keir. It’s not healthy for you to carry me everywhere. Don’t you believe your own Master Healer?” Lara smiled up at Keir, her blue eyes dancing.
    Keir shook his head, his dark hair hanging in his eyes as he leaned over her, helping her arrange the bedding to support her on her side. Heath caught a glimpse of the gold ear-weaving on his ear, which matched the one on Lara’s. The ear-weaving that marked them as a bonded couple on the Plains.
    Lara gave in to the yawn, then blinked at him sleepily. “A short nap, and then we can keep going. Another mile or so, and we should see the walls of Water’s Fall in the distance. Isn’t that right, Heath?”
    “It is,” Heath agreed.
    Keir