Warcry

all.” Lara sat straight, looking regal and calm. “We will limit the petitions heard within this Justice to the one that was interrupted by the illness of my warden. All others must wait upon a future date. But my warden has our authority to act during our absence, and we trust in his wisdom and impartiality. Apply to him if your claims cannot wait.”
    Heath had to chuckle softly. Lara was doing it again; either using the royal we or referring to herself and Keir. Either way, it kept the nobles confused as to how to respond.
    Keir stood next to Lara, feet apart, arms crossed, his expression just this side of grim.
    There were murmurs among the observers. Heath was fairly certain that some had planned to press their claims this morning. He ran his eye over the crowd, and sure enough, Lord Durst was toward the back, Lanfer not far from his side. Like damn vultures hovering over a dying wolf.
    Still, Heath hoped Lara knew what she was doing. It wouldn’t take much to get the nobles riled up enough to take their swords out, and the warriors of the Plains would not stand by without pulling their own blades.
    “Herald, summon the first petitioner,” Lara commanded.
    The Herald bowed and struck his staff three times. “Lord Korvis, approach and make thy petition.”
    An older man, thin of body and face, stepped forward and bowed to the Queen. “Your Majesty, I petition for your justice. I turn to you to right a wrong done to me and mine by an individual under your protection. Nay, under the very roof of this castle.”
    “Lord Korvis, I will hear your petition.” Lara gestured for him to rise. “It concerns the wedding of your son, Careth?”
    “It does, Your Majesty.” Korvis’s voice was harsh, his anger clear to everyone. Heath frowned. His father had said that at the time, Korvis had been almost trembling with rage, so much so that he had trouble getting his words out.
    Korvis continued. “My son and heir, Careth.”
    A lad stepped forward to stand at his father’s side, a sullen look on his pimply face. He had his skinny arms crossed over his chest, his shoulders hunched. He was the very portrait of sullen childishness, and Heath suppressed a grin. He remembered that feeling all too well.
    “Careth was to marry Aurora, the daughter of Craftmaster Bedell.” Korvis gestured, and another man stepped forward. A working man, that one—stout of limb, he wore the sash of a guild master and was looking about nervously. No warrior there.
    “The wedding procession was nearing the church when a group of Firelander women waving swords and screaming war cries burst into the procession, seized Aurora, and made off with her. We pursued, but were unable to rescue Aurora before they took refuge within the castle.”
    Oh, and clearly that grated. Heath could not resist looking over at Atira and raising an eyebrow.
    The corner of her mouth twitched.
    “We demand that she be returned to us,” Korvis continued, lifting his chin. “So that the ceremony can go forward.”
    “Well and good, Lord Korvis,” Lara said firmly. “But it is not for the petitioner to dictate terms. What you receive at our hands will be justice, as we deem it so.”
    Korvis flushed at her admonishment, but did not look away. “As you decree, Your Majesty.”
    “Herald, summon the offenders to our presence,” Lara commanded.
    The Herald strode to the door with his stately pace. As he approached, the guards within opened the double doors wide.
    Again, the Herald’s staff rang against the floor three times. “Elois of the Horse,” the Herald announced. “You are summoned to the Queen’s Justice.”
    Elois appeared with three other women of the Plains behind her. She strode forward, and at her side trotted Aurora. Heath hadn’t seen the girl before. She was a lanky thing, all legs and knees and elbows. Her lips were pressed tightly together, but Heath saw the fear in her wide, brown eyes. They walked right up to the throne.
    “Elois of the Horse,” Lara said in greeting. “We have summoned you to answer the claims of Lord Korvis.”
    “Warprize.” Elois went to one knee, as did the other warriors. “Warlord.” Aurora knelt with the group, following their example, and rose when they rose.
    “Gladly will I answer,” Elois said, her head held high. “We chanced upon a procession, Warprize, as we were returning from checking the herds. They were walking to the church, except this little one, who was struggling with that one.”