Warcry

still safe and secure, shutters and door closed and bolted.
    He could hear Atira breathing and knew she was still asleep on the bed, even if he couldn’t see her.
    Heath tried to slip back into sleep, but once the memories and sorrows pressed down on him, he started to move. Stiff and sore, he pushed back his blankets and forced himself up.
    Grief could wait. He had work to do.
    Atira hadn’t shifted in the night, still in the position Eln and Marcsi had placed her in.
    Her poor face was livid and bruised, her lip swollen. She was still fast asleep. She would hurt when she woke, that was certain.
    He watched her for a few moments, then stifled his own groans as he stood and set about dressing as quietly as he could.
    There were a guard and a runner waiting outside his door as he slipped into the corridor. The guard didn’t speak until Heath eased the door almost closed, leaving it open a crack.
    “What time is it?” Heath asked.
    “Well past the mid-meal.” The guard kept his voice low. “She still sleeps?” At Heath’s nod, he continued. “Detros said to send word to him when you woke. Master Eln said the same, but for her.”
    “Tell Detros I’ll be in the kitchens,” Heath said. “Then let Eln know I am awake, and that Atira is still sleeping.” As the boy took off, Heath turned back to the guard. “All’s well?”
    “Aye,” the guard said. “Nice and quiet.”
    “The Queen?” Heath asked.
    The guard’s face split with a wide grin. “She’s in her chambers with the babes and the Overlord. Two heirs, milord. She done good by us.”
    Heath nodded. “Send word to me if Atira stirs.”
    “Aye to that.” The man settled back down in his chair. “I’ll see to her, milord.”
    Heath headed for the kitchens.
    Marcsi was there, and she took his arm and pulled him over to the table at the center of the kitchen. “You need food before anything else.”
    Heath settled down. He hadn’t been hungry until he’d gotten a whiff of the pig roasting on the spit.
    “I’ve oats, if you wish?” Marcsi hustled about, bringing him a mug, a pitcher in her hand. “And you drink this foul stuff, yes?” she said as she poured kavage for him.
    Heath took the mug with thanks and savored the first sip.
    “So, oats or meat or—”
    Heath’s stomach rumbled.
    Marcsi chuckled. “Or both. Give me but a minute.” She hustled off, calling for one of the kitchen maids to aid her.
    Detros walked in and settled by Heath as he was working his way through his second plate. Heath had his mouth full, so he just cocked an eyebrow at the older man.
    “All’s well,” Detros said, taking a mug of tea from Marcsi’s hand. “The castle’s secure, the Queen and the Overlord are with their babes, and Warren’s on his way back. I sent the prisoners to the army barracks. Got them away from the castle. Queen can decide what she wants done with them later.”
    Heath nodded, taking another sip of kavage to clear his throat. “How did that bitch get in the birthing room?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
    Detros ran a hand over his balding head. “Heath, lad, if you remember, things was a mite confused about then. We think she sewed her own outfit to match the others and just slipped in during the haste and confusion. Your ma never saw her . . . and given events, no one’s blaming her.”
    “She was good at blending in, that’s certain.” Heath nodded.
    “The Archbishop said he’d deal with the bodies. See to the burying and all,” Detros said. “He’s a good lad, that Iain.”
    Heath nodded as he tore off some more bread.
    “Your ma’s with your da,” Detros said abruptly. “The Queen ordered that he be honored as royalty. Laid out in state in the throne room, right and proper. Ordered a full honor watch, too.”
    Heath stopped chewing, the food suddenly dry in his mouth. The grief welled up in his throat, threatening to choke him. He reached for the kavage, unable to speak.
    Detros was looking at the fire, seemingly admiring the roasting pig. “I’ll walk ya there. When you’re ready.”

    THE HALL TO THE THRONE ROOM WAS LIT WITH torches; the palace guards on honor watch glittered in all their finery. One of them gave Heath a nod. “Lady Anna asked for a bit of privacy, Lord.”
    Heath took a breath, and the guard opened the door. He stepped inside, then paused as the doors were closed behind him.
    Othur lay in state before the throne, resting on a bier. His father could almost have been asleep,