Warlord

looked at me in astonishment. The theas started moving then, and Reness pulled me back, out of their way as they prepared to tattoo Eace's arm. She gestured for Amyu, who moved over by us reluctantly.
    "She will heal?" Reness asked me, and at my nod, pressed further. "Will she bear again?" I shook my head. "I don't know. That is in the hands of the elements."
    "Her milk will come?"
    "It should." I bit my lip. "Will she feed her own babes?" Reness shook her head in response, gathering up my satchel to put it in my hands. "No. She'll nurse others."
    "And what happens if she can't bear more?" I asked, curious. "I know that you require five before—" Reness's eyes flickered to Amyu for a moment, and I followed her look to see that Amyu was in the process of putting on her tunic. She froze under our gaze, but all I could see was her left arm. Her bare left arm. No tattoos.
    No children. Amyu had no children. My eyes met hers, and I saw another kind of pain in their depths. Reness frowned. "You must return to your tent, before your absence is discovered. Go now." Startled, I protested. "Eace must be watched for signs of—"
    "We will do that." Reness threw my cloak over my shoulders. Amyu was pulling on her tunic.
    "But..." I didn't want to leave my patient without aid. "You could have a warrior-priest check—" Reness barked a laugh. "What warrior-priest would trouble themselves over a birth?" I stared at her, dumbfounded. Reness ignored my reaction, and hustled me out of the tent, Amyu following behind with my satchel. "We will watch her carefully, I swear it," Reness said. "Now go, and quickly."
    Rafe and Prest were waiting, and we started back in silence, much to my frustration. Amyu avoided my eyes, and I didn't press her with questions. I huffed out a breath, and pulled my cloak close around me. My questions could wait, until I'd had more sleep.
    But as I left that tent, I knew one thing for certain. When the time came, if the time came, no one was tak ing my babe from my arms.
    Unless I was dead.
    I broke Amyu's silence at breakfast. She served kavage and food, and then tried to bow herself from the room, but I spoke first. "Amyu."
    She stopped, clearly not happy, her eyes down.
    "Amyu—" Now that I'd started I wasn't sure what to say.
    "I am barren." Amyu's voice was flat, her face void of any emotion. "I have not quickened since my moon times came on me." She didn't look up, didn't move, but her hands clenched into fists. "I have prayed to the elements and tried every remedy suggested by countless theas and initiators. I even managed to convince a warrior-priest to treat me, but still my body will not bear." She remained unmoving, but her knuckles were white. "What once brought pleasure is now almost too painful to suffer."
    "Amyu." I gestured to the stool opposite mine, but she did not move. "I don't—"
    "I was chosen to serve you, because even if I was contaminated by your ways, it would not matter." I stiffened. "Why doesn't it matter?"
    She lifted her face, proud and detached. "Bearing no children, I remain a child myself, unable to serve the Tribes as a warrior. I will perform this last task, then I will seek the snows." That explained why Essa and Reness had called her a child, then. I had thought it a form of endearment, but it wasn't. It was her status.
    "Amyu." I leaned forward, desperate that she understand. "I have ways to aid a woman to bear children, but I don't have them with me. There are herbs in the mountains, horse grass for example, that might—"
    "So I turn to your ways to bear for the Tribe?" Amyu spat. "What does that make me? Of the Plains? Of Xy?" She grimaced and turned to go.
    "You asked for my help for Eace. Can't you accept that help for yourself?" She paused, back straight, then headed for the tent flap. "Eat, Daughter of Xy. They are seeing to a bath for you."
    She left me sitting there, with food before me, and no real appetite. What a waste that would be. How many lives, like Amyu and Marcus, did the Plains lose because of their ways and traditions?
    I took a drink of kavage, dark and bitter on my tongue. Maybe there was a good reason to take babes from their mothers, but I couldn't see it. And I'd die a hundred times before I'd allow a babe of mine to be taken from me.
    Suddenly, it seemed so hopeless. The idea that I could change anything about these people, even with Keir's help ... it seemed so ridiculous. So impossible. That we could combine our peoples, and benefit both,