Warprize

behind me. I felt comforted by his presence.
    Xymund barely took note of him. “You look well, Lara. Slavery agrees with you.” His voice was thick and harsh, as if he had been drinking.
    I flushed, but did not drop my eyes. “I am not a slave. I am mate and consort to Keir, Warlord. Your Overlord.” I sat taller and put my shoulders back, realizing that this man would never again have authority over me. “My position is one of honor, for I am the Warprize.”
    He sneered. “Another word for whore.”
    Marcus stiffened next to me.
    I looked at the man before me, taking in his exhaustion. Yet, in his eyes I could see a deep hatred of myself and of Keir. My Warlord, who even now was trying to rescue my beloved Anna and Othur and maintain the peace that Xymund was throwing away by his actions. It angered me that Xymund had manipulated us. My loyalties may have been divided before, but they were suddenly clear. I frowned at him, feeling no sympathy for a plight he’d brought upon himself. “I am willing to listen, my brother. But I will not tolerate insults.”
    He snarled. “Your Warlord is at the castle. He has invaded the place with his men, and they are hunting for me. Warren has turned against me. They are making wild claims that I tried to have you killed.”
    I took a breath. “Heath…”
    Xymund glared at me. “Heath is a liar.”
    I just looked at him. “You have known Heath and his parents since we were children. He does not lie.”
    Xymund’s eyes were wild. His hands clenched and unclenched, forming tight fists. He seemed lost somehow, as if looking into a world I could not see. “You were always the favorite.” He looked up, as if to curse the gods. “I thought you were my loyal little sister, who would do her duty and suffer the consequences.” He took a step closer. “I go to clean out your room as a dutiful and loving brother should. And what do I find in the toe of your boot?” His hand moved. Marcus tensed behind me. But Xymund simply threw something small toward the dais, where it landed on the first step, by my feet. Marcus went forward, knelt down and handed it to me.
    It was Simus’s broach. The black pouncing cat gleamed in the light. It was warm to the touch and my fingers folded around it.
    Xymund continued. “You traitor. You wanted the throne for yourself, and betrayed me to my enemies.”
    He almost spat the words at me.
    My heart raced in my breast, but I fought to stay calm. “Xymund, I did not betray you. I slipped this off a wounded man because I was afraid that you would kill him outright rather then let him be exchanged.”
    Xymund was red, a vein in his neck throbbing. “Father adored you. Even when you refused to be an obedient Daughter of Xy. I knew I could surpass you, outshine you as the heir, as a warrior, but you became a healer, and Father was so proud.”
    “He was proud of you as well,” I said quietly.
    Xymund continued on, spitting in his fury. “Damn them all, they all watched me, waiting for me to fail. Whispering behind my back, that I was a coward, that I panicked. Always my mother’s son, never my father’s heir.” His voice grew shrill. “So I sent Arneath and his men to kill you and any with you. Arneath swore he’d give his life for me, got that fool boy Degnan and hired scum.” Xymund paused, breathing heavily.
    “And so they died.” I was bitter and so sick at heart with disappointment. I’d have wept at the waste, but my anger was stronger. “And in the marketplace? Did you hire them as well?”
    “Market?” Xymund paused, “I wanted you dead in their camp, dead in breech of this so called peace. Arneath failed me. I will do what he could not.” With one swift move he pulled his sword and advanced on me.
    I froze.
    Marcus, still at my feet, did not. He sprang forward, pulling two daggers as if from thin air. He took Xymund’s charge, catching his blade in the daggers, and stopping him cold. Xymund swore. Marcus smiled up at him. For a brief moment, they stood there, Xymund towering over the thin and wiry older man. The tableau broke as they pulled away from each other. Xymund tried to move back, stumbling over the stumps and tables, and Marcus was quick to press his advantage. Holding his sword held out before him, Xymund drew a dagger with the other hand, and glared at Marcus with a wild look.
    Epor and Isdra leaped forward, weapons out. They circled the combatants to reach my side, followed by the guards from outside, who