Warprize

Xymund followed, along with Lord Warren. The voices rose behind us, only to be cut off as the door to the antechamber shut.
    We stood in silence for a moment, then Keir moved to the fireplace. “The ceremony went well.” His voice was as calm as if nothing had happened. As if a man had not died in the throne room. As if I had not left him lying in a pool of his own blood.
    Xymund did not respond. Warren cleared his throat. “Thoughtful of you to include our priests. It is appreciated.” He too was ignoring what had happened.
    Keir tilted his head. “We honor the dead of both sides.” He gave Warren an appraising eye. “We haven’t spoken outside the confines of negotiations or parley. I would welcome an opportunity to talk with you about your strategies, especially your use of the river.”
    Warren’s mouth curled in a wry smile. “I would welcome that.”
    “Tomorrow? At the nooning. Bring your officers and we will dine.”
    Numb, I watched as they talked of nothing, as if all were well and fine, as if Keir hadn’t just killed a man for a simple insult. My heart drammed in my chest and the air in the room seemed close and over-warm. Keir pulled his cloak off the chair where he’d thrown it before the ceremony. “I wish to see the castle.”
    Xymund’s voice grated. “Othur will show you the building.”
    “No,” Keir interrupted. “I wish to see it through the eyes of the warprize.”
    Xymund’s jaw clenched. Never had I seen him so angry and so afraid. His right eye seemed to twitch very slightly, his hands clenched in fists. I held my breath, waiting to see which emotion would win out. Xymund’s hands relaxed. His head jerked as if to nod, and he went to the door. With a resigned look, Warren made to follow.
    “I will need to know the extent of that lord’s holdings.” Keir’s voice came as a low purr. Xymund stopped dead in the doorway. Keir continued, “I will need to appoint a new lord as soon as possible.”
    Warren half-turned toward Keir. “Warlord, our tradition is that a man’s son inherits his father’s holdings. Durst’s son, Degnan, is his heir.”
    “Is this Degnan capable?”
    Warren shrugged, clearly at a loss. He looked to Xymund for support, but none came. Finally, he looked back at Keir. “He is the heir, Warlord.”
    “I will consider this.” Keir lifted an eyebrow. “You are excused.”
    Goddess, was he deliberately provoking Xymund?
    Xymund said nothing and left. Warren followed.
    I released the breath I had been holding. Didn’t he understand, didn’t they know what a horrible thing had happened? To slay a man without warning, for a slur? Bad enough to insult Xymund’s pride, to humiliate him before the Court. The Warlord had made very clear that his token was not for me to use, I had no protections from the consequences of my words, but if the peace were to last past the dawn someone had to voice this truth.
    “Rafe, I want company for our tour. Ask Joden, Yers, Oxna, Senbar and Uzania to join us. I saw Epor and Isdra in the crowd, ask them as well. Tell the rest to return to camp. In a group, no stops. Tell them to be alert.”
    “Your sword, Warlord?” Rafe paused by the door. “Do you wish me to see to it?”
    “It’s well enough. I will see to it myself.”
    Rafe nodded and slipped out.
    Keir watched the fire. I moved closer, licked my lips and drew in a breath. He glanced my way. “You wish to point out my mistake.”
    I closed my mouth. His blue eyes glittered in the light of the fire and I waited for that temper to flare. Instead he gave me a rueful smile. “So much for my talk of change, eh?”
    I didn’t understand, and would have asked, but a knock at the door brought Rafe into the room with the others, talking quietly among themselves.
    The moment was lost. I might risk the truth in private, but not in front of others. As Keir stepped away, I looked for a friendly face and found it in Joden. “You have a wonderful voice, Joden.”
    His smile was wide and a relief to see. “My thanks, Warprize.”
    “Come,” Keir gestured us to the door. “Show us this stone tent of yours.”
    I took them to the highest point, in the tallest turret, to start. The young guard at the top almost dropped his spear, startled to find himself hosting the Warlord when normally his only company were the bees that buzzed in and out of the skeps that Anna kept on the heights. The sun was down, but in the fading twilight, we could still see.
    The battlements