Warsworn

on around me. As if it had never happened. As if he had never been." She drew a stuttering breath.
    "Never to hear his voice again, or feel his touch. Not until I—" I looked down at my hands, suddenly ashamed of what I had asked of her. "Isdra, I don't know what to say. You are a warrior, and my guardian, and my friend." My voice hitched, and tears welled up. "I don't want to lose you too."
    She sat silent.
    "Besides," I tried to smile. "Who will raise Meara? Or the babe I hope to have? Who will teach them in the ways of the Plains besides you, Isdra?" I put my hand over hers. "My babe will be a child of both worlds and will need guidance in all ways." I hadn't thought of that before, but it was true. Any child I bore would need a thea. In my mind, I could see Anna and Isdra arguing over some point of child-rearing in the castle nursery.
    Isdra's hand moved to clasp mine. "There is that, Lara." Her face darkened. "And my Epor to avenge." She looked off, her eyes distant. "But there are many sunsets between now and then. Many long moments of—" she cut her words off and stood, her face taut with sorrow. "I would take my leave, Warprize."
    I stood, and watched her take up her position outside by the fire, then I turned listlessly to plop down on a stump, facing the tables with their various bottles and jars. The kavage was bitter in my mouth. But the ache in my chest grew until the grief and the guilt welled up, and fat tears started to fall, hard and fast.
    I moved, pulled the flaps down and tied them closed. I had enough sense to wrap a strip of bells in one of the ties. I wanted no visitors, well or ill.
    Stumbling, I crossed to the stump furthest from the door, and sat down. Through my tears, I reached for some cloths and buried my face in them. I didn't want anyone to hear, or know. The material stifled my sobs, and I let go, releasing all the pain. I hunched over as my shoulders shook, and I cried.
    I wanted Anna, wanted home, wanted Father. It was a true pain, deep in my chest, the longing to ran home. I should never have left those safe walls, never stumbled out on the road after Keir. It was all my fault, all of it, and the pain of that truth cramped my heart and closed my throat.
    I pulled the cloths back just enough to suck in a deep breath, rocking a bit to ease my anguish. But the pain and horror of Epor's final breath wouldn't let me go, and I pressed the damp cloths against my face and moaned.
    Why had I insisted that I enter the village? Why had I let Epor and Isdra go with me? My arrogance was to blame, for his death and all the others that lay burning in the ashes of the village.
    It seemed as if nothing was right. Everything was tinged with a deep blackness, and I could see no hope. There was despair everywhere I looked, or turned my head, and nothing I could do would solve anything. In fact, my actions seemed only to make things worse. Meara, that sweet child, almost lost to us in a breath, her cold toes in the palm of my hand. Gils, oh, Gils, had I ever told him how proud I was of him? He'd collapsed at my feet, convulsing helplessly, and nothing in my power could save him. Oh, they'd been right to grant mercy, and maybe that was the only cure for my pain, for I knew of no other way to end my sorrow and grief.
    All the dead, offered up in flames on the ruined village, hundreds of men and women. All taken by a disease that I was powerless to stop, for all the talk of my so-called skills of healing. Now Iften was stronger, much stronger in his actions against change, for he had new support, including Joden.
    For Joden had lost faith, in me, in Keir, in the elements themselves.
    He wasn't going to call me Warprize any more.
    My stomach clenched in a knot and I swallowed hard. I'd complained about everyone using the title but Joden had been one of the first to call me that after Keir claimed me. For him to renounce me hurt terribly. And I'd poured out all my petty fears and problems in Joden's, exposing myself to him. How would he use that? To hurt Keir? To hurt me? And Keir…
    A decimated army, his warleaders turned against him, his plans for the future in ashes around us, I wouldn't blame Keir if he turned his back on me in anger. The depression crashed down on me and I pressed the sodden cloth even harder against my face and wailed. Oh Goddess, why had I lied to him?
    He'd never forgive me for that, never. How could he, in the face of the damage I'd done to his people?
    To us?
    There'd be