Atira nodded.
“Well, then.” Garth reached for his hammer and another tool. “Let me show you first. You take a length of wrought iron.” He picked up a rod with a gloved hand. “And you strike off just what ya need.” He tapped the rod with a sharp blow. “Then put it into the fire for a heat,” Garth said, “and you pound out the point.”
Atira watched as the metal responded to Garth’s blows, tapering into a point. Garth lifted the piece and thrust it into a bucket of water at his feet. Steam rose with a great hiss.
“Then another heat.” Garth thrust the other end of the nail into the fire with his tongs. “And you make the head.” He waited a moment, pulled the nail out, and placed it on the anvil. His hammer danced again, forming a flat top. “Then ya cool it again,” he said, thrusting it back into the bucket, then lifting it to show her. “It’s still hot,” he cautioned as he set it down in a wooden box with other finished nails. “But that’s it.” Garth grinned. “Easy, eh?”
“I thought that of mounting a galloping horse, until I broke my leg,” Atira said absently.
Garth’s eyes went wide. “You can mount a galloping horse?”
“Show me again,” Atira said.
Garth hammered out a few more nails, then paused, wiping his brow with his wrist. “Now you,” he said, holding out the hammer.
Atira reached for it, taking it in her gloved hand.
HEATH WATCHED IN AMAZEMENT AS ATIRA STOOD there, listening to the boy, concentrating on his every word. He was even more amazed when she took up the hammer and chisel and whacked at a piece of metal. She was an amazing sight, striking the metal and then listening carefully as the lad coached her.
“Surprised?” Ismari said finally. She stood close by at her bench, finishing the polish on the smaller of the rings.
“She always surprises me,” Heath answered softly. “But this . . . this is unexpected.”
“Ah.”
Heath glared at Ismari. “And what does that mean?”
“Nothing.” Ismari picked up the larger ring and started to polish it. “It just seems to me that your lady friends in the past didn’t. Surprise you, that is.”
Heath snorted.
Ismari shrugged. “I am simply making an observation.”
Heath smiled ruefully. “Well, it doesn’t matter, Ismari. I doubt she’ll stay. She’s talked about going back to the Plains. She doesn’t like the city. Or our ways.”
“And she’s been in the city for how long?” Ismari said. “Give it time, Heath. You never know what—”
“Heath, look!” Atira was standing before him, waving something in his face. “Look what I did!” She was smiling, covered in sweat and soot, stinking of the forge, wisps of her hair surrounding her head. Dunstan and Garth stood behind her.
The nail was slightly crooked, and the head didn’t really appear round, but Atira held it up as if it were the Sword of Xy itself.
“Well, look at that.” Heath plucked it from her gloved hand, then promptly dropped it. “Damn!”
“It’s hot.” Atira gave him an exasperated look, then knelt down to retrieve her nail.
“I know, I know,” Heath shook his hand, trying to ease the sting.
“Let me see it,” Ismari said with a sigh. She grabbed his wrist. “Not bad. You had the good sense to let go.”
“About all the sense he has,” Dunstan laughed. “What does every apprentice learn, very first thing?”
“It’s all hot!” came the ringing cry from the lads.
Heath joined in the laughter, even as Atira retrieved her creation from the floor.
“Keep it, lady,” Dunstan said. “As a memento of your day at our forge.”
IT WAS A BIT LATER, WHILE ATIRA WAS PUTTING her armor back on, that Garth approached with a few of the other lads behind him.
“My thanks for the lesson, Garth of Xy.” Atira smiled at him as she strapped on her sword-belt.
“You are welcome.” Garth seemed nervous. “Lady, may I show you some of my work?” He started talking faster, keeping an eye on Dunstan, who waited with Heath and Ismari. “I’ve been practicing with my chain links, ya see, and I was thinking—”
“Firelanders wear armor,” one of the others blurted. He was smaller and younger than Garth. “And they go around naked.”
“Let me tell it, Laric,” Garth said. “See, lady, we wanted somethin’ to sell, and we thought that maybe . . .” He put his bundle on the worktable and pulled back the leather. “See—”
“What’s this, then?” Dunstan’s voice boomed, and the lads all flinched.
“Armor,” Atira said. “At least, I think it’s armor.” She lifted a piece from the pile of chain on the table. “It seems rather . . . small.”
“What in the blazes?” Ismari asked as she lifted another piece. “What is this supposed to be?” She held up the piece with two hands, and a faint blush came over her cheeks. “Oh.”
“And this is the top, I suppose?” Atira asked. “Not sure what it’s supposed to protect.” She raised an eyebrow at Ismari, who laughed.
“Or how you keep it from chafing,” she sputtered. “Really, boys. I think perhaps your imaginations have run away with you.”
Heath, Dunstan, and the lads were all standing there as if struck by lightning.
Atira quirked up the corner of her mouth and held the piece in her hand up to her chest.
The men twitched. Atira was sure Garth was going to faint dead away.
Atira and Ismari exchanged a glance as she returned her piece to the pile. “Well,” Atira said, taking a look at the links. “This seems well made. You fastened each link?”
Silence.
She looked back over her shoulder. “Garth? You fastened each link?”
The lad blinked. “Yes. Yes, I did. It’s practice, ya understand?” he blurted out, his face aflame. “We made a bunch of them.”
“Oh, I think I understand, all right.” Atira chuckled.
“But they’re of no practical use,” Ismari said. “You should be making full sets, not these scraps.”
“I’d give anything to see you wear it,” Garth whispered, his voice cracking.
“You aren’t the only one,” Heath muttered.
Dunstan laughed.
Atira glanced at Heath, thought for a moment, then smiled at the lads. “I’ll take one.”
HEATH HUSTLED ATIRA BACK TO THE CASTLE. HE had to keep her moving since she was still caught up in the magic of fire and metal, and talking of the forge. It wasn’t until they were standing in front of Marcus that he realized his mistake. They should have taken the time to at least wash.
“What in the name of the elements have you been doing?” Marcus glared at them as he opened the door of the Queen’s chamber. “You stink. And not of sex.”
There was a horrified gasp from behind him. Marcus rolled his eye.
Heath already knew his mother was in the room; the guards had warned him that she was on a rampage. “Lara sent us on an errand,” Heath said calmly as he ushered Atira in before him.
Anna sat with three of her ladies, pins in their mouths, staring at Atira as if she had swords drawn and was screaming a battle cry. Anna’s mouth was open in a look of pure horror.
Yveni and Aymu stood nearby, clothed in plain shifts, looking miserable. Heath suspected that the entire “dress for the wedding” idea was not going over well.
His mother’s look of horror melted into one of grim determination. “You both smell like the armory,” Anna growled. “I need you clean if we’re to have you ready in time. Best to get yourself off to the baths,” she said to Atira.
Heath opened his mouth, but Anna cut him off with a glare. “Not with you, young man. Amyu and Yveni need to bathe; they can take her.” Anna gestured to her assistants, who started to remove pieces of cloth from their victims. “Lara and Keir are still sleeping. Heath, we’ll fit you a new tunic. Now.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Heath said, accepting his role of sacrifice as Yveni, Amy
u, and Atira made their escape. He waited until the door closed behind them. “Mother, you can fit me if you wish, but I won’t be wearing a new tunic. I’ll be armored.”
Marcus huffed in agreement.
“Armor? For a wedding?” Anna scowled at him, but then she frowned as he simply met her gaze with the same determination. “You think—”
A knock at the door saved him. Detros peeked in and gave him a relieved look. “There ya be, lad. A word, if you would.”
Heath gave his mother a smile and a shrug and slipped out before she could prevent him.
“I SWEAR TO YOU, IT HAS BEEN ENDLESS,” YVENI complained. “She has been at us since the Warprize secluded herself.”
“I don’t think she and the Warlord are napping,” Amyu agreed. “I think they are hiding.”
“But it’s just clothes,” Atira said. “You try it on, and it fits or doesn’t.”
“Oh no,” Yveni turned down another hallway and led them to a set of circular stairs. “They want to sew them tight to the body at the top, and long and flowing at the bottom.” She shuddered. “They have pins.”
“I am not wearing one of those things,” Amyu declared. “How in the name of the skies am I supposed to deal with skirts and swords?”
“We must,” Atira said as they trotted down the steps. “The Warprize wishes it so, and how can we not?”
“Where did you go?” Yveni asked. She wrinkled her nose. “You do stink.”
“Someplace amazing,” Atira said. As Yveni opened a door, they spilled out into a hallway. “A place where they wield the very elements to create metal. Weapons, and other things.” She paused, and held out her hand. “Look,” she demanded. “I made this.”
Yveni and Amyu gathered around and stared at the nail in her hand. “You made that?” Amyu asked in astonishment.
“Yes,” Atira said. She struggled to explain the feeling that gave her. The rising excitement of the idea of bending metal to her will. “They taught me. They showed me to use fire and tools to make it.”
Yveni gave her a look of amazement. “They make weapons?”
“Swords,” Atira said. “Knives, and other things. I thought they commanded the elements themselves, but the elder told me they only work together. That no one commands the elements.”
Yveni shook her head in disbelief. “A city-dweller understands that? These people amaze me.”
Atira looked at her. “They are amazing, aren’t they?” She hadn’t really thought of it like that, but it was a truth. She closed her hand over her nail. “Now, where are those baths?”
“SO IT HAS COME TO THIS.” DURST EASED BACK IN his chair and extended his leg.
Beatrice knelt before him, her full skirts billowing around her, and pulled on his boot for him.
With some effort, Durst pulled that leg back and extended the other one. “Lanfer says that all is in place, my love. The bribed castle guards, the sell-swords we’ve hired, the other lords who have offered their support. All is in readiness.”
Beatrice’s face remained neutral, her expression bland, her eyes vague. As it had been since Degnan’s death. The only time Durst saw her eyes flicker with any emotion was when there was talk of vengeance.
But she didn’t speak. Not anymore.
Durst pointed his toe to aid her. “In some ways, I welcome this. It seems appropriate. When this tale is told, it will be a tale of a son avenged, and a kingdom saved.”
Beatrice rose and walked slowly to the table to pick up his embroidered tunic, shaking out the wrinkles that were not there.
“We tried reason, Beatrice.” Durst shifted to the edge of the chair and then used both hands to push off, pausing as he came upright. The weakness of his body was never more obvious than when he stood. “We tried talk. We tried appealing to her morals, her religious beliefs. So, let it be blades. Xy will be reborn in the blood shed this night.”
Beatrice held out his garment, and Durst struggled into the sleeves. She came around to stand before him, her face placid and serene. She tugged at the tunic, then started to fasten it for him.
“A son for a son, beloved,” Durst said softly. “The Firelanders will die this night. Lara will be our prisoner and live long enough to bear the child.” He raised his neck to allow her to adjust the collar. “We will tell the kingdom that she has died in childbirth.” He shrugged his shoulders, getting comfortable. “We’ll take the child from her body and raise it as a proper Xyian, won’t we, dear one?”
Beatrice stood before him, the sheath of his bejeweled dagger across her palms, her eyes glittering with hate.
“Thank you, my dear.” Durst kissed her cool and impassive cheek.
CHAPTER 27
HEATH STOOD IN THE CORNER, HIS HAND ON THE hilt of his sword, and watched the throne room fill with the nobility. The sun was near to setting, and the sconces around the room had already been lit for the ceremony.
Outside, trumpets sounded, announcing the lords as they entered the hall to the throne room. The Herald was in his element, standing just outside the door with his staff of office, escorting people to their proper places.
There were a few warriors of the Plains scattered about, craning around and watching, curious to see the ceremony. Most of the audience would be made up of Xyian lords and the craftmasters who wished to witness the event. They were all dressed in their finest, and a few had their ladies on their arms, escorting them within.
Some of the lords had adopted the style of the Plains, wearing armor and weapons. Heath noted their positions about the room.
Lord Durst arrived without his lady, wearing an embroidered tunic and a dagger on his belt.
Heath forced himself to draw a long, slow breath to ease his jangling nerves.
Lara was already waiting in the antechamber with Atira, Amyu, and Yveni. They’d tucked themselves in there early, talking and laughing with one another. All had been fully cloaked, concealing their finery until the moment they walked into the throne room. Heath had been pleased to see the flush of happiness on Lara’s cheeks. She’d given him a teasing smile as she’d retreated into their all-female refuge. They were up to something, that was sure. But with guards on both doors, they’d be safe enough until the ceremony started.
As soon as Lara was safe within the antechamber, Rafe and Prest trotted to the throne, taking up positions on either side, just at the back. Like Heath, they stood unmoving, arms at their sides, trying to disappear in the minds of the crowd.
Keir was still up in the chambers, waiting for the ceremony to begin. The Warlord had frowned at the idea of being separated from Lara, but the weight of Xyian tradition held him prisoner to a certain extent. Keir had wanted to prowl the halls like a stalking cat, but Othur had talked him into remaining sequestered. So he remained behind, no doubt pacing back and forth, waiting to be summoned to the ceremony.
“The Warlord, Liam of the Deer,” boomed the Herald, and Heath watched as the tall Plains warrior stalked into the room. The Herald tried to guide him to a position at the front, but Liam shook his head. “ . . . tall enough to see . . .” Liam said, so the Herald placed him toward the rear of the room.
Anna had wanted to use Aurora and Meara as the Sun God’s children, letting them scatter wheat kernels before the bride. Heath had stopped that, and Othur had supported him. “Lara has already proved that she’s fertile,” Othur had whispered to his wife. “Let’s not draw any more attention to it than we must.”
Anna had agreed, to Heath’s relief. He wanted no children underfoot.
The Castle Guard was well placed around the room. Heath had put as many guards as he could fit in the throne room. He’d placed even more outside in the hall and the outer courtyard. Detros had courtyard duty, keeping a canny eye out for trouble.
Eln had insisted that he be in the throne room, in case Lara had a need for his services. As a Master Healer, he was more than entitled, but Heath had made sure he sat in the very front, just in case.
All the arrangements were mad
e, all the participants knew their places. It was just a matter of starting the ceremony now—which couldn’t happen fast enough for Heath. As important as this ceremony was, Heath just wanted it done and over.
He stood unmoving and silently urged the nobles to a faster pace.
Finally, the trumpets sounded a fanfare of long notes, and the Archbishop appeared in the doorway, resplendent in white-and-gold robes. With his tall, white hat emblazoned with the sun motif, and the golden staff topped with the image of a blazing sun, he glittered in the light.
A hush came over the room and heads turned. The Archbishop stood calmly, taking in the attention as his just due.
The Herald bowed and then pounded the floor three times with his staff. “The Devoted One, Drizin, Archbishop of Xy.”
The trumpets sounded again, and the Archbishop started forward with his entourage. Browdus was right behind him, incense burner swinging from a silver chain, and two acolytes walked behind him. They were all wearing their clerical robes, and it wasn’t possible to see if they had weapons concealed within.
Heath decided to assume that they did, just on the off-chance.
The Archbishop mounted the dais to stand before the throne and turned to face the room. Browdus stood at his shoulder, a step behind. The other two priests knelt on the step, facing him.
The Herald hurried two final lords into position, then returned to his place at the door. The man took his time getting into position, giving the crowd a chance to settle. Once he was satisfied, he drew a breath and thumped his staff down three times. “Lord Othur, Seneschal of Water’s Fall, Warden of the Kingdom of Xy, and Lady Anna.”
Heath’s father and mother appeared in the doorway.
Love and pride surged through Heath, catching him by surprise. He loved his parents, and it pleased him to see them both so happy and proud. Anna was in her newest dress, his father in a fine, embroidered tunic with his badges of office, the Crystal Sword of Xy at his side.