Warcry

  Atira cried out with the pleasure.

  Heath froze, afraid that he’d hurt her, but Atira glared at him. “Move, Heath, damn it. Take me,” she growled.

  Heath moved then, grasping her thighs to control her movements. Atira threw her head back, her breasts swaying to the movement of their bodies.

  Heath focused on his lover, controlling his moves and thrusts, being careful not to hurt her. It was a pleasure to watch Atira respond to him, watch her lift her hands to her own breasts and pull at her nipples.

  She came without warning, and slumped with a sigh, pulsing all around him as she rode her pleasure. She fell forward, shifting slightly, but bracing herself with her hands on Heath’s chest. For long moments she stayed that way, and Heath was content to watch her as he tried to slow the beating of his heart.

  Until she stirred and opened dazed eyes. “Heath. You’re still hard?”

  Heath nodded, unable to answer.

  Atira chuckled, a deep and delicious sound. She leaned over just far enough to kiss him. “You don’t have to think this through, Heath. Just feel it.”

  Heath gasped as Atira squeezed down with her heat.

  She started rocking back and forward, a gentle pace at first. But each time she moved back, she added a grinding action, driving Heath deeper and deeper.

  Heath moaned, amazed at the sensations. “Atira . . .”

  “Let it go, Heath.” Atira crooned the words, increasing the speed of her movements. “Surrender yourself to me.”

  But he wasn’t content with that. With a swift surge, Heath flipped her over, pinning her to the blanket below him.

  “Heath,” Atira said, her eyes wide open with astonishment.

  “Not surrendering,” Heath growled. “This isn’t over between us, Atira.”

  Atira cried out as he drove into her deep and hard, driving them both higher and higher. Atira reached the pinnacle first. Heath thrust up for a final time, following her into the hot, white light.

  HEATH AWOKE AS FIRST LIGHT WAS JUST BREAKING through the trees.

  Atira was next to him, under the same blankets, but not touching him.

  Heath sighed. That had not gone as he’d planned, exactly. Oh, they’d achieved something memorable, all right. It was not a night that would fade from memory. But he’d wanted to make it clear that if she wouldn’t bond with him, they were done. Over.

  But in his heart of hearts, he could not do that, for fear that she would shrug and walk away. Out of his life, but never out of his heart. Heath swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He hoped . . . he prayed she’d be impressed by Water’s Fall. By the castle. By his home. But she was of the Plains, and he feared . . .

  Atira opened her eyes and blinked a bit before she smiled at him. A lover’s smile.

  He reached for her, but she sat up abruptly. “Best be on our way,” was all she said as she reached for her clothing.

  Heath sighed and did the same.

  CHAPTER 10

  HEATH URGED HIS HORSE TO A FAST PACE, AND Atira followed close behind. There was no chance to talk. Or rather, Heath made sure there was no chance.

  They made good time and arrived just as the camp was breaking their fast. Heath stood before them all, told them the news, and explained what it meant. Lara nodded at Othur’s advice, and Keir glowered as she explained her plans for her entry into the city.

  Lara excused herself to change. The rest of the warriors started dressing then, suiting up with their best armor and weapons. Heath was fairly certain they’d taken time to polish everything the night before. While nothing really matched, they looked exactly what they were. Dangerous.

  He’d done the same, taking out the items that he had retrieved from his room in the castle. As he dressed, he avoided looking at Atira, who was making her own preparations. But he was conscious of her every move and felt her gaze on him more than once.

  Once they were ready, they broke camp, getting everything packed and loaded except for the Warprize’s tent. Keir emerged first, looking damned impressive all in black, his two swords strapped to his back.

  Rafe and Prest were bringing up the horses when Lara emerged from the tent. “Do you think this will make enough of an impression?” Lara asked.

  Heath gaped at her.

  She’d piled her hair up on her head, emphasizing the golden ear-spiral woven along the edge of her ear with tiny beads and crystals. But that wasn’t all.

  The dress she was wearing was white, of the same fabric as the sheath in which she’d surrendered herself to the Warlord. But the fabric clung, and tucked up under her belly in a way that was almost obscene by Xyian standards.

  Hell with almost. It was obscene. Heath had to avert his gaze. “Yes,” he gulped.

  “Good enough.” Lara smiled as Keir draped a cloak around her. “It looks like you were planning on making an impression as well.”

  Heath smoothed down his Guard tabard of dark blue with silver trim, the one that he’d taken from his room. He’d slung his signal horn over his chest, with its blue ribbon and gold tassel. “You need to be heralded into the city. Who better?”

  “So, shall we ride?” Marcus growled. He was wrapped in his cloak, the hood well up. “The tent is down. All is in readiness. Or are we all just going to stand around, admiring one another all day?”

  Keir growled, his blue eyes flashing.

  Everyone paused.

  “Stop that.” Lara turned and drew as close as her belly would allow, her hands on his chest. “I left Xy on foot, following my Warlord, wearing nothing but a white sheath. I return to Xy with my Warlord, bearing the heir to the throne. It’s important that I walk back through those gates proud, triumphant, and on display for my people.”

  Keir grumbled something under his breath.

  “I will be in your arms until the walls. On foot, I will be well guarded. Heath will lead the way, and you’ll be right behind.” Lara shook her head. “All will be well, flame of my heart.”

  She reached down then, to lift his gloved hands with hers. She brought them up, palm to palm, and then intertwined her fingers with his, whispering something no one else could hear.

  Keir sighed, then drew his Warprize close in a gentle embrace. Heath looked away as they kissed.

  That was what he wanted most. Something like Lara and Keir had . . . like what his parents had. A lifetime promise to stand together, sharing the pains and joys, the triumphs and sorrows that came.

  His gaze fell on Atira.

  She looked even lovelier, if that was possible. She’d tied her hair up, letting the ends fall free down her back. Her armor was all of a reddish-brown leather that gleamed in the light.

  She returned his look calmly, her eyes intent and serious.

  “I do not understand,” Amyu said quietly beside him. “Why does the Warprize think this is so powerful an image?”

  “Xyian women withdraw from public view as they near the end of a pregnancy,” Heath replied, pulling his gaze from Atira.

  “Why?”

  “Er . . .” Heath blinked. “Well, you see—”

  “Enough,” Marcus ordered. “Enough talk. Enough kissing. Herself will be wanting to stop for another nap if we wait here any longer. Mount!”

  The warriors began to take to their horses.

  Rafe and Prest moved to assist Lara, lifting her to sit sideways on a pad in front of Keir.

  “Stay alert,” Keir commanded once Lara was settled in his arms. “Remember that there is an up in cities.”

  “Aye,” cried the warriors.

  “Heath,” Keir gave him the nod.

  Heath turned his horse and led the way to Xy.

  THE SILENCE WAS DAUNTING AS THEY APPROACHED the walls.

  Atira could see heads up there, in the battlements, but there was no sound beyond that of their horses’ hooves and the rattle of their armor. She was tempted to pull up, to see if the entire city had turned against the Warprize.

  But Heath was taking them right to the gates, and she
could have no less courage than he.

  Heath pulled his horse to a stop and looked back over his shoulder to see if all was in readiness. His eyes flashed under his curls, bright in the sunlight. He sat his horse well, better than most city-dwellers. With his broad shoulders under that tabard, he was—

  Atira shook her head. She needed to focus on her task. She scowled as she made sure her bow and arrows were at the ready. Why couldn’t he understand that there was no sense in their bonding? He wanted her leashed, shackled, imprisoned within the walls of his city and his heart. That wasn’t the way of her—

  A blast from a horn brought her back to her task.

  Heath faced the gates, and two more crystal-clear blasts rang against the walls. Then he shouted, “Water’s Fall, open your gates for Queen Xylara, Daughter of Xy.”

  There was an unending moment of silence, then a rumble as the gates began to open outward to reveal a mob of people lining the square, standing silent, watching.

  Heath urged his horse forward at a slow walk.

  Heads were craning, people were looking . . .

  Atira watched as Rafe and Prest dismounted and assisted Lara down from the Warlord’s horse. They set her carefully on her feet and stepped into their guard positions.

  Heath was watching, and at the right moment, he blew his horn and shouted to the crowd, “People of Xy, behold your Queen!”

  Lara let her cloak fall and walked forward through the gate.

  The crowd erupted into wild cheers.

  The noise was deafening, echoing off the walls and reverberating on the ear. Amyu had dismounted to retrieve the Warprize’s cloak, and she looked up, her eyes wide in astonishment. Atira couldn’t blame her. It took some getting used to, and Amyu alone of their number had never been in the city before.

  Not that prior experience made it that much easier. Atira concentrated on up, keeping an eye on the windows above them.

  Lara advanced, glowing in her white dress, raising her hands to acknowledge the cheers. She was smiling and laughing as people started throwing flowers along her path.

  There were quite a few gasps as well as cheers. Atira could see looks of astonishment and horror that seemed to melt into joy at the sight of a very pregnant queen. Lara had said it might offend at first, but her people would understand her message. Seemed that she was right.

  Then a figure rode up, a noble from the looks of him. Prest had a blade out and his teeth bared. The man pulled his horse to an abrupt stop.

  “Your Majesty, I was sent by the Council to escort the warriors to their quarters while you proceed through the city,” the man called out, shouting to be heard over the crowd.

  “My thanks,” Lara shouted back. “But the Warlord insists that he and his warriors accompany me.” She gave an artful shrug, as if she’d love to help, but what was a woman to do? Then she looked over her shoulder. “Perhaps you’d see to my servants, and escort them and our possessions to the castle?”

  Atira stifled a chuckle. The man had little choice, since Lara had already turned away and resumed walking. Marcus and Amyu were pulling off toward him, leading the packhorses away. Best for Amyu to be out of this for now. And the skies help any that tried to harm her or the gear. Marcus would cut them to ribbons.

  The cheers weren’t dying away. In fact, they seemed to be growing stronger as they advanced through the main street that wound through the city. Atira appreciated that there was no direct path to the castle, but it would make for a long walk for the Warprize. But clearly the people were pleased, for the cheers and roars increased every time she turned a corner and they saw her in that dress.

  Now they were leaning out of every window and even seated on the roofs. Atira tried to keep her focus high, as she knew some of the others were doing.

  HEATH WAS SURE THE CITY HAD NEVER SEEN A DAY like this before. Maybe when Xyson had returned to the city in triumph. But that had been a hundred years ago. There’d been no day like this in living memory.

  People lined the streets, hung from windows, and sat on roofs, craning their necks and shouting themselves hoarse when they caught a glimpse of their Queen. Those that didn’t wave flags or banners waved their hands or threw flower petals.

  Heath had feared at first that his Plains horse wouldn’t tolerate the crowds. But he’d forgotten that Plains horses were battle-trained. The black horse he rode had only twitched an ear, and then it seemed to be enjoying the attention, prancing a bit now and then, its neck arched.

  The layout of the city was a plus as well, with no direct route to the castle. Every time they turned a corner or rounded a bend, Heath would blow his horn, and there would be a new wave of shock and delight as Lara walked into view.

  It was pure pleasure to see the happiness at Lara’s return. Not that every face was pleased. There were some scowls, some frowns. Not everyone supported Lara’s decisions. There had been many deaths in the war when Keir had defeated the Xyian forces; the grave mounds had not yet sunken out of sight or memory. Nor would they, Heath vowed.

  But there were no insults shouted or catcalls to be heard. No chamber pots thrown, for that matter. The late, unlamented Xymund had not followed Warren’s advice in the defense of his kingdom. Xymund’s fear had caused him to surrender to the dread Firelanders. Lara had thought to sacrifice herself for peace and had won more: new hope for her people, a consort strong in the ways of war, and ideas for a bright future for both their peoples.

  A bitter pill for some. A bright hope for others.

  Heath looked back over his shoulder, checking on Lara’s progress.

  She was still walking and waving, her face lit up with her wonderful smile. She looked lovely, vibrant, strong, and yet vulnerable. So much rested on her at this point.

  And that strength was starting to wane a bit. Whether she wanted to admit it or not.

  Keir knew; Heath could see it in his face as he followed Lara, keeping his horse just behind her.

  Heath faced forward and pulled his horn around, preparing for the next call. This was his home, too. His land, his people. He may not be of the Blood, but he’d serve Lara as his father had served her father.

  The next corner was the last before the first market square. Heath lifted the horn to his lips and blew four short blasts. “People of Xy, behold your Queen!”

  As the square came into view, the way cleared. There, in the center by the well, was Detros, cleaned up nicely, his palace tabard stretched out over his stomach, his thinning wisps carefully combed over his shining pate. In his hand was the lead of an old, fat white pony who looked half-asleep and unconcerned with the clamor. The pony was harnessed to a small cart bedecked in ribbons and flowers. And in the cart stood a wooden chair, cushioned with pillows, and decked with ribbons as well.

  Heath looked at the rig with a critical eye. It should serve its purpose well enough.

  They might have overdone it with the ribbons, though.

  Heath pranced his horse out into the square, slowly, letting Lara absorb the crowd’s attention. He circled his horse and called out each of the four corners of the square. As the cheers rose, he watched the crowds.

  There . . . he spotted them spread out and about. The tabards of the castle guards, mingling in the crowds, watching and cheering the Queen. And if they happened to move along with the Queen as she progressed further on, well, who could blame them?

  Heath sidled his horse over to Detros, still standing there with a big smile plastered on his face. “Hope you’ve worked out that gas, old man,” Heath said quietly, “else you’ll kill the Queen dead before she gets to the castle.”

  Detros’s reply was lost in the wild shouting around them. Heath only made out the last bit. “Trying to make me out the fool, lad?”

  “No.” Heath leaned down to make sure his words were heard. “One of the few I’d trust Lara’s safety to.”

  “Well, then.” Detros stood a bit taller. “There is that.”

  Lara had reached them and caught sight of the pony
and cart. Her face was such a mixture of dismay and relief that Heath almost laughed out loud.

  Detros paced forward with the pony and then knelt before her. Prest and Rafe took the hint from Heath and made no move to block his approach.

  “Your Majesty, I am Detros of Your Majesty’s Castle Guard. It would be an honor and a privilege to see you safe to the castle.” Detros’s voice boomed out over the crowd.

  Lara drew a deep breath, and for a moment Heath was sure she’d refuse.

  “Her Majesty would be very grateful,” the Warlord said as he dismounted from his horse. To the delight of the crowd, he strode over and swept Lara up in his arms to set her in the chair.

  Lara laughed and stole a kiss from Keir before releasing him. She settled back in the chair with a sigh. “I am ever so grateful, Detros.”

  “If you don’t mind my saying so, settle back and enjoy your day, Your Majesty.” Detros raised his voice. “For such a day has ne’er been seen in Water’s Fall!”

  The crowd roared its agreement.

  Detros tugged at the pony’s bridle and began a long, slow circle around the square, letting the crowd get a last glimpse before they continued on.

  Heath moved his horse to the lead, and once again they started toward the castle.

  CHAPTER 11

  THE MESSENGER KNELT IN THE CENTER OF THE room, breathing hard, words spilling out in a rush as he described the Queen’s entrance into the city. He paused to swallow, gulping in air.

  “Go easy, lad.” Lord Durst lifted a frail hand, and his wife came forward with a glass of wine. “Get your breath, then tell us what you saw.”

  The boy slurped the wine and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Sorry, Lord. Ran from the main gate.”

  “And I thank you for it,” Lord Durst said. “You were very prompt. Tell me again. She walked into the city?”

  “Aye, Lord.” The lad’s eyes were wide. “She’s all dressed in white, with something glittering on her ear.”