Warsong

  Maybe he didn’t need words.

  Joden turned his head and tickled the palm of Amyu’s hand with the tip of his tongue.

  Amyu sucked in a breath, wide-eyed, but she didn’t pull away.

  Joden smiled, leaned over, and kissed her. It was long, slow and sweet, just lips soft against one another. He released her hand, and reached to stroke her neck, just below the hairline. Amyu shivered against him.

  He shifted then, pulling her with him, so that they faced each other on their sides. Now his hands were free to touch, long slow strokes down the length of her arm, and her hips.

  Amyu lifted her chin, granting him access to her tender throat. She moaned as Joden explored it with his mouth. Her skin was soft and delicious, invading all of his senses. He took his sweet time, keep his hands just below her breasts, his thumbs rubbing the central spot between. Her nipples had hardened, and they were a delight to behold, begging to be touched. But Joden held off, leaving them hungry, leaving her in a state of suspense as she writhed in his arms.

  He chuckled against her skin as Amyu reached, trying to force his hand down to the center of her heat.

  Amyu narrowed her eyes. She changed tactics, reaching for his length. It was his turn to gasp at her touch.

  She laughed at her victory, but he turned the tables by taking a nipple in his mouth and grazing it with his teeth. She moaned, grabbing his head to try to keep him there. “Joden,” she panted, and he heard her plea. Joden rolled onto his back, bringing her up and on top of him, straddling his hips.

  Amyu rose above him, the blankets falling back, letting the cooler air touch their over-heated flesh. Now she leaned on him, her hands on his chest, her breasts swaying above him.

  Joden reached up, kneading and squeezing, and rubbed her nipples hard with his thumbs.

  Amyu pushed against his hands and started to thrust with her hips against him. She moaned in frustration, then reached with one hand to arrange things to her satisfaction. With a triumphant cry, she sank down, taking him in to both their pleasures.

  Joden arched his head back, lost in her heat, lost in the delight that swamped his senses.

  Amyu clamped down, then drew up, and then down again, and there was no way he could hold out against her. He could only meet thrust for thrust as the light exploded behind his eyes.

  Amyu cried out her climax, shuddering around him, and he followed her into sweet release.

  When his reason returned, and his vision cleared, he found Amyu on his chest, a soft warm blanket. He eased out of her, and gently pulled her on to her side, cradling her head on his shoulder. With his free hand, he pulled the blankets back over them.

  Broken, she’d called them, and Joden acknowledge the truth as he slid into sleep. But broken together. That made all the difference.

  Amyu hesitated at the darkness leading down to the crypts, but Heath held his torch high as he strode through the gate. “This way,” he said with a confidence she didn’t share.

  Joden followed, so Amyu did as well, carrying her own torch, and one to spare. Shadows danced just outside of the pool of light. She’d no desire to be trapped down in this warren of tunnels with no light and apparently talkative dead.

  She’d also no wish to find out if the dead spoke to any other than Joden.

  “Here.” Heath was lighting the lanterns as he went, which eased some of her fears. He held the torch high and pointed. “Xyson is buried down this way.”

  Their steps echoed against the stone in a way that Amyu hadn’t remembered from her frantic rush down theses paths. Her heart had been racing so fast in fear, she might not have heard them. But she did now and felt the damp chill of the stone. She might not be able to see her breath, but she felt it on her face as they moved down the narrow passageways.

  Heath continued on in silence, lighting sconces as he went, until he stopped in front of a stone that looked newer to Amyu’s eyes. He stood there, his face still, and ran his fingers over the words carved there.

  “O-o-o,” Joden grimaced, then tried again. “Y-y-your f-f-father?”

  “Yes,” Heath said quietly. “You said you were called,” he continued, staring at Joden. Amyu could see the question that burned in his eyes.

  Joden shook his head. “I-I-I d-d-do n-n-not h-h-hear h-h-him,” he assured Heath.

  “No,” Heath’s shoulders relaxed, and he smiled sadly. “Of course not. My father would go straight to the gardens of the Goddess. He is at peace. Still,” Heath grimaced, “I would give much to speak with him again.”

  Joden nodded.

  Heath straightened, and continued walking. “It’s just that, with Keir having to decide his course of action, I feel the lack. I turn to talk to him, turn to ask him something and it takes me a moment to remember that he isn’t there.” Heath glanced over his shoulder. “You know?”

  Joden nodded.

  Comforting even without words, Amyu thought as they kept walking. Joden didn’t need words sometimes. He had such expressive eyes, and his hands… She flushed, suddenly very glad to be at the back as her face flushed with sudden heat.

  The sharing between them had been lovely. Warm and comforting and oh so pleasurable. Her nipples tightened under her clothing at the heat of memory.

  “Do you think the Warlord will decide soon?” she asked, not really wanting to know, but she needed to think on other things.

  Heath was silent for a while, lighting another lantern. Joden glanced back at her, looking puzzled. Amyu frowned. Had Heath not heard her? Or worse, would he not speak to a child? Amyu stumbled and caught herself. Heath had not seemed to think that of her, but he was bonded to Atira and she—

  “I think he must,” Heath spoke, to her relief. “All of his plans require peace between the Plains and Xy. He really has two choices. Head to the border or stay and defend from within these walls if he is attacked.” Heath paused, lowering his voice. “Will he have to fight a war at the border, to defend Xy? Or will he have to attack the Plains themselves, to secure his position?”

  Joden had also stopped and Amyu was at his shoulder. She could feel the heat of Joden’s body against her, even as she stared at the both of them. “You think it will come to that,” she said flatly.

  “I do not know,” Heath said. “I do know that the City of Water’s Fall is in a fever, commanded by the Queen to make swords, weapons, armor, bolts, arrows, and everything else an army on the move needs. Lara has opened the treasury, and is willing to pay well for quality work, and Sun God help anyone who tries to pass off shoddy workmanship.”

  Heath looked up at where his torch licked at the ceiling above them. “And then there is the matter of the wyverns.”

  “G-g-gone,” Joden said.

  Heath shook his head. “Everyone is assuming that since they have flown off they are no longer a threat. I do not plan to make that mistake. Regardless,” he continued. “Keir is going to make a decision soon, probably within a few days.”

  “You think he will go,” Amyu said.

  “I think it is not in the Warlord’s nature to sit and wait.” Heath grinned.

  Joden snorted, “Tr-tr-truth.”

  “I suspect that Lara will go with him,” Heath said. “Taking the babies with her. My mother is working herself up into a state at the very idea.” He turned, looking down the passage.

  “It’s not much further,” Heath continued walking. “We don’t want to lose the torches.”

  Amyu gave Joden a push forward. He threw a grin at her, but moved quickly enough to satisfy her.

  They went for a while in silence, until Amyu blurted out her burning question, “Will you go?”

  “With Keir?” Heath shook his head. “No. I am Seneschal of the Castle of Water’s Fall.” Amyu could see the weight of his words on his shoulders. “I will hold this castle, and the city for Xylara.” He paused at a crossing of tunnels, then plunged ahead. “Atira has said she will not leave me, as we are bonded.” He stopped. “We are here.”

  Amyu stood at
the top of the steps leading down into a round room with a domed ceiling. She remembered the elaborately carved stone box in the center, where she’d found Joden sprawled, shivering and convulsing. But she lifted the torch higher, and gazed at the airions carved on the ceiling, circling with wings wide, carrying riders.

  Riders.

  Her breath caught in excitement. There above her, airions and their riders soared. Riders in saddles, like the one she’d seen in the cave. Amyu stood on tip-toe, watching the light and dark play over the carvings, trying to take it all in. Surely they were real, were not the thing of—

  Joden’s voice brought her back to reality.

  “N-n-nothing,” he said, his voice echoing on the walls. Joden was standing by the seated statue of a man, a stone sword in his lap. He leaned over, and splayed his hand out over the statue’s chest.

  “He is not here?” Heath’s voice held an odd note.

  “M-m-more l-l-like em-em-empty.” Joden said, pulling his hand back. “G-g-gone.”

  “I am not sure if I am disappointed or relieved,” Heath said. He held the torch close to the statue’s face, looking at the carving. “What was he like?”

  “D-d-demanding,” Joden said. “C-c-commanding. K-k-kingly.”

  “Like Lara,” Heath laughed. “But don’t tell her I said so.”

  “Look,” Amyu pointed overhead. “Look at that.”

  “Well,” Heath said. “Airions.”

  “With riders,” Amyu pointed urgently. “See? Not just legends.” She lowered her gaze to stare at Heath. “Xyson told Joden that if we wanted to fly we need to re-forge the sword. What does that mean?”

  “I have no idea,” Heath said with a shrug. “You should talk to Atira. She is working in the smithy of Dunstan, an old friend. She wants to make swords someday.” Heath smiled with obvious pride, but then gave Amyu a frown. “Where is the sword? Or what’s left of it.”

  “I don’t know,” Amyu said. “I had the hilt—”

  “Mother will know,” Heath said. “Come.”

  They retraced their steps, extinguishing the lanterns as they went. Amyu was grateful to leave the cold and narrow tunnels.

  Heath led them to the kitchens, which were wonderfully warm, noisy, and crowded with preparations for the nooning. Anna was in her usual glory, ruling the overheated hearths.

  “Wandering the crypts,” she scolded Heath after he explained, her chins wobbling. “For what fool reason did you do that? Sit. You will need warming up from that cold stone.”

  Amyu found herself seated on a long bench, Joden beside her, with a mug of hot kavage and bread and butter on a wooden platter.

  “Eat,” Anna commanded.

  “We just have a question,” Heath protested.

  “Which I will answer as you eat,” Anna said firmly.

  Joden didn’t hesitate. He took a slice of bread, slathered it with butter, and took a bite.

  “Good,” Anna patted him on the head.

  Amyu choked back a laugh, but Joden just looked smug. Heath rolled his eyes at both of them, but settled on the bench and grabbed his share of bread.

  “Mother, do you know where the Crystal Sword ended up?” Heath asked.

  “Of course,” Anna said, and went to her spice cabinet, her keys jangling. She pulled out a basket, and set it before him.

  “You put the Crystal Sword of the House of Xy in a bread basket?” Heath asked as she set it before him.

  “Safe, wasn’t it?” Anna asks. “All the shards are there, I saw to that.”

  A clatter arose from the staff, and then the sound of shattering crockery. Anna frowned. “What’s that then?” she moved off, intent on the source of the racket.

  Amyu looked in the basket. The hilt was there, but so were the shards of blue, some little more than slivers.

  “Keep it,” Heath pushed the basket closer to Amyu. “Not much use now.”

  Marcus came in with a tray, glaring as always. “You there,” he pointed his chin at Heath. “Hisself wants you.”

  Heath crammed the last of the bread into his mouth, and took his mug with him.

  “You,” Marcus’s glare focused on Amyu. “You will take baby duty tonight. Rest up. Keirson is cranky and refusing to sleep. You’ll probably be up all night.”

  “Yes, Marcus,” Amyu said.

  “Joden,” Marcus continued. “You are to rest as well. Master Eln is coming to see the babes this evening, and will be checking on you. Hisself will likely wish to talk as well.” He filled his tray with more kavage and left as abruptly as he had come.

  The kitchen was in chaos around them, but the staff ignored them. Joden leaned over, pressing his arm to hers. “N-n-ap,” he nodded in the direction of his room, raising his eyebrows, his eyes hopeful.

  Amyu nodded, suddenly dry mouthed. “Yes,” she whispered, suddenly fiercely glad. She’d have him for a time, but she knew full well he was not hers. The Plains would call him back. But she would steal this moments with him, take whatever days she could get and enjoy the sweetness.

  The rest, she’d leave to the elements.

  To Joden, it seemed the next few days passed like birds on the wing.

  Keir was considering his options, and he called on Joden to sit in on the discussions. “I need your ears to hear truths,” Keir told him privately.

  And so Joden listened to Warren and Wilsa of the Lark. He heard talk of warrior numbers, both Xyian and of the Plains. Detros was brought in with Heath, to talk of the castle and the city, how to secure the walls and withstand a siege.

  Lara and Heath reviewed the costs. Joden’s head whirled at the way they talked of coin and tallied up numbers on papers. Keir also seemed overwhelmed at times, but they both learned as best they could, and trusted the Warprize’s judgment.

  The hardest truths to hear were those of Yers, still suffering from the head wound, still convinced that Simus had betrayed them. Joden could see Keir struggling with that idea, but each day no word came, and each day Joden feared that Keir lost more confidence in his old tent mate.

  It was then that Joden would stand and stretch and pull Keir from council rooms and down to the sparring circle. Keir would agree, thinking it was mostly for Joden’s benefit. Joden was gaining strength and muscle back quickly. But sweat and movement helped a warrior see clearer. Tired and pleased, Joden would return to the room, to find Amyu there, waiting.

  There was such joy in her touch, in the scent of her skin, and his pleasure was reflected in her eyes as well. The babes were still her first duty, but they took their pleasures where they could, as often as they could. It loomed over them at times, the uncertainty of it all. But they had this now. Together. And each day, Amyu grew more important to him, to his life. Broken together.

  But this morning, Keir called a halt to the talks. Instead, he and Joden had gone to the sparring circle early, and worked themselves into exhaustion. Joden knew his old friend, and could see that even as he wielded his weapons, his thoughts were elsewhere.

  Which let Joden get in a few more ‘killing’ blows than he could normally score on Keir. And he took them shamelessly, when the opportunity was offered.

  “Enough,” Keir finally said. They racked their weapons, and then headed to the well, stripping down to trous and splashing cold water on themselves. Joden tipped a full bucket on his head, letting the water pour over him.

  The doors from the kitchen opened. Lara, Marcus and Amyu emerged with blankets and fussy, crying babies. Anna had little Meara by the hand, encouraging her to walk. Aurora, the youngest of Lara’s handmaidens ran ahead, calling for her dogs.

  Lara looked frazzled. “Your son will not sleep,” she said. “I thought maybe the warm sun might—”

  “Here.” Keir dried off, and then took Keirson from Marcus. He put his son on his shoulder and started to drum his back.

  “Thankfully, he didn’t wake Kayla,” Lara took the girl babe from Amyu, and cooed to the sleeping child. She settled on the blanket, rocking her babe. “So,”
she said tiredly. “Have you beaten each other enough to reach an answer?”

  Keir shook his head, pacing with Keirson.

  Aurora came pelting back, the dogs chasing her. Meara sat at Anna’s feet, and they ran up and licked the giggling child.

  Joden finished drying himself, rubbing the cloth over his chest. He caught Amyu staring, and managed not to grin when she caught his eye and flushed. He loved that he could do that to her.

  Keirson let out a piercing shriek. Keir looked at his son with wide eyes.

  Joden laughed, and stepped forward. “L-l-let m-m-me,” he said.

  Keir gave over the baby with a shake of his head. “Watch your ears,” he warned.

  Joden cradled Keirson close to his chest with both hands. The babe’s face was bright red, his eyes scrunched closed, tiny fists waving in the air.

  “Mmmmmm,” Joden hummed, deepening his voice.

  Keirson’s tiny eyes popped open, staring into Joden’s.

  Joden smiled and drew a breath, gently blowing on Keirson’s face. The babe blinked, and yawned. Pleased, the words of the old lullaby came into Joden’s mind. He gentled his voice and sang.

  “Helya, tiny warrior,

  Heyla, cease your cries

  Heyla, the moon is rising

  Heyla, close your eyes.”

  Keirson yawned, and settled into Joden’s hands, his face pushed into Joden’s chest. Joden waited a long breath, but Keirson didn’t stir.

  Joden looked up in triumph, only to find everyone staring at him, their mouths open.

  It took him a moment to realize…

  His voice. He could sing.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  It hadn’t gone away. Joden’s words still came out broken. If he tried to talk, just talk, the words and sounds caught in his throat as bad as ever. He could substitute words sometimes, trick his tongue that way, but names were always a problem.

  But to his utter joy and relief, he could sing. And if he sang the words instead of speaking them, his speech flowed.

  When they had realized that he could sing, Lara and Keir had hustled him back to their chambers, summoned Master Eln and made Joden demonstrate.