Hanstau breathed easier once they gave Reness a tunic and trous to wear.

He may be a widower, may be the father of three grown children, but he wasn’t dead, after all. Sharing a tent with a naked woman was all well and good when she was his patient. Quite another thing when she was plotting their escape.

Her wound was healing well, although she feigned a limp when she walked. She wasn’t very good at it, in Hanstau’s opinion. But every chance she got, Reness worked to regain the strength she had lost while confined.

She was moving about now, quiet on the grass in her bare feet, making little noise as she eased through a series of slow stretches. The tent flap was closed, their guards outside by a fire eating their nooning. Hanstau had tucked himself closer to the back of the tent to give her room, sitting cross-legged against the wall.

He’d thought to keep his eyes tightly shut, to recite prayers to the Sun God, or perhaps a few stanzas of the Epic of Xyson that he had memorized as a child.

But his control was not perfect. His treacherous eyes would not stay closed. He could only hope for forgiveness for the occasional glance, but the mental image was almost worse, brought on by the sounds of the soft movements of cloth over skin and her breathing.

Her back was turned to him, and she was lunging at an unseen enemy, her trous—

Hanstau swallowed hard, and closed his eyes firmly. His late wife had been dear to him. Their marriage had been arranged, as was proper, and they’d been well suited to one another. They’d been comfortable with their duty and taking pleasure with one another, and they’d shared pride in their children. He’d mourned her death.

A whisper of cloth on skin, and his eyes flickered open to see Reness pivot into a slow, steady lunge at an unseen opponent.

She stole his breath away.

Enough. Hanstau closed his eyes tight, settled back into his seat, and reminded himself sternly that while it was perfectly normal to be attracted to a healthy, muscular, lovely woman, it was not proper.

It didn’t help that the tent was warm and the air was still thick with Reness’s unique scent. Hanstau could let himself breathe deep, drift off, dream of—

He jerked his head up, stiffened his back, and rejected that thought. Time to think on other things. The Epic of Xyson was dull enough to kill any thoughts of—

A flash of light flickered at his closed eyelids.

Hanstau opened his eyes a crack to see gold sparkles gathering by his bare toes. He frowned at them. That was another bone of contention. Walking in grass toughened the feet of those of the Plains. His feet were far more tender, and pale. They’d taken his boots as yet another way of keeping him captive. As a result, his guards, even Reness, had commented on his pale feet and long toes.

If they gave him back his boots, maybe they wouldn’t have to see them.

The power also seemed fascinated. The sparkles jumped around his feet, and he could almost feel their giggles.

‘Practice as a child does,’ Reness had urged him. ‘Try, fail, try again.’

‘Wild Winds warned against that,’ he’d told her. ‘He said he would teach me.’

‘That is no longer an option,’ she’d pointed out.

Hanstau frowned at his toes, wiggling them the tiniest bit. The sparkles scattered, then danced around them, growing brighter.

He’d seen Snowfall use her powers just the one time, when she had somehow shielded them from the wyverns threatening them. He’d been focused more on his patient at the time, trying to carry the woman to safety with Snowfall’s help. But he seemed to remember that she had pulled the glow within as they’d moved, drawing power into herself. After, Snowfall had been tired, she’d said something to Simus about…

“I had to carry, and concentrate, and move,” Snowfall shook her head. “Not as easy as I thought.”

Concentrate… Hanstau thought about that. Snowfall had been talking about her thoughts, but maybe the sparkles could be brought together. Like boiling willow bark down to a thick paste for fever’s foe. Absorbing it through your skin to aid the whole body.

He wiggled his toes again, and the sparkles clung like gold dust in the dim light. Like putting on joint cream to help stiff fingers and toes. He’d often wondered what caused the stiffness to be so bad in some, and not as bad in others. But the joint cream, applied thickly and then covered well with wool socks warmed by the fire, was a remedy that eased the pain of those that suffered.

Hanstau stifled a yawn, and continued to stare at the glow as it grew and then diminished, wrapping in and around and through…

He could see his toes. No. See through his toes. He could see the bones, the muscles, the blood rushing through healthy flesh, see the joints in all their complexity. So many bones. He flexed his foot, and then his ankle, watched the interplay of healthy flesh under the skin, watched bone and muscle work together. Entranced, he stared in wonder at—

“Antas wants the male,” came a gruff voice from outside.

Hanstau started, disoriented. The vision was gone, and he was left blinking in the light as the tent flap was thrown open. Had it been a dream? He felt odd, tired, drained and yet… elated.

Reness had calmly moved, swift and silent to sit on her pallet. She gave him a puzzled glance as one of the guards stepped within their tent.

“Come,” the warrior gestured. He dropped boots and a hooded cloak at Hanstau’s feet. “Antas summons you.”

Hanstau reached for the boots, and quickly pulled them on. The cloak was for a much bigger man, and he was lost in its folds. The warrior frowned, pulling the hood up to cover Hanstau’s head. Satisfied, he grunted, and held the tent flap open.

Hanstau glanced at Reness.

“Be careful,” she said in Xyian. “Assume nothing.”

Hanstau nodded in the depths of the hood, and followed the warrior out of the tent.

It wasn’t far. Hanstau noticed for the first time the size of Antas’s tent, nearly as big as Simus’s. A warrior waited for him at the flap, she bowed him in, holding out her hands for the cloak.

“Greetings,” she said. “I am Catha, Token-bearer to Antas of the Boar.

The tent was warm, lit with braziers. It was set up the same as Simus’s had been, with a low wooden platform. A general meeting area, Hanstau remembered. Even the scent of leather, old kavage and sword oil was similar.

Antas stood before the platform, waiting for him.

Hanstau steadied himself, and walked toward his captor, looking him in the eye.

Antas watched him with lowered lids. “You speak our tongue?”

“A little,” Hanstau said. “Not too well.”

“Enough, though.” Antas gave a nod of satisfaction. “Come. We will eat, you and I. We will exchange truths. You understand?”

“Yes,” Hanstau said.

Antas walked toward another opening. Hanstau followed, only glancing back when he heard the chiming of bells. Catha was weaving a strip into the tent ties.

This was a smaller area of the tent, clearly Antas’s sleeping area. There were weapons and armor thrown about, piled on saddles and saddle bags. Against one wall of the tent was a raised pallet, large enough for two.

Off to the side, was something different. Hanstau stared in surprised at an actual table, with wooden stools.

“Sit.” Antas gestured, as he sat on one of the stools, adjusting his sword out of the way.

Hanstau sat, and Catha approached with water and cloths for the hand-washing ritual. Hanstau whispered a quick prayer to the God of the Sun for protection.

There was a small lamp on the table, with an open flame. Hanstau could clearly see that Antas was studying him. He lifted his chin ever so slightly.

Catha began to bring out food, and kavage. Antas seemed content to eat in silence, and Hanstau had no intention of trying to start a conversation. The food was normal camp fare. Flatbread, some kind of roasted roots, and grilled meat. Hanstau spotted the little red flakes on the meat, so he expected the explosion of spice on his tongue.

The food was good, the kavage was hot, but it all tasted like ash in his mouth. All he could think of was the brooding man across the table and the huge bed so close at hand. It felt like every breath he took; every move was being tested and weighed.

Catha was clearing the bowls when Antas spoke abruptly. “Do you know what ‘Warprize’ means?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say something rude in Xyian, but he’d been warned. “I know of Queen Xylara,” he said carefully. “And the Warlord, Keir of the Cat.”

Antas nodded. “You and I,” he made a gesture toward Hanstau. “You are my Warprize.”

“No,” Hanstau said.

Antas considered him through narrowed eyes.

“I did not aid your people,” Hanstau said. “You did not take me from a battle.” His voice cracked a bit at the look in Antas’s eyes, but he kept on. “And between us, there is no… heat.”

Antas was silent for a long moment, then he gestured to the pallet. “You. Me. We share.”

“No,” Hanstau kept his eyes on Antas.

“No share?” Antas frowned.

“No man with man share,” Hanstau stumbled a bit. He’d known that this was common among Firelanders. The Queen, Master Eln, both had mentioned this, and been blunt as to its prevalence on the Plains. Hanstau really didn’t take issue if others wished to—

“Man with woman share?” Antas asked.

That caught Hanstau by surprise. He looked away as heat rose in his face.

Antas grunted, as if he’d learned something that pleased him. But then he glared at Hanstau. “You, my Warprize.”

“No,” Hanstau started, but Antas cut him off.

“Warprize,” he said, the threat clear. “If not—”

There was a jangle of bells, and then raised voices from the main tent.

Antas scowled, rising as Hail Storm came through the opening, Catha in his wake.

Antas and Hail Storm exchanged harsh words over Hanstau’s head. Hanstau shifted on his seat, not wanting his back to the warrior-priest.

Hail Storm still didn’t look well to Hanstau. There was a brightness to his eyes that spoke of a low-grade fever. But the stump of his arm looked much better, less swollen, and the redness had receded.

The two men snarled at one another, Catha hovering behind them. Hanstau couldn’t catch every word, but he got the gist. Hail Storm had broken the bells, pushed past the token-bearer, and Antas was taking him to task for it.

Hail Storm couldn’t have cared less. He seemed dismissive of Antas. “No matter,” he spat. “We must speak of the young.”

“We can do so later,” Antas growled.

Hail Storm’s eye flickered in Hanstau’s direction. “You can court your so-called Warprize later,” he said. “Order the theas to bring me their young warriors. Those that will go through the rites next year.”

“Even Warlords do not ‘order’ theas,” Antas growled. “Especially concerning the young.”

“You will if you want them trained.” Hail Storm moved as if to cross his arms, hesitated, and then let them drop to his side. “They will give them to me to be… enlightened as to new ways. Powerful ways.”

Something about those words made the hair on the back of Hanstau’s neck prickle. The very air around them changed, thickened with disapproval. For a brief moment, he thought to see if he could focus. See the golden power, see if it gathered near Hail Storm. No one would know—

‘Don’t assume’ Reness’s advice echoed.

Hanstau stilled.

“I will suggest the theas talk to you. Suggest that they send young ones for your training.” Antas growled. “No more.”

“As you choose, Warlord,” Hail Storm gave a mocking bow, spun on his heel and left. There was silence until the bells at the entrance chimed again.

Hanstau let out his breath slowly, and looked up to find Antas standing there, watching him.

“You do not like Hail Storm,” Antas gestured after the man.

“He is a bad man,” Hanstau said, trying to find other words for his revulsion. “He is without truth.”

Antas nodded, but there was no agreement in his eyes. “I will do what needs to be done to protect the Plains,” he said slowly, as if trying to make sure that Hanstau understood every word. He stepped closer, looming over Hanstau. “I will claim you as Warprize,” he said, reaching out to caress Hanstau’s face.

Hanstau jerked away.

Antas swiftly clamped Hanstau’s jaw, and forced his head back. “You will be my Warprize.” He leaned in, his breath hot on Hanstau’s cheek. “Or Hail Storm will make you.”

Hanstau froze, pinned by cruel blue eyes.

A jangle of bells at the door, and Catha appeared. “There is a Singer without. One Quartis, sent from Eldest Elder Singer Essa.”

Antas hissed in a breath. “I will welcome him. See this one back to his tent, well cloaked. Keep him hidden.”

Catha nodded, disappearing to get the cloak.

Antas released Hanstau’s jaw, only to reach down and grab a handful of tunic. He pulled Hanstau up, almost off his feet, toes just touching the ground.

Hanstau grabbed for the man’s arm.

Antas pulled him close, and whispered in his ear. “Him or me, understood? Him or me.”

“Understood,” Hanstau strangled out the word.

“Consider my truths well,” Antas growled, and released him.

Hanstau stumbled back a bit, almost tripping over the stool. By the time he regained his balance, Antas was gone.

Catha and the guards hustled Hanstau back to the tent, stripping off the cloak from his back as he stepped within.

Reness frowned up at him from her pallet.

“Shoes,” barked the guard.

Hanstau toed them off, and kicked them toward him. The guard swept them up with a grunt, and then left, tying the tent flap behind him.

“You’re shaking,” Reness whispered, rising slowly from her pallet. “What happened?”

Hanstau stared at her mutely.

“Here,” she said firmly, in what had to be her ‘mother’ voice. “Come here.” she took his arms and pulled him down to her pallet, urging him to stretch out. She pulled over blankets, covering them both, even though the tent was warm. She crooned to him as one does to a babe, and Hanstau let her. Undignified, but a comfort.

He lay face up, staring at the tent above them. Reness put her hand on his heart, and her head by his. Hanstau closed his eyes, and felt the tremors slowly fade.

“Better?” she asked.

Hanstau let out a breath under the shelter of the soft wool, and breathed in the spicy scent of gurtle wool. He let it out slowly, nodding.

“Tell me,” she commanded.

He did, from the start. In Xyian, in a muffled whisper.

Reness listened, stopping him only once in a while to have him explain a word.

At the mention of the young ones, her hand pressed on his heart. And stayed that way as he described Antas’s threats.

The re-telling brought a quaver back to his voice, much to his shame.

Reness didn’t seem to notice. She listened to the end, and then considered for long moments while Hanstau focused on breathing. On warmth and blankets and the feel of her next to him. Pulling every ounce of comfort he could from his surroundings.

“He would teach children his ways.” Reness’s voice was flat.

Hanstau turned his head to look at her. “Wild Winds called it blood magic. I do not know details, but whatever his source of power, the Plains hate it. And hate the wielder, or so Wild Winds said.”

“And Antas would allow it,” she said, her tone dark.

“He said he would speak to the theas, that he couldn’t force them.” Hanstau shifted his head to get a better look at Reness. “Is that tradition?” he asked.

“More than tradition,” Reness replied, but continued without explanation. “You said a Singer was here?”

Hanstau nodded. “They said ‘Quartis’. From the eldest Elder Singer.”

“Well.” Reness shifted her head closer to Hanstau’s. “That’s a saddle that will rub him raw.”

“Why?”

“He is not following our ways,” she explained. “If you are indeed his Warprize, he should be affording you the respect and courtesy that you are entitled to.”

“Such as?” Hanstau asked.

“Have you been presented to his warriors? Offered a guardian? Have you been courted by other Warlords?” Reness shook her head against his shoulder. “At the very least, you must be offered a chance to leave the Plains and return to your people. He has not.”

“He will not.” Hanstau realized with a sickening feeling. “Not until he controls me.”

“Which he will not do,” Reness said with more confidence than Hanstau felt. “He can’t publicly claim you as Warprize without giving you certain rights. We can use that against him.”

“Reness,” Hanstau looked at her doubtfully. “I am not sure Antas is someone you can finesse.”

Reness rose up on her elbow, looking down at him. “What is ‘finesse’?”

Hanstau sighed.