Amyu was grateful that Marcus let her change into tunic and trous and tie back her hair before marching her down to the scrubbing room off the kitchens. He was in little mood to let her do anything else, already grousing at her as they walked.

The large stone room held wooden tubs for washing, with long, narrow windows high on the walls. Sunlight streamed in through the steam as the kitchen maids poured heated water in the tubs, chattering as they worked. They looked up when Marcus entered, raising eyebrows, and clearing a space for them. There was no lack of understanding glances Amyu’s way.

“What were you thinking?” he groused as he plunged the dishes into one of the tubs. “Herself just giving birth and has two new babes to care for, and you traipsing—” he gestured for Amyu to wash.

Amyu stayed silent, and concentrated on each dish. Never mind that Anna’s staff would have washed these as well, especially since they were close to finishing their tasks. Amyu knew that this wasn’t really about the dishes.

But she wasn’t going to prolong the lecture by missing a spot.

“Herself all flustered, with not having enough milk—”

That got Marcus some dirty looks from the women around them. Men in Xy didn’t talk about babies apparently, or breasts or the milk they contained. Amyu noticed some rolling eyes in their direction. Of course, men in Xy also did not wash dishes.

Which puzzled Amyu. They ate, didn’t they?

But the maids' disapproval didn’t stop Marcus’s sharp tongue. At least he was drying as he scolded.

“—finding out you caused the old cheesemaker to collapse. Herself is fond of her—”

Amyu flushed at that. She’d no defense against his truths. She had caused the old woman’s rage, as angry as anyone she’d seen without a sword in hand.

“A woman just giving birth, finally having to send someone to find your sorry carcass and—”

The maids had finished and scurried out, leaving just her and Marcus. The pile of dishes had diminished, but quite a few remained. Amyu poured more hot water in, and set to work with a will as Marcus continued to rant. At least he hadn’t decided they’d do dishes for the entire castle.

Shouts from outside, and the sound of sword on sword, coming from the narrow windows just above her head.

“Hisself and Joden, no doubt,” Marcus rubbed a pitcher dry. “The practice circle is just outside.”

Amyu lifted up on tip-toe, catching a glimpse of Joden through the high window.

He was circling Keir, laughing, his grin wide. His bronze face glistened with sweat, and his laugh… his laugh boomed out as Keir lunged and missed.

Amyu dropped down and stared at her wet hands.

“Good for them both,” Marcus said gruffly. “Work the body to ease the worries.”

Amyu turned her head to look at the scarred man next to her, calmer now that he’d had his say. “He almost went to the snows.” she shared.

Marcus’s scarred lips thinned, but he said nothing.

“He is broken,” she admitted in the quiet room. “Like us.” She picked up a wet bowl and picked at a bit of dried food with her nail. “I fear for him.”

“Dishes don’t wash themselves,” Marcus said pointedly.

Amyu stared down at the bowl. “How did you bear it, Marcus?” she asked, then froze, shocked that those words had come from her mouth.

Silence.

Maybe she hadn’t actually said the words out loud, and praise all the elements that—

“How did you?” Marcus asked. Quietly, without anger or shame.

Amyu didn’t look at him. “The Warprize gave me hope. I thought to find… more. To prove my worth is more than an ability to bear children.”

She risked a glance to find Marcus nodding his agreement. She dared to breathe.

“I had a reason,” Marcus said quietly. “People who I needed to protect. I lived for them, not for my own self. I lived for the Tribe, but it was not without pain or cost.”

Amyu stared down at the bowl again, watching a soap bubble pop.

“Dishes won’t wash themselves,” Marcus said again.

She nodded, and started back to work.

“He will need to find his own reason,” Marcus continued. “But the loss of a voice for a Singer,” he shook his head. “That is not easy to overcome.”

Amyu’s eyes teared up. She nodded, and for a while they worked in silence.

A movement at the door had them both looking up. Rafe stood there, his irrepressible grin in place. “Marcus, may I speak with Amyu? Under the bells,” he added, trying to look apologetic.

Marcus sniffed but nodded.

Amyu dried her hands and stepped over, but Rafe pulled her further away to stand in the doorway. Fylin, Soar, Ksand and Lasa stood there, just out of sight, all with an air of excitement. They were holding bundles and saddle bags stuffed to bursting.

“Amyu, we have permission from the Warlord to go back to your mountain path and explore,” Rafe kept his voice down, his joy obvious. “Come with us.”

Amyu blinked in surprise. “You don’t believe in airions,” she blurted out.

“Truth,” Soar’s eyes sparkled as the rest chuckled. “At best, we find some sign of them. At worst, we escape these stone tents for a few days.”

“Days?” Amyu asked.

Rafe nodded. “There are no orders yet, but every warrior will march with the Warlord when he returns to the Plains. Sooner rather than later. The Warlord will want every able-bodied warrior with him.” He shrugged. “I think he will call senel soon. But we will take these few days and explore, and find your airions. Come with us.”

“No, I—” the words were out of her mouth without a thought, but then she hesitated. This might be her last chance to find the creatures. And yet…

She looked down the hallway, toward the open door and beyond. Joden still sparred with Keir in the sunlight. He was still laughing.

“Something more important than flying, eh?” Rafe asked.

Something in her heart twisted.

Fylin frowned. “He is to be a Singer—” she started.

“And I am a child,” Amyu said the hateful words first defiantly, hoping to ease her pain. It didn’t, but it caught Fylin by surprise.

“My thanks, Rafe.” Amyu turned away from the open door. “But I think I need to make amends.” She tilted her head slightly toward Marcus, dishes finished, waiting with his one eyebrow raised.

“As you say,” Rafe said with a knowing grin, and they were off.

Amyu took a breath. It was the right thing, after all. To make amends for her disobedience. But oddly, she didn’t have even a twinge of regret about not going with them.

She returned to Marcus’s side. “What next?” she asked.

“Nappies,” Marcus smirked as he produced a wooden washing paddle. “And you will aid in the night feedings.”

Amyu sighed.

 

 

Lara lifted her head from her pillow, watching Keir slip into their room, fully armed and armored, the hilts of his swords poking up over his shoulders. He caught her eyes and padded in, casting a wary eye on the babies. He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head toward the cradle.

Lara nodded.

Keir made a show of slowly retreating to the garderobe. Lara smiled, and let her head drop back, enjoying these quiet moments of peace. All too soon the babes would need tending. She stretched under the blanket, reveling in the moment.

Keir returned, wearing only trous, his bare feet quiet on the stone floor. He climbed under the covers, and pulled her into his arms. He pulled the covers over their heads like a tent, and kissed her.

“I heard you sparring with Joden,” she whispered in his ear. “Only a warrior of the Plains would think ‘rest’ means the same as ‘fight’.”

Keir gave her an unrepentant smile. “Joden needed it as much as I. He was far more relaxed by that than by talking.”

“Did he fight well?” she asked, knowing that would be a concern.

“Yes,” Keir said. “Whatever happened has not affect his skill with a blade.”

“Give him time,” Lara leaned closer to nuzzle Keir’s neck. She loved the scent of his skin. “His problem speaking may be a passing thing.”

“Time may not be on our side,” Keir said slowly.

Lara pulled back, watching his face. “Do you still doubt Simus?”

Keir was silent, his eyes hooded.

“Well, I don’t,” Lara said firmly. “Simus would never betray you. I know what Yers said, but I—”

Keir laid a finger on her lips, and Lara realized that her voice had risen. She hushed. They both waited, but no sound came from the cradle.

“Simus is loyal,” Keir said. “That is a truth. But it is also true that we do not know the extent of the warrior-priests’ power. Now a warrior-priestess challenges to become his token-bearer, and he allows it? What if he is influenced, or even controlled?” Keir moved his hand to stroke her cheek, his skin warm against hers. “What if he leads an army to the border, and suddenly attacks Liam?”

“Liam of the Deer has warriors, both of the Plains and Xy,” Lara said.

“Liam of the Deer has some warriors,” Keir said. “But mostly the skilled workers we sent to repair that old tower. And if Antas follows on Simus’s heels?”

His hand stopped stroking her cheek, and Lara reached for it to grasp it in her own.

“Now Joden brings word that Wild Winds is dead, because of a vision he saw,” Keir said. “What weight do I give to that truth? And if so, who leads the warrior-priests now?”

“Joden said they were dead, except for those that followed Wild Winds,” Lara reminded

him.

“Forgive me if I do not mourn for those dead,” Keir’s voice was flat, his anger clear. “But who in this do they support?” he continued. “All I have is questions. And…” His voice faded away. He rolled over onto his back, and pulled the blanket down from their heads. The cooler air made Lara shiver. She shifted closer under the blanket and put her head on his shoulder.

“And all the answers are to be found on the Plains,” she finished for him.

“I do not want to leave you,” Keir’s voice was a cracked rumble under her ear. His arms tightened around her. “I do not want to leave them.” His pain was clear.

She brought her hand up to lay on his heart.

“It is not the same as the thea camps,” he said. “In the thea camps all cared for all. There was no meaning, no connection with—” he struggled with his words.

“There was love, but not like this.” She lifted her head, and her curls escaped to fall around his face.

He nodded, then looked awed. “They change every day,” he whispered. “Their eyes focus, their tiny hands reach. Already, their spirits shine. I see you in them, in so many ways.”

“As I see you,” Lara pressed her lips to his. “Keir, we always knew that you would return to the Plains.”

“In the Fall,” he said with just a hint of desperation. “When they were older and you were fully healed. Not now, not so soon—”

“You must go,” Lara said. She lifted her hand to brush back her curls. “And we will go with you.”

“No,” Keir’s arms tightened around her.

“My Council supports us, what with the promise of trade routes opening up, and the money flowing from Crown,” Lara said. “Heath will serve as the Warden of Xy, and keep the kingdom secure.”

“No,” Keir repeated. “I want you here, safe, within stone walls, with as many strong warriors as I can spare.”

“You can’t spare any,” Lara said. She smiled down into his blue eyes. “I followed you once before, my Warlord. I will do so again, with babes in my arms if I must.”

“Flame of my heart—”

“Hush,” she said. “We can argue it out tomorrow. Let’s enjoy our peace while we can.” She put her head back down on his chest. “Do you think that Amyu knows she is in love with Joden?”

“Lara,” Keir said. “He is a Singer. In the eyes of the Plains, Amyu is—”

Lara lifted her head and glared at him. “She is no child.”

“In your eyes,” Keir said.

“Firelanders,” Lara grumbled.

“City-dweller,” Keir rolled them both over and pressed her to the bed. “Let’s not think on them.” He smiled. “Let’s think on us.”

Lara wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down. They kissed for long, slow, glorious moments.

A whimper, and then a cry, joined by another little voice, came from the cradle.

They both groaned.

 

 

By that evening, Joden was exhausted. Exhausted from the effort of speaking, of struggling to get the words out. Exhausted from the emotions of the day, not to mention sparring with Keir.

Anna had one of her maids take him to his room, but only after she’d had him bathe, and fed him again.

He recognized the room as Marcsi opened the door. “Th-th-this,” he forced out, grimacing with effort. “W-w-war—”

“The Queen’s old room,” Marcsi smiled as she went straight in, checking the fire and pulling a pot from under the bed.

Joden put his armload of armor and weapons on the bed. Anna had given him tunic and trous to wear for sleeping.

Marcsi lit the candles on the mantle. “Sleep well, my lord,” she bowed out and closed the door behind her.

Joden sat on the bed with a sigh.

He knew this room, remembered it from the tour that Lara had given to Keir and his warriors. It felt like ages since then.

He glanced at the window. He remembered that it overlooked the city, and the fields and burial mounds beyond the walls. Where the dead had been standing.

He didn’t look out.

He set about preparing to sleep, grateful for the warmth of the fire, and the smaller bed. It was one of the huge soft ones that Simus had told him about. Not as comfortable as gurtle pads, but Joden was fairly certain he would fall asleep on a bed of rocks this night.

He organized his armor and put the weapons within reach. He stripped off the tunic and trous and slipped within the bedding. City-dwellers were still such puzzles. Imagine wearing clothes to bed.

He settled, and closed his eyes, feeling that he was missing something. He reached out next to him, thinking…

Amyu was not there.

He pulled his hand back. His bed was empty, and his chest ached.

Of course she wasn’t there. She’d been kind, getting him down off the mountain, and to Keir and Lara. Even kinder when she’d asked him to wait to go to the snows. So young to be so steadfast, not even a true warrior in the ways of the Plains. But in truth she was under no obligation to him, and what did he have to offer her?

He wasn’t even sure who he was anymore.

Joden rolled on his side, facing the fire.

Keir had listened, but he wasn’t sure Keir had believed. He could see the doubt in those eyes, and the flicker of hate at the mention of warrior-priests. He’d tried making it clear to him, that Simus was loyal, and that he supported Keir, but the words, the words would just not come.

Joden rubbed his face, feeling his frustration like a lump at the back of his throat. He owed it to Keir to stand with him. He needed to return to the Plains to find Essa. Even if his path to Singer was denied, even if he’d lost that chance, Essa needed to know what had happened.

Joden closed his eyes, and felt sick at the idea of trying to tell the Eldest Elder Singer his tale, stuttering and struggling for words that didn’t come.

Amyu was right. The snows could wait. He’d struggle through this, and then… well, he’d leave that to the elements.

But he hoped she’d find her airions. He hoped she’d fly.

Joden turned, and closed his eyes. He listened to the beat of his heart, the crackle of the fire, the sound of his breath. In and out and in… sleep finally came.

At least, until the dead called.

“Joden of the Hawk,” whispered an ancient voice. “Come to me.”