Iften looked sour. As far as I knew, he hadn’t learned the game, which came as no surprise. I was also not surprised to see that he was holding his sword arm at an odd angle against his chest, as if protecting it. I narrowed my eyes, trying to see how bad the swelling had become. Iften caught me at it, and gave me such a glare as might curl my toes if I cared for his opinion.
Keir released the senel, and all rose to mill about. Iften and Wesren were talking with Uzaina. Others lingered to speak with Keir, and I used the opportunity to talk to Jo-den. He gave me a grave look as I moved closer, his broad face troubled.
“I wanted to thank you, Joden. For—”
He interrupted me with a gesture. “I am not so sure I did you any favors, Warprize.”
“But—”
“Had Iften challenged Keir, I would not have interfered. I am not sure I was right to stop Isdra, either.” He looked away. “All I’ve done is delay these matters until we are before the Elders.”
“But Keir will be able to speak for himself. And you will support him.”
Joden didn’t meet my gaze.
“Joden?” I asked, suddenly aware of a change in my friend.
He looked at me, his normal serenity gone. “I will not support Keir before the Elders, Warprize. I will speak against him.”
“Against him? A—a-against me?” Stunned, I could barely get the words out.
His face softened. “No, Lara, not against you. But,” he looked out over the area, as if gathering his thoughts. “It seems like a lifetime has passed since I crouched at Simus’s side and saw to his wound. Tradition demanded that I grant mercy, to prevent his suffering and evade capture.”
“But you didn’t kill him.”
“No,” He turned then to look me in the eye, his gaze filled with pain. “I tried to bind his wound, and we were captured.”
“Which brought Simus under my care, and to my meeting Keir.” I smiled. “We should thank you for that, Joden.”
“Would you thank me for these deaths as well?”
His question sucked the very breath from my body. “Joden…”
“You saved the life of my friend,” Joden continued, his voice cracking. “You became the Warprize, bringing gifts of your knowledge. But all I see as a result is death. Ugly, dishonorable death.”
“You blame me.” I whispered.
Haunted eyes looked into mine. “You are a gentle, caring soul, Xylara. I can lay no blame on you.” His face hardened and his hands formed fists. “I blame Keir’s ideas of combining our peoples and their ways. What happened here speaks to me of the dangers of his leadership.”
I swallowed hard. What had happened here… I blinked back tears.
“What can I say to you, Lara?” Joden’s voice, his lovely voice cracked. “You gave me hope when you saved the life of Simus, and more hope when I understood your willingness to sacrifice yourself for your people.”
“But now my people lie dead, and the smoke rises to the skies. Precious lives have been lost, and I can’t but think they are lost because Keir is trying to go against the elements themselves.”
Joden shook his head. “Keir asks that you become of the Plains, and demands that we be of Xy. No good has, or will, come of it.” Joden took a breath. “My decision is made. Excuse me, Warpr—” He stopped himself. “Excuse me, Xylara. I must tell the Warlord of my truths.” Joden’s voice was soft, but he turned and left me without another word.
I returned to my stilltent to find Isdra sitting inside, reworking the leather on the handle of Epor’s warclub. Her hands stroked the smooth leather, as if it was precious.
With leaden steps, I moved to stir the coals in one of the small braziers, adding fuel, losing myself in the task of warming kavage. I said nothing, and Isdra was silent as well, both of us lost in memories of a golden-haired man with a ready smile.
I dropped on a stump and watched the pot, numb and tired. For just a few moments, the only thing I wanted to think about was kavage. Not sickness, or challenges, or failure…
Or death.
Isdra finished the wrapping and secured the ends of the leather strip. She sat for a moment, her hands resting lightly on the weapon in her lap.
Isdra quietly started to cry.
I knelt beside her, leaned my head against her arm, and offered what comfort I could.
The rattle of the pot forced my attention back to the world around us. I poured kavage as Isdra wiped her face. She took the mug I offered, and we drank in silence.
I broke the silence. “The other day, Marcus told me ‘the sun will rise. I can offer no more, and no less’.”
“It should not.” Isdra whispered, staring into her kavage. “It should hide itself in sorrow and mourn.” She lifted her head to gaze at me. “My life is broken, yet the world goes on around me. As if it had never happened. As if he had never been.” She drew a stuttering breath. “Never to hear his voice again, or feel his touch. Not until I—”
I looked down at my hands, suddenly ashamed of what I had asked of her. “Isdra, I don’t know what to say. You are a warrior, and my guardian, and my friend.” My voice hitched, and tears welled up. “I don’t want to lose you too.”
She sat silent.
“Besides,” I tried to smile. “Who will raise Meara? Or the babe I hope to have? Who will teach them in the ways of the Plains besides you, Isdra?” I put my hand over hers. “My babe will be a child of both worlds and will need guidance in all ways.” I hadn’t thought of that before, but it was true. Any child I bore would need a thea. In my mind, I could see Anna and Isdra arguing over some point of child-rearing in the castle nursery.
Isdra’s hand moved to clasp mine. “There is that, Lara.” Her face darkened. “And my Epor to avenge.” She looked off, her eyes distant. “But there are many sunsets between now and then. Many long moments of—” she cut her words off and stood, her face taut with sorrow. “I would take my leave, Warprize.”
I stood, and watched her take up her position outside by the fire, then I turned listlessly to plop down on a stump, facing the tables with their various bottles and jars. The kavage was bitter in my mouth. But the ache in my chest grew until the grief and the guilt welled up, and fat tears started to fall, hard and fast.
I moved, pulled the flaps down and tied them closed. I had enough sense to wrap a strip of bells in one of the ties. I wanted no visitors, well or ill.
Stumbling, I crossed to the stump furthest from the door, and sat down. Through my tears, I reached for some cloths and buried my face in them. I didn’t want anyone to hear, or know. The material stifled my sobs, and I let go, releasing all the pain. I hunched over as my shoulders shook, and I cried.
I wanted Anna, wanted home, wanted Father. It was a true pain, deep in my chest, the longing to ran home. I should never have left those safe walls, never stumbled out on the road after Keir. It was all my fault, all of it, and the pain of that truth cramped my heart and closed my throat.
I pulled the cloths back just enough to suck in a deep breath, rocking a bit to ease my anguish. But the pain and horror of Epor’s final breath wouldn’t let me go, and I pressed the damp cloths against my face and moaned.
Why had I insisted that I enter the village? Why had I let Epor and Isdra go with me? My arrogance was to blame, for his death and all the others that lay burning in the ashes of the village.
It seemed as if nothing was right. Everything was tinged with a deep blackness, and I could see no hope. There was despair everywhere I looked, or turned my head, and nothing I could do would solve anything. In fact, my actions seemed only to make things worse.
Meara, that sweet child, almost lost to us in a breath, her cold toes in the palm of my hand. Gils, oh, Gils, had I ever told him how proud I was of him? He’d collapsed at my feet, convulsing helplessly, and nothing in my power could save him. Oh, they’d been right to grant mercy, and maybe that was the only cure for my pain, for I knew of no other way to end my sorrow and grief.