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.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Joden threw back the blankets, pausing only long enough to pull on the sleeping trous.
“Come,” the ancient voice called again.
He knew the halls from that tour long ago but even if he hadn’t the call made his path clear. The corridors were dim and silent. No torches burned, no guards barred his way.
The doors to the chapel were open, candles flickering at the base of the statue of the Xyian Goddess. The stone floor was cool beneath his feet, the room empty. Joden still thought it odd that they worshiped people in this way. The eyes of the stone woman seemed to follow him as he circled around it.
“Come.”
Past the statue was a flat surface for worship, and behind that a passage barred by an iron gate. It pushed open easily at Joden’s touch. White stone steps disappeared down into the darkness.
Joden started down.
It was colder here. He could see his breath. His skin prickled with a chill as he descended. There were no torches, no lanterns, but the stone itself glowed with a dim light.
Deeper he went, and the corridor branched off to his left and right. But the call was straight ahead and he continued, past stones engraved with writing he could not read. Another odd custom, not to return the flesh to the elements, but encase them in hard rock. He paused at one, running his fingers over letters seemingly freshly cut. Was this—?”
“Come.”
Joden dropped his hand and obeyed, going deeper within the mountain, following an urge he could not deny. Here the stone felt older, the carved letters worn, more symbols than words. Crowns, swords, horses, and airions that reared up, their wings spread wide.
The corridor narrowed, the walls rougher, the graves more frequent and the steps more worn in the center. Joden walked on until he reached a doorway, and stepped down into a round room with a domed ceiling. There was an elaborately carved stone box in the center, its side covered with robed figures, clearly weeping. On the ceiling, circling airions were carved.
Beyond the stone box, a man sat on a throne, formed from the very rock.
“Welcome, Joden of the Hawk.”
The voice had an empty, echoing quality to it. The man wore a kind of armor Joden had never seen. Pure metal that encased his entire body, with a helm that framed his face. On his lap, over his knees, was a sword of crystal glimmering blue.
“Do not think to disturb the others that sleep here, wise one. They will not rouse to your call.” The man had the same grayish light to him as did the surrounding stone.
“I do not seek to disturb them.” Joden stepped forward. “I do not seek—”
The warrior chuckled. “Such as you always seek.” His voice was a dark rumble against the stone. “It is your nature, your very breath.”
“Maybe,” Joden admitted, feeling his questions all start to pile up behind his tongue.
“A Seer, newly come into your power.” The man regarded him with flat eyes. “No control, no understanding. Who says the powers have no sense of humor?”