“She’s sick.” Those were the only words I could force out. The babe lay so limp in Marcus’s arms, her entire body flushed, as if burned by the sun. Isdra, breathing hard, held her cold, wet hands to Meara’s cheeks. “She’s on fire.”

“Lotus?” Marcus asked.

I shook my head. “Not for babes. Too dangerous.”

I’d brought the feeding cup, and Isdra filled it with water, trying to get her to drink. But the little lips were limp, and she did not swallow.

“Here, let me try.” Marcus switched Meara into Isdra’s arms. The wet tip of Isdra’s braid, Meara’s favorite toy, brushed against her cheek. Meara opened her eyes to look at Isdra. The woman warrior crooned to her. “You’ll be fine, little one.”

Meara closed her eyes, hiccuped and drew a last breath.

I knew, oh Goddess, I knew. One so small, so tiny. I reached out and grabbed Marcus’s arm as he lifted the feeding cup. He looked up startled, staring into my face as I shook my head, unable to speak the words. Then he knew as well, and the pain tore though him. “Skies, no.” He raised his head, and let out an anguished cry.

Isdra threw her head back as well, wailing to the skies.

An answering lament rose from the shore. The crowd that had gathered raised their voices as one, sending a mournful cry like I had never heard into the air. For all the warriors that had died, I’d seen no outward grief. But for a tiny baby of a Xyian village, these hardened warriors raised their voices in sorrow, tears in their eyes.

But the sight of Marcus’s head thrown back, his neck taut, his pain raw filled my soul with rage. I snatched Meara from Isdra’s arms and flipped her over, cradling her chest in one hand. “No, no, no.” I denied this was happening even as I slapped my hand down on her tiny back. This can’t happen, I won’t let it happen, Goddess, please, Skies, please.

I struck her again, and again, turning as Marcus reached to stop me, calling out to any power that would hear, begging—

Meara took a breath.

I froze as I felt the movement of her chest, holding my own breath as I waited for more, turning again to avoid Isdra, hoping—

Meara took another breath, and then my heart leapt as a cry, a wonderful, angry cry filled the air.

Isdra and Marcus were beside me, and helped me lift

Meara up onto my shoulder, crying and coughing and spitting her outrage.

Joyous voices rose from the beach, and we staggered back through the water, supporting each other. Many hands reached out to help us as we drew near, pulling us onto the shore, taking great care not to disturb the crying babe in my arms. As one, we sank to our knees, as those around us knelt as well. I lay my head on Isdra’s shoulder, crying, as Meara’s keening continued and the crowd swirled around us.

Meara was furious, her eyelashes thick and dark with tears. Someone handed us a drying cloth, and Isdra took the babe to get her dry. I reached to cradle her cold foot in the palm of my hand, trying to warm her perfect little toes, never so happy to hear a baby cry. With one arm around Isdra’s shoulders, I closed my eyes, and we rocked her gently. Just a babe, the last of her village, whose name I’d lost. The scent of lavender still lingered on her skin. So close, so very close.

What’s a babe, amidst all the dead about us? Yet all hovered about, enjoying the miracle of a child almost lost to us. I drew a ragged breath, wishing I could voice my joy. But I was so exhausted, all I could do was lean against Isdra, and try to stifle my sobs.

“So this is what comes, of being accursed.” Iften’s voice cut through my sorrow. He was standing there, outside the mourners, his hands on his hips. “This city-dweller’s filth threatens children.”

Marcus glared at him. “We are not accursed.”

“Cover yourself, cripple.” Iften’s lip curled in a sneer. “You offend the skies, and the very waters of this lake.”

I caught my breath, expecting an explosion. But Mar-cus flinched back, and sagged to the ground, flinging one arm up over his head.

“We are not accursed.” Isdra spat. “It is an illness, as the Warprize has said.”

There was a rustle in the crowd about us, and from nowhere a cloak appeared. Marcus grabbed for it, and was soon wrapped in its folds. He said nothing.

“As the Warprize has said.” Iften scoffed, pointing off in the distance to the smoke rising on the horizon. “Such a comfort, her brave words. But one less body to add to her tally, eh? One more she sickened so she could claim to have healed?”

Marcus struggled to his feet, but I grabbed his arm, holding him back. Isdra glared at Iften, clutching the babe to her shoulder.

“For myself, I will offer to the elements to protect what is left of this army. And leave you to your business.” Iften turned, and stalked off.

Marcus collapsed back onto the ground, and I leaned into him. He wrapped his arm around me, sharing his cloak. We sat in silence for long moments, the crowd about us quiet, as if in shock.

Warm hands touched mine and I turned my head to find Ortis kneeling next to me, that huge, lumbering man with the deep voice. His hands were a warm contrast to mine. “Joden is not here. May I do the honor?”

I didn’t know what he meant, but Marcus and Isdra both nodded, so I did too. Ortis sat back on his heels, and spoke. “The fire warms you.”

The crowd responded, their voice in such unison that it raised the hairs on the back of my neck. “We thank the elements.”

“The earth supports you.” Ortis said, his voice a bit louder and stronger.

“We thank the elements.”

“The waters sustain you.”

“We thank the elements.” I joined in, stumbling over the phrase.

“The air fills you.”

“We thank the elements.”

Ortis stood. “We thank the elements, for the life of this child and the power of the Warprize.”

A loud cry of triumph and thanks rose as people stood and somehow made their way to Isdra’s side, to touch the baby’s foot or cheek in farewell. There were no open smiles, but many faces filled with a quiet joy and tears. Many nodded to me as well, although I was too numb to appreciate it. When the crowd was down to just a few, Ortis spoke again. “You are exhausted, Warprize. Let us tend to her.”

“She needs to be upright, Ortis, and her lungs kept clear.” I looked up at him, my tears falling down my face.

Meara’s cries were softer now, and her coughing was mere hiccups. Isdra had her on her shoulder, patting her back gently. Someone provided a warm blanket and Marcus draped it over Meara carefully. My tears spilled as they worked, watching as Isdra made sure her tiny feet were well covered against the cold.

We stood, but when I reached for the babe Marcus put his hand on my arm. “No, Warprize.”

“You have been ill.” Ortis used the Xyian word. “Many hands will care for her, Warprize. It will raise our spirts to tend her.”

Isdra looked over at me, the bundle in her arms. “I’ll make sure she is cared for, Lara.”

I nodded, biting my lip, noting the lines of pain on her face. As she turned I managed to croak out her name, unable to voice my true fear. “Isdra?”

She stopped, but did not turn for a moment. Then she turned her head and gave me a grim smile. “I’ve given you my word, Lara.”

Marcus stood, and wrapped an arm around my shoulders as she and the others carried Meara away.

“Strip. You need to be out of those wet clothes.” Marcus urged me into the stilltent.

I was so numb it was all I could do to stand there. “You’re just as wet.”

Marcus chuffed at me. “I’ll send for clothes for both of us.” He stepped outside the tent for a moment, calling to someone. I managed to lift my hands to the collar of my tunic, but stopped there, unable to move. Marcus entered, and without a word lifted the tunic off and over my head. “The living need you, Warprize. More than the dead. You should return to the command tent. I’ve cleaned any trace of that fool.”