“I need to be here, Marcus.” I wanted the familiar surroundings of my medicines and herbs, more comforting by far. I shivered, and he pulled a blanket from my pallet and wrapped it around me. The rough blanket warmed quickly against my skin.

Without a word, Marcus reached under the blanket and pulled down my trous, then sat me down on a stump so that he could remove my boots. He didn’t give me time to be embarrassed, just matter-of-factly removed my wet things from around my feet. “Kavage. Kavage, soup and sleep. Best thing for you now.”

I clutched the blanket tight around me, knowing that his fussing covered his own exhaustion. “You’re tired too, Marcus.”

“I have not been ill.” Marcus pulled off my boot. “And have no plans to be, either. What will Hisself be thinking, if he sees you like this?”

Tears filled my eyes at the thought. He’d blame me for the babe, blame me for all of this and rightly so. “We should send word. Tell him what happened before someone else does.”

“I did, Warprize.” Marcus’s voice was soft. “He will be told.”

There was a noise at the tent entrance. Marcus intercepted whoever it was quickly. “Here now. Herself has rules about privacy, yes? Don’t come barging in without asking, eh?”

He returned with a bundle of clothes and hot kavage. He poured a cup for me, and placed a bowl of soup close at hand. He watched me take my first sip. I frowned at him, standing there in his leathers, soaked to the skin. “Change, Marcus.”

“Here?” He asked, oddly hesitant.

“ ‘Nothing there I’ve not seen before,’” I quoted to him.

He rolled his eye, and stripped off his tunic to reveal pale skin beneath. It struck me as odd, since all the other warriors, Keir included, were browned by the sun. Marcus was pure white, except were the healed burns mottled his skin. He was whipcord thin, the muscles taut. There were scars too, more than Keir had on his body. The scars of one who has seen many battles.

Marcus reached for his trous and I dropped my eyes. I stared into my kavage instead and tried not to think about anything. But all I could see were those tiny cold toes in the palm of my hand. It was hard to believe that she’d survived. I closed my eyes, and yawned again, my jaw cracking.

“Soup will have to wait.” Marcus pulled the kavage from my hand, and settled me down onto the pallet. I was so tired, so weary that it felt like the softest bed to my aching body. Marcus pulled up the bedding over me, tucking me in carefully.

I blinked up at him and protested even as my body sagged into the warmth of the bedding. “I should check the fever’s foe. And on Rafe, to see how he fares.”

“Rest, Warprize. I’ve been cooking many a year. I can watch a few pots. I’ll send for word on Rafe.”

I blinked at him, my eyes gritty. “But you’re tired too.”

“I’ll sleep as soon as Isdra returns.”

He moved a stump so that he could see the pots through the flap. I blinked a bit and yawned again. “Marcus?”

He turned almost all the way around so that he could see me.

“What does it mean? When you say ‘Beyond the snows’?”

He looked at me for a long moment, then turned back to look at the pots. I thought he wasn’t going to speak, but then he folded his arms over his chest. “We of the Plains believe that our dead travel with us, ride along beside us, unseen and unknown, but knowing and seeing. Not… not their bodies, you understand? Their—” He used a word I didn’t understand.

“Their spirits? Souls?” I asked. I used the Xyian words.

Marcus hesitated, then nodded. “Until the longest night, in the winter. You know this night?”

“Solstice.” I snuggled deeper into the blankets. “The shortest day, the longest night.”

“Just so. On that night, we mourn our dead, who are released to journey to the stars.”

I thought about that for a while. For us, the Solstice marked the Grand Wedding of the God and Goddess, the Lord of the Sun and Lady of the Moon and Stars. A long night of bright laughter and celebration. Our people were so different, in so many ways.

I yawned again, my ears popping with the effort. Marcus shifted on his seat, and the light caught his left side, where the ear had been burned away. “Marcus?”

He looked at me again, frowning. “Not yet asleep?”

“You’re not offensive, you know.”

For a moment, he was so sad, then he gave me a slight smile. “In your eyes, Lara. Sleep now.”

I nodded, and closed my eyes. “Please, Marcus, please tell me that in the morning, this will be over. That everything will be all right?”

There was a very long pause, and the despair rose in my throat. Then his voice came, quiet and low. “All I know for certain is that the sun will rise, Warprize. I can offer no more, and no less.”

Oddly enough, it was a comfort. I drew a breath and sought the peace of sleep.

I awoke at dawn when Gils showed up, looking tired and needing a fresh supply of fever’s foe. Yawning, I put my hair up and sent Prest for kavage and food for all of us. “When did you last eat?”

Gils blinked at me, and yawned. “I’s not sure, Warprize.” He dropped his satchel at his feet.

I pushed him down on my pallet. “Well, you are going to at least eat now. Tell me how things are going. And how does Rafe?”

He drew a deep breath, and started talking. First, with the good news that Rafe was doing well. Then he reported on the sick and the dying and those that were recovering. I puttered a bit, to keep my hands busy, arranging the contents of the tables, just listening to his voice get slower and softer. It didn’t take long. By the time Prest returned, Gils was fast asleep on my pallet, oblivious to the world around him.

Marcus entered with Prest, carrying food. He glanced at Gils and nodded as he set the kavage down. “Good for him, to get some rest.” Prest took his food outside, but Marcus handed me a mug of kavage, and a bowl of soup, and pointed to the stump. I sat, and started to eat, looking at Gils sleeping so soundly. He looked even younger, his tousled red curls falling about his face. My gaze wandered about the tent, coming to rest on the large basket under one of the tables.

Meara’s basket.

The soup in my mouth turned to ashes, and I choked it down as I remembered. How could I have forgotten?

Marcus followed my gaze, and sighed when he saw the basket. He reached under the table and pulled it out. “I should have said. She is fine, Warprize.”

“You were just as exhausted, Marcus.”

He grunted, pulling the blankets from the basket. “Eat something, then we will go and check on her.” His tone was gruff, but I noticed that he smiled gently as he folded and smoothed the small blankets as he removed them from the basket. A few pieces of dried lavender fell to the ground, and I gathered the dried flowers up, and held them to my nose. The scent was sweet, and I put them aside. We could use them to freshen the clean swaddles.

A noise made both Marcus and I look at the entrance. Prest was standing just inside the tent, his face grim.

“Prest?”

“You must come, Warprize.”

“Who’s—”

“The Warlord.”

Chapter 9

“Keir?”

My heart in my throat, I entered our sleeping area, blinking to adjust to the cool darkness within. Marcus had followed me, and he paused behind me as well, trying to catch his breath.

Keir was seated on the bed, head hanging down, bracing himself with his hands on his knees.

I jerked to a stop, my stomach clenching. Keir looked up, and gave me a weak smile, a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead and cheeks. I forced myself to slow my breathing, and calmly moved to sit next to him on the bed. My nose picked up the familiar stink and I placed my hand on Keir’s forehead. “How long?”

“Not long.” Keir answered.

“You think.” Marcus knelt and started to unlace Keir’s boot. He pulled off the boot with a jerk, letting Keir’s foot fall to the floor. “You’ve been working yourself ragged for days. Who’s to say how long?”