Keir drew a deep breath. “Our dead ride with us until the snows, but the living carry burdens of pain and sorrow. As the day of our departure grows closer, I would call for a mourning ceremony, for we have much to grieve. Joden, I would ask that you plan the ceremony, and sing for our dead.”

Joden sat, hands on his knees, his head bowed. I swallowed hard at the sight.

Keir leaned forward. “This has nothing to do with what lies between us, Joden. Only with singing the dead on their way.”

We sat in silence for what seemed like forever before Joden spoke without lifting his head. “There are many dead to sing for.”

“There are.” Keir’s voice was quiet but firm.

There was another long silence as Joden studied his feet. I shifted on my stump. “Will there be a pattern dance?” I’d loved the patterns I’d seen danced before. But even before the words left my lips, I realized it was a foolish question. Pattern dances were so full of joy, they’d have no place at a funeral.

“No, Warprize.” Keir spoke softly, confirming my thoughts. “There is a special grieving ceremony.”

“It seems the only songs I know are laments.” Joden sighed, and nodded. “I will sing. We will mourn.”

“My thanks, Singer.” Keir dismissed them, and stood with me as they left the tent. Joden left as well, never once looking at Keir. I could see that he was a man torn between duty and friendship and I wished that I could help him somehow. Keir said that he must make his own decisions, but maybe if I talked to him privately.

I bit my lip at that thought. I’d confided in Joden, as a friend, confided all my doubts and fears. The details of the conversation flashed through my head. Would he use that information against me? A knot formed in the pit of my stomach at the idea that he would. My imagination gave way to a delightful tune about the complaints of the city-dwelling Warprize. Unobtrusively, I slipped my hand into Keir’s. He grasped it in a tight grip, his fingers warm in mine.

Yers lingered, and once the others were gone, approached us. “Warprize, I would ask for your token.”

Startled, I fumbled in my bag for a jar. “You hold my token, Yers. What truths would you voice?”

Yers held the jar in both hands, rubbing his thumb over the surface. He didn’t look me in the eye. “Warprize, I want to make sure that you bear me no grudge for giving Gils mercy.”

My throat closed, and my eyes stung with tears.

Marcus came to stand beside me. “He would not let me do it, Lara. For fear that you would hate me.”

Keir gripped my hand, and I drew enough comfort to speak the ritual words. “I will answer to your truth.”

Yers held the jar out to me, a gesture of trust. I took it back from him, and used the fumbling to replace it in my bag to clear my throat and my thoughts. When I felt I could speak, I looked him in the eye. “Yers, you did the right thing. Once he went into convulsions, I,” I had to bite my lip and stop for a moment, “I could do nothing but wait for the end.” I gave him a weak smile. “At the time, I confess I was angry and upset. I do not give up easily. You were right to act.”

Yers nodded. “I am pleased to hear it, Warprize, for I would have no ill will between us. I thank you for your truth.” He gave Keir a nod, and left the tent.

“That was well done, Warprize.” Marcus started to clear the various mugs that had been used, and any remaining dishes. “I’ve some of that stew left, and I think I will take it to Tsor’s tent. He looks to need fattening up. While I’m about it, I’ll check on Meara as well.”

Keir sighed. “I should walk the tents.”

I turned slightly, and shook my head. “I think not, Warlord. I have a different task for you this night.”

Marcus snorted, and left.

Keir raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what is this task, Warprize?”

“One that requires your complete attention, my Warlord.” I stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat of his body. Close enough that he could smell the vanilla I’d put on the back of my neck. I watched, pleased, as his nostrils flared.

He arched one eyebrow, and I could see the humor lurking in his eyes. “Perhaps I can assign this task to one of my warriors?”

“No, my Warlord.” I reached out to take his hand, and entwined our fingers together. I smiled, took a step toward our sleeping area, and tugged on his hand.

“Are you certain?” Keir pulled me so that my back was pressed to his chest. His arm wrapped around my waist and held me close. He nuzzled my neck and I titled my head so that he could reach the tender spot on my neck, just under my ear. He chuckled softly. “Perhaps I should order Prest to—”

With an exasperated snort, I turned in his arms and kissed him, winding my arm around his neck, pulling him down so that I could claim his mouth. I pulled back, to see that the hint of humor was still there, a sparkle in the depths of the blue, but it faded to be replaced by an emotion that I recognized in a heartbeat.

Wonder, that we lived.

Guilt, that we had survived.

He raised his hand to brush my hair back, and then curled his fingers around the back of my neck. I shivered at his touch, as he pulled me close and kissed me again. It was long, slow, and sweet. I wrapped my arms around him, and leaned into his warmth.

He broke the kiss, and buried his face in my hair, letting his lips brush my ear. “Or maybe Rafe would—”

I stiffened, even as he chuckled. With a slight turn of my head, I gently licked his earlobe, then bit down.

He jerked, breathing hard. “Ah. Perhaps not.”

I laughed.

Keir smiled, and swung me up into his arms.

“Keir,” I protested, knowing that he wasn’t yet fully re-covered. But he ignored me, carrying me into our sleeping area to place me on my feet at the end of our bed. Even that had been an effort. I could feel the barest tremble in the muscles of his arms. I stilled his hands at his side. “Let me.”

He sighed in contentment as I started to unlace his leathers. Keir had insisted that he be armored for the senel, but had left it to just his black leathers. I took my time, nuzzling his face and neck as my fingers slowly exposed his skin. He was such a contrast, the hard muscles of his arms, the calluses on his hands, the soft skin of his stomach. There were scars, but they were as much a part of him as anything else, and I explored it all, with fingers and lips.

With a groan, he stopped me, and with a few quick movements he had me naked and on the bed.

“Keir,” I hadn’t finished, he was still half dressed, but he silenced me with his mouth and did his own exploration, using his hands to touch every inch of my skin. There was an urgency there, a desperation that I answered, moving under him, hungry for more.

I cried out when he moved away, but he only stood to strip away his trous, then he was back in my arms. I’d thought our loving would be long and slow, but the fire between us flared bright and wild. He entered me hard and hot and we never paused, urging each other on and on, striving until we both cried out, shattering into a thousand bright pieces of pleasure.

Keir rolled to his side, pulling me with him, keeping our bodies pressed tight together. We lay quiet, until our breathing eased. My whole body tingled, heated where his skin touched mine, cooled were the air caressed my exposed skin.

Keir stroked my back and it was my turn to sigh in contentment as he nuzzled my ear. His hand traveled down my back to rest lightly on my ribs. “You lost flesh.”

“You as well,” I whispered. I moved my hand over his ribs. “It will return, as we heal.” I looked at him through my lashes. “Although some heal faster than others.”

Keir gave me a sly smile. “I save my strength for the important things.”

I laughed, breathless with delight at his teasing.

“You light from within when you laugh, Lara.” He stroked my face as I blushed. “I’ve missed that.”