Free Warprize by Elizabeth Vaughan

need all that I had on hand, and more. The lotions and perfumes could wait awhile.
    Hours later the braziers were hot and the mixtures brewing. Water and willow bark were in one kettle boiling down to make fever’s foe. Another pot held the ingredients for the scar mixture, once I’d filched goats’ milk from the larder. As I stirred some of the orchid root mixture, I heard horns blowing. I stopped, listening, but they did not repeat. The Warlord must be leaving out the main gates. If that was the case, they’d been at it a long time. I breathed a silent prayer to the Goddess that things had gone well. Xymund’s pride had caused him to do foolish things in the past. But Lord Marshall Warren was a good man. I hoped he would see the wisdom to peace.
    The bubbling pots and the homey smells relaxed me in a way that nothing else could. While I enjoy caring for people, this was a small pleasure of my trade, brewing elixirs that would ease pain and restore health. The closest I’d ever come to magic, that was certain. It gave me a true sense of being needed and a real feeling of accomplishment.
    I was yawning madly by the time the orchid root was ready to be poured into the small bottles that I had prepared. Moving carefully, I filled each to the neck and stoppered them loosely. The corks could be tightened once the bottles were fully cooled. The last thing was the fever’s foe. The paste had to be spooned into small jars and sealed with wax. I put the wax to melt, and started to work. It seemed to take forever, but eventually I was perched on my stool, pouring the sealing wax over the last of the jars.
    A knock came at the door, and Othur entered. He looked tired as well, with bags under his eyes. I smiled at him as I set down the wax pot. He stood there, rubbed his face with both hands and sighed.
    “Long night?” I blew out the flame and gathered up a few of the jars to move to the storage shelves behind me.
    Othur nodded. “The King talked alone with the Warlord for hours and has been closeted with the Council ever since. They’ve been at it, hammer and tongs, for some time. They’ve sent for you.”
    I put down the last jar, and turned. “Me?” I blinked at him owlishly, surprised. “Why?”
    There was a bitterness in his eyes as he shrugged. “I don’t know. But he wants to see you now.” My father had allowed Othur in all the councils and his opinion had been asked for and taken seriously. Xymund had removed the privilege when he’d taken the throne. Yet another reason for Anna to dislike him so.
    I quickly finished cleaning the work area, and blew out the rest of the lamps and candles. Othur stood to one side and held the door. I slipped past him, smoothing down the front of my jerkin as I went. There were wax droplets and other stains, not to mention the smell, but the council was just going to have to settle for my work clothes if they wanted a status report about the prisoners at this hour. My jaw cracked in a yawn as I followed Othur through the back halls.
    We arrived at the doors only to hear a heated argument going on inside. Othur and I exchanged looks, but made no comment. It did seem to me that Xymund spent more time arguing with his advisors instead of listening.
    The guard nodded and opened the door to let me in. The conversation stopped abruptly as the door swung open.
    Once again I found myself kneeling before my brother. But when I was granted permission to rise, Xymund was standing looking out the window. He was in formal dress, standing stiff and straight in front of the huge window. His hands were clenched behind his back. I glanced around. It seemed that the entire council was crowded about the room. Lord Marshall Warren was there, along with Archbishop Drizen. Drizen was seated by the hearth and dressed in formal vestments, with Deacon Browdus beside him. Everyone looked tired and worn. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught side glances being exchanged. There was a tension, as if