Free Warprize by Elizabeth Vaughan Page B

King.
    “We do not know this man’s intent… there have been no assurances of your safety or…” He paused. “
    Or of your status. My men and I will fight—”
    “And if you fight, Warren? What is the hope?” I asked.
    Warren shook his head. “I cannot tell. We are ill prepared for a siege. Water is not a problem, but food
    …” His voice trailed off.
    “There are the tunnels into the mountains.” A large, older man spoke up. I couldn’t place his name but knew he was one of the craftsmen on the council. “We can bring in supplies that way.”
    Warren shook his head. “The tunnels are old and rarely used. They are big enough for men to walk single file, but not for laden horses. We could not bring in enough food or supplies fast enough to feed a whole city.” He took a deep breath. ‘The Warlord’s men would need to build siege equipment. Winter comes on. There’s a good chance that we could hold out til the weather drives him back to the plains.“
    I moved back to the chair and sank into it. There was an odd kind of numbness in my brain. Voices were raised, as they debated again, but I couldn’t make out the words. I stared at Xymund’s back, but he did not turn. He simply looked out over the valley.
    I licked my dry lips again. “Warren?” My voice was little more then a whisper. It sounded strange to my ears.
    The arguing continued in the background as he knelt by my chair. I looked into his eyes. I saw his fear. His fear that I would not do this.
    “Will it be a true peace?”
    Warren nodded, his head close to mine. “Yes. The Warlord has kept his word to those he has taken. It is only where any have betrayed him that he has retaliated. When he is betrayed or defied, he is ruthless.”
    The old man bent his head.
    “I need…” I cleared my dry throat and looked down at my clasped hands. The knuckles were white. What I needed mattered no longer. I looked up and let my voice carry, cutting through the useless debate. “When is this to take place?”
    Xymund turned. “Sunset. The ceremony will be at sunset tomorrow.” He gestured toward the window, where dawn could be seen on the horizon. “Today.”
    I nodded. It took every bit of strength, but I managed to get to my feet. “The House of Xy has always seen to the needs of its people.” I took a deep breath. “I will be ready at sunset.”
    Everyone in the room but the King sank to their knees, removing helms and uncovering heads. I looked steadily at Xy-mund, who stared back at me, sullenly.
    I turned and walked toward the door on legs gone numb. Once in the hall, I moved without really seeing anything. Next thing I knew, I was in my room. I stood for a moment, looking at my belongings scattered about, at the fire that burned so cheerfully, at my books, and papers, and…
    I fell to my knees and managed to get to the chamber pot before retching up my supper. I heaved and panted over the pot for what seemed an endless time. The spice of the stew burned my lips. It occurred to me that it would be a long time before I could stomach the taste of Anna’s stew again. Then I realized that would not be a problem. My stomach cramped at the thought. My eyes closed, I tried to concentrate on my breathing instead of the wretched cramping of my gut. A slave. The heaving began again, although there was nothing left to purge. Sounds at my door, then hands pulled back my hair, and a cool cloth was on my neck. My breathing started to even out, and a cup of water was pressed to my lips. I took some water in, rinsed and spit. Supporting hands drew me up and away. It was Anna, who clutched me to her ample breast, making soft sounds, and rubbing my back with her hands. I buried my face in her neck and clung like a sick child. She smelled of bread, and grease, and home. Her big warm hands rubbed my back as she cradled me, both of us kneeling on the floor. My sobs eased as she hugged and rocked me. “You cannot do this thing,” she whispered into my ear.