Free Warcry by Elizabeth Vaughan Page B

URGED HIS HORSE TO A FAST PACE, AND Atira followed close behind. There was no chance to talk. Or rather, Heath made sure there was no chance.
    They made good time and arrived just as the camp was breaking their fast. Heath stood before them all, told them the news, and explained what it meant. Lara nodded at Othur’s advice, and Keir glowered as she explained her plans for her entry into the city.
    Lara excused herself to change. The rest of the warriors started dressing then, suiting up with their best armor and weapons. Heath was fairly certain they’d taken time to polish everything the night before. While nothing really matched, they looked exactly what they were. Dangerous.
    He’d done the same, taking out the items that he had retrieved from his room in the castle. As he dressed, he avoided looking at Atira, who was making her own preparations. But he was conscious of her every move and felt her gaze on him more than once.
    Once they were ready, they broke camp, getting everything packed and loaded except for the Warprize’s tent. Keir emerged first, looking damned impressive all in black, his two swords strapped to his back.
    Rafe and Prest were bringing up the horses when Lara emerged from the tent. “Do you think this will make enough of an impression?” Lara asked.
    Heath gaped at her.
    She’d piled her hair up on her head, emphasizing the golden ear-spiral woven along the edge of her ear with tiny beads and crystals. But that wasn’t all.
    The dress she was wearing was white, of the same fabric as the sheath in which she’d surrendered herself to the Warlord. But the fabric clung, and tucked up under her belly in a way that was almost obscene by Xyian standards.
    Hell with almost . It was obscene. Heath had to avert his gaze. “Yes,” he gulped.
    “Good enough.” Lara smiled as Keir draped a cloak around her. “It looks like you were planning on making an impression as well.”
    Heath smoothed down his Guard tabard of dark blue with silver trim, the one that he’d taken from his room. He’d slung his signal horn over his chest, with its blue ribbon and gold tassel. “You need to be heralded into the city. Who better?”
    “So, shall we ride?” Marcus growled. He was wrapped in his cloak, the hood well up. “The tent is down. All is in readiness. Or are we all just going to stand around, admiring one another all day?”
    Keir growled, his blue eyes flashing.
    Everyone paused.
    “Stop that.” Lara turned and drew as close as her belly would allow, her hands on his chest. “I left Xy on foot, following my Warlord, wearing nothing but a white sheath. I return to Xy with my Warlord, bearing the heir to the throne. It’s important that I walk back through those gates proud, triumphant, and on display for my people.”
    Keir grumbled something under his breath.
    “I will be in your arms until the walls. On foot, I will be well guarded. Heath will lead the way, and you’ll be right behind.” Lara shook her head. “All will be well, flame of my heart.”
    She reached down then, to lift his gloved hands with hers. She brought them up, palm to palm, and then intertwined her fingers with his, whispering something no one else could hear.
    Keir sighed, then drew his Warprize close in a gentle embrace. Heath looked away as they kissed.
    That was what he wanted most. Something like Lara and Keir had . . . like what his parents had. A lifetime promise to stand together, sharing the pains and joys, the triumphs and sorrows that came.
    His gaze fell on Atira.
    She looked even lovelier, if that was possible. She’d tied her hair up, letting the ends fall free down her back. Her armor was all of a reddish-brown leather that gleamed in the light.
    She returned his look calmly, her eyes intent and serious.
    “I do not understand,” Amyu said quietly beside him. “Why does the Warprize think this is so powerful an image?”
    “Xyian women withdraw from public view as they near the end of a pregnancy,”