Page 66 of Prize of the Warlord
Joss is waiting for us at the inn, tense and tight-lipped. She stayed in Hoenfel to question the guards on duty last night, and by the time we arrive she seems to have pieced together some of what happened. She’s holding the Warlord’s clothing and weapons from the ice-house. Apparently he came skulking around with only a couple of knives for defense, the big idiot.
When she hears the full tale of what happened, she rolls her eyes. “Love? Really? And you believe him, Father?”
“You didn’t see the way the man looked, Joss,” my father says. “The way he toted her back to us, gave her up for her own good—”
“NowthatI would have liked to see—Ixiana flailing on his shoulder while he brought her to you.” Joss allows herself a tiny smirk. Then she whirls on me. “You should have woken me last night. I could have helped you.”
“You would have let him die,” I snap.
Her lips compress, a wordless confession.
“We’ll sort it out this afternoon,” my father says. “Your mother will be back by then, and Cronan is coming down to Hoenfel with his sister and some warriors, for food and negotiations. Joss, tell the kitchens to prepare a feast, the finest they can muster on such short notice.”
“Since when did I become your rutting messenger?” Joss mumbles as she stomps away.
When my mother returns with her handful of accompanying guards, her eyes have that rageful flaming look, the one we’ve all learned to respect.
“That pompous little cockatrice!” she spits, swinging off the horse. “If I never have to see that self-indulgent ass-wipe again it will be too soon.”
“Hello, my love,” my father says. “I take it your meeting with Prince Havil went well?”
My mother stalks right past him, toward me. “You!” She jabs her gloved finger at me. “You took my favorite horse, Ixiana.”
“Because she’s nice, and strong, and fast, like you.” Giving her my most charming smile, I retreat a few steps. “What did Havil tell you?”
“I’m more interested in your side of things.” She plants both fists on her hips. “Explain. Now.”
70
I explain as quickly as I can, and my father takes over once I reach the part about him and Cronan talking by the road. He explains the idea he and the Warlord are working on—a partnership between our peoples.
“So you wantoneclan of thieves and murderers to help us defend against theotherclans, and possibly bargain with them?” my mother snaps.
“Essentially, yes.” My father smiles, wide and apologetic. “Come, Marisa, you know the alliance with Havil’s kingdom wasn’t working. It hasn’t been, for months now. Haven’t you told me yourself a dozen times that you weren’t sure about Ixiana’s marriage to him? And that was before we saw his true colors.”
“That doesn’t mean I feel any better about her marrying a brigand of the North!” shouts my mother. “For the gods’ sake, Paltrin, have you lost your mind?”
“Yesterday evening I felt as you did, Marisa,” my father says, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “But if you’d seen the man—the way he looked—”
“Cronan respects me in a way Havil never did,” I interrupt. “He protects me, but he also pushes me to be better, stronger. I can’t say it any other way than this—he’s mine, and he was meant to be mine, always.”
My mother’s nostrils are still flared, her eyes still blazing, but her fists relax. My father nods to me, easing backward and moving away, allowing me and my mother to speak alone.
Leaving the guards to tend the horses, she and I walk along the main street of Hoenfel. It’s nearly noon, and the sunshine has warmed the air so much that we remove our cloaks and carry them. I tell my mother some of what I omitted before—how the Warlord made me feel, and how we touched each other, body and soul. I tell her more of his past and his pain, his nobility and his penchant for self-sacrifice.
We reach the end of the village and walk farther, between cottages and farms, to the foot of the mountain road. And my mother tells me of her first meeting with my father, how she despised him before uncovering his true worth. She blushes as she speaks of it, and I know she is starting to remember, and to understand.
We’re sitting side by side on the low wall of a pasture when figures appear in the distance, coming down the mountain road. My heart shivers with delight, and I press a hand to my stomach. “I’m still covered in his blood,” I murmur. “I should wash, and change.”
My mother chuckles softly. “Very well.”
We rise and walk back toward the inn, at a quicker pace this time.
“There is something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” I say. “Why did you reject Cronan’s first offer of ransom?”
“He asked for far more than we could give, my love,” she answers. “It killed us to say no, but we thought perhaps we could find you on our own and rescue you without having to pay him. We sent out a dozen search parties into the Bloodsalt and the forest beyond, but they came back empty-handed, and a few soldiers died. So when we received the second demand, which was far more reasonable, of course we accepted it.” She reaches over and takes my hand. “We didn’t handle it well. I know that. We had Prince Havil speaking in our ears, and neither your father nor I had ever dealt with such a situation before. Our timing and our decisions could have put you in more danger, and for that, I am bitterly sorry, my sweet girl.”
“Lucky for you I was in good hands after all.”
