It was during the discussion on taxes and tithes that I got my first indication that I had support. Lord Warren stood and held up a hand. “I believe that Xylara is right. If she claims the title of Warprize, it will bring more good than harm to the Kingdom of Xy.” Warren looked around the room, then focused on Othur. “I’ve dealt with the Warlord first hand, and I know that he is a man on whom we can depend. I say that we should support the Daughter of Xy in her decision.” He took a seat as the members of the council talked among themselves.
Masterweaver Meris popped up. “The merchants support this decision as well.” She popped back down. Thank the Goddess for mercantile instincts. We weren’t going to have to debate the benefits of expanded trade. The way Meris kept eyeing Simus, I’d had no doubt she’d support me.
“Well, I’m against it.” The Archbishop rose ponderously from his chair. “We are talking about binding a Daughter of Xy to little more than a barbarian, and a heathen barbarian at that. Goddess forbid.”
Having anticipated this argument, I rose from my chair. “Perhaps now would be a good time to speak privately and refresh ourselves.”
The servants brought in fresh drinks and offered mugs of soup and warm bread. I circled the room, talking to each councilor for a moment, smiling at each one, and made sure that I ended up at the side of the Archbishop. Deacon Brow-dus stood at his side. “Devoted One.” I sat next to him. “May I speak with you privately?”
“Of course, Daughter of Xy.” The Archbishop lowered himself in the chair next to me, adjusting his robes. Deacon Browdus took up his usual position, just behind the Archbishop, a stern frown on his face.
“Devoted One, before we go much further with our council, I feel that I must draw your attention to the sleeping arrangements while I was in the Warlord’s camp.”
“Sleeping arrangements?” Drizen’s voice lowered to a whisper. “Where did you sleep?”
I waited until he was mid-sip with his tea. “In the Warlord’s bed, Devoted One.”
He choked on the tea, splattering his vestments. Wide-eyed, he waved off the Deacon’s assistance, and mopped at his robes with a cloth. “Child, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that while in the camp of the Warlord, I slept in the Warlord’s bed, Devoted One.”
“Oh, my poor child.” His face flushed.
“Devoted One, I have wished to discuss this matter with you, for it troubles me greatly.”
“Child, I—” Archbishop Drizen shifted in his chair as his face grew redder. “There’s no need to share the details—”
“My thanks for your willingness to spare me, Devoted One, but I feel that you must know the truth.”
“T-truth?” Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead as he set down his tea, and let his eyes dart around the room, searching for an escape.
“I am no longer a virgin, Devoted One.” I took a sip of tea to give him time to absorb the information.
“Really?” he squeaked. Deacon Browdus’s face was pinched up and his eyes were bugged out.
“Yes, Devoted One.” I looked him straight in the eye. “A foreign prince might have a problem accepting that.”
The poor man blushed deeper. “T’m certain that allowances would be made, Daughter of Xy.”
“Alas, Devoted One, not everyone is as forgiving as you.” Since during the last sermon I attended he had discussed that very point in great detail, I was sure he’d see it as a difficulty.
“It could pose a problem, my child.” He sucked in air, and let it out slowly. “I’m encouraged that the Warlord seems to respect our traditions.”
I inclined my head. “During my short time with his people, it seemed that they were tolerant of our beliefs.
” I rose from my chair. “My thanks, Devoted One. Your words have brought me comfort.”
He looked relieved and confused at the same time. “You are always welcome to confide in me, Xylara.”
I moved toward the window, anxious to check that Keir was still here. Simus had assured me that he wouldn’t move any earlier than stated, but my heart feared otherwise. A quick glance out the window told me that they were making preparations, but they were still there.
Othur moved up next to me, mug in hand. We stood for a moment in uncomfortable silence. “Othur—”
“Lara—”
We both chuckled, but Othur shook his head when I tried to speak. “No. Me first.” He lifted a hand to tug on one of my curls. “You are like a daughter to Anna and me, Lara. Don’t fault us for wanting to protect you.”
Tears filled my eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you,” I whispered.
