I frowned. What was an ‘ehat’?
“The man gave insult to the warprize,” Keir responded. “He called her a whore.” He used the Xyian word.
“Eh?” Marcus was bringing in food. “What’s that?”
I took a long drink of kavage as Keir explained. How did they not have a word for that? What did that mean about these people? That any were free to lay with all? That seemed so barbaric.
“They sell it?” Marcus looked slightly ill, then moved away, muttering something about water for bathing.
Simus said nothing, merely drinking from his kavage.
Keir sighed, and sat down on the corner of the bed nearest Simus. “I knew I’d made a mistake even as he slid off my blade.”
Simus remained quiet.
“How can I ask my warriors to change their ways when I couldn’t change mine in that instant?” Keir ran a hand through his hair.
“Change is easy to talk of, hard to do.” Simus’s voice dropped, his eyes serious. “You tell them the truth, of course.”
Marcus came in with two buckets, and disappeared into the privy area.
“You tell them that you regret his death, but that all must take heed from this incident.”
“He’s not dead,” I spoke up. “The last we heard, he still lived.”
“He did?” Simus asked, then let his eyes slide over to Keir. “Losing your touch?”
A cry of outrage filled the tent. I grabbed at the blanket, as Keir stood, sword in hand. Simus had two daggers that appeared from nowhere. I looked at the privy entrance, to see Marcus standing there, waving my underthings in his fist and shaking them in the air. “Where did the likes of these come from?”
I jumped up and grabbed for them, but that scarred little man dodged me. “Those are mine!” I made another attempt, darting around the bed. Simus roared out his laughter and Keir got out of the way.
Marcus danced away again. “The Warprize accepts nothing, except at the hand of the Warlord!” His face was bright red, the scarring a dull white against it.
“Give me those!” I went after him again and this time managed to wrestle the cloth from his hand. Flushed and breathless, I shoved them behind my back and faced down Marcus, toe to toe. “You have no business—”
“Nothing, except at the hand of the Warlord!” Marcus roared out, spittle flying from his mouth.
“You bragnect! I bought them with his coin!”
Marcus blinked. Apparently it was an effective curse in their language, since it seemed to leave him speechless. His recovery was quick. “Could have asked Hisself or 1.”
I rolled my eyes, just imagining that conversation.
“No more than she could tell us about the dress, apparently.”
My turn to lose my tongue. Keir’s tone was mild, but his look sharp. Simus was watchful, his two daggers gone, and the kavage back in his hand. “Tell us, Warprize. Tell us what you did not tell us yesterday.”
Marcus scowled, eye darting between the two of us. “Dress? What was wrong with the dress?”
“We don’t have cloth like yours, with the colors so strong, so bright.” I ran my free hand through my hair, pulling it back.
Marcus snorted. “City folk all dress like drab, dull geese, waddling about, squawking at—”
Keir had seated himself at the table and was filling his plate. “They acted as if I had branded you, marked you somehow.” He tilted his head. “Did I?”
Marcus snorted, turning to Keir. I took the opportunity to tuck my underthings under one of the pillows on the bed. “It’s a fine dress, the color of flame, it honored her. How is that a problem?”
“For us, it is an honor.” He pinned me with his eyes. “For you?”
