The figure fled through the gates. Gloriana made as if to follow.
“No,” Bethral commanded.
Gloriana stopped, breathing hard, her sword at her side. “But—”
“No.” Bethral slid from the saddle. “You don’t know—there might be an ambush waiting.”
Gloriana swallowed hard as she tried to pull herself together. “I was praying to the Lord and Lady . . . where did you come from?”
“Explanation will have to wait.” Ezren knelt again. “Oris and Alad need healers.”
“Where in the name of all the hells are your guards?” Bethral demanded.
Gloriana looked down. “I didn’t raise an alarm. I need to explain—”
Ezren didn’t like the sound of that. But he looked down at a touch on his arm. “Lord Ezren? Is that really you?” Oris lifted his head, his eyes dazed and distant. “We thought you dead.”
Ezren put a hand in the middle of Oris’s back. “Stay still man, until we can get help.”
“Guards!” Bethral had dismounted, and was pounding on the doors into the castle proper. Whatever objection Gloriana had was being ignored, apparently. Guardsmen spilled into the courtyard, weapons at the ready.
Gloriana hurried toward Ezren. “I never thought to see you again. Where have you been?”
“Later.” Ezren wadded up some of Alad’s tunic and pressed it to his side to stanch the bleeding.
“I want to hear that tale,” Oris said.
“No fear,” Ezren said. “I will tell the tale at our wedding feast.” He looked at Bethral, who was snapping commands to all and sundry.
Bethral paused, as if sensing his gaze. She returned his look, a smile dancing on her lips, before she resumed issuing sharp orders to the guards.
“About time,” Oris grumbled. “You two were as thick as stumps about your feelings for one another.”
Gloriana snorted out a surprised laugh as she knelt at his side. “Oris!”
“Well, it’s true,” Oris said. “And you! Where did you learn such language, young lady?”
Gloriana choked back a sob that turned into a laugh. “Alad.”
“I never!” Alad protested.
The guards were gathering around, and lifted the men into their arms. “To the healers, and quickly,” Gloriana ordered, and they left at a run.
Ezren turned to Queen Gloriana, who stood looking after her men, blood dripping from her sword. “What happened here?”
Gloriana sighed. “A long tale. But it—”
“Can wait,” Bethral insisted, looking at the guards that were dealing with the dead. “Let’s see to your safety first.”
“This way,” Gloriana said. “One of these men can see to your horse. Once we’re in my chambers, I’ll tell you all about it. But you must tell me your story as well.”
“Of course,” Ezren said, but then he stopped dead. “Lord of Light, I do not know what happened on the Plains or how the story ends!”
“Well, you know our ending,” Bethral said softly. “It ends with a beginning. Our lives. Our love.” She held up her hand, displaying a silver scar that ran the length of her palm.
Ezren found the same scar on his palm. He drew a deep, satisfied breath as a sense of well-being swelled in his chest. He looked into Bethral’s blue eyes and smiled, reaching out to pull her close. “It does at that. We will start the story there, shall we?”
Bethral pressed her lips to his. “Yes, love. I rather think we will.”
Dear Reader,
It’s odd how the creative process works. When I wrote Warprize, I knew the tale would take three books to tell. When the trilogy was finished, I thought the story was told. I turned to new characters and new stories, set in the same world, of course, because it’s a good world with lots of room for adventures.
But, as with any journey, you don’t quite see what lies beyond the horizon until you travel for some time. And, if I can take this analogy a bit further, you somehow wind up back where you started, with familiar friends and places, seeing them with new eyes.
So imagine my surprise when Heath of Xy started to talk to me.
In the Kingdom of Xy, the tradition is that the heir to the throne must be born in the Castle of Water’s Fall, witnessed by the nobles and the clergy. Xylara, Warprize and Queen of Xy, has left the Plains with her Warlord to return to Xy for the birth of their child.
Heath of Xy travels with them, representing Xy’s interests on the Plains. But in truth, he has lost his heart to Atira of the Bear, warrior of the Plains.
Atira owes a debt to the Warprize. She wants nothing to do with Heath and his Xyian ways. Sharing of bodies is one thing. Sharing her heart? That is not to be thought of.
But all is not well in Water’s Fall. Growing tensions between the Xyians and those of the Plains simmer below the surface, threatening any who would blend the worlds together.
Guess I better get busy, eh? It seems I have more stories to tell.
Elizabeth Vaughan
Look for Heath and Atira’s story
WA RCRY
Coming Spring 2011 from Berkley Sensation!
Destiny's Star Page 28