How The Warrior Fell (Falling Warriors series Book 1) (29 page)

Then he leaned down and got right into the chief’s face. “I don’t threaten, I make promises.” Tyronian’s grin was all teeth as he tilted his head. “Want to guess what the promise is?”

“I’ll fight,” Kisias moaned. “I’ll fight with the Izayges.”

“That’s great!” Tyronian exclaimed happily. “You hear that, Tristan? Good ol’ Kisias changed his mind.” He glanced over his shoulder at Tristan.

“That’s great news. Yoro here said the same.” Tristan nudged Yoro’s chin up with the tip of one of the blades. “Isn’t that right, Yoro?”

“Yes.” Yoro gulped, glancing down at the sword as sweat ran down his temples. “Asori will fight with you.”

“This is great. I knew you two would make the right decision.” Tyronian beamed, clasping Kisias’s shoulders with both hands and tugging him up. “Now, I don’t need to tell you what happens if you decide to change your mind, do I, Kisias?”

Kisias shook his head, blood running down the length of his face.

“Good,” Tyronian grinned at him a moment before slamming his forehead into Kisias’s with a 
crack. 
He dropped his hands and watched the chief slump to the floor. “Nice chat.” Tyronian stepped over Kisias’s body and out the door.

Tristan slowly backed away, holding the two swords steady, still pointing them at Yoro. When he was just outside the door, he dropped his hand and tossed Yoro’s sword on the ground. He saluted them as he ducked down and exited the tent.

Leaving bloody and frightened chiefs inside.

X
AVIER DODGED THE
busy bodies of his village and visiting warriors as they settled in. He was practically vibrating with fury. How 
dare
 they!

How can they laugh at the demise of the Rhoxolani? Xavier was not a sentimental man at the best of times, and he certainly wasn’t known for his caring nature, but even he felt the loss of the Rhoxolani as if it were his own. They were his people, part of his history.

Xavier stopped and scrubbed his hands roughly down his face. Everything was a mess. His life of order, control, and power over himself and his village was falling apart. For years, Xavier was able to look at everything objectively. He’d witnessed others get sloppy, so consumed by their emotions it made them irrational and unable to see the bigger picture of the hard choices—Xavier was able to think with his head and instincts.

Detached. Calculating.

While others crumpled, he stood strong. He was reliable, and he was a fierce leader.

But in just a few short months, the years of training he was subjected to since he was seven years old were being destroyed.

“Xavier?”

Xavier opened his eyes and dropped his hand from his temples. He lifted his head to meet the eyes of the one who had spoken.

His loss of control started when he first laid his eyes on her, and it hadn’t stopped since.

Leawyn had to stop herself from fiddling with her dress when Xavier continued to just stare at her. “Is this okay?” she asked, growing more uncomfortable with the silence.

“You look beautiful.”

Leawyn blushed. She looked down and smoothed the material. “It’s the dress. It’s very beautiful.” She looked up at Xavier, her smile shy. “Thank you.”

And beautiful it was. It was colored a deep moss green, with long golden sleeves that flared out at the elbows. Golden beads and dried wild flowers covered the length of the gown. Two studded strips of heavily beaded material crossed over her breasts and held the dress together with a single clasp behind the neck.

Xavier nodded. He seemed to hesitate before he lightly traced the beaded embroidery on the neckline with one finger.

“It was my mother’s,” Xavier said softly. He dropped his hand and took a small step back, meeting Leawyn’s gaze.

At his admission, she glanced down at the dress, biting her bottom lip. “Well,” she said finally, “she had good taste.”

Xavier’s lips tilted up in a barely-there smile. “Yes, she did.” His eyes scanned Leawyn’s body appreciatively.

Leawyn flushed for the second time under the attention, not quite used to this side of her husband.

“There will be a feast tonight. I will need you to help the women prepare.” Xavier watched avidly when Leawyn’s eyes lit up in excitement. “Can you handle that? I don’t want you in . . .” he trailed off, and an uncomfortable silence engulfed them. Leawyn knew that he was going to say
pain
. They both knew the reason she would be in pain was because of him.

“I can get Namoriee to help,” she said, looking anywhere but his eyes.

“Good.” Xavier cleared his throat.

He stepped forward and gripped Leawyn around the neck to tug her closer. He lifted her chin with his finger. Her breath whooshed out of her when Xavier dipped his head, his lips hovering over hers, waiting. She hesitated, then tilted her chin. Xavier stared into her eyes when he brought his mouth down to hers in a kiss.

“I’ll come collect you before the feast starts,” he murmured against her lips. Then he pulled away.

“Okay,” Leawyn whispered back. She closed her eyes when Xavier smoothed her hair away from her face.

He was already walking away from her when she opened her eyes.

“I think we’re about ready, Lady Chief,” Namoriee said proudly, placing the cylinder filled with animal fat and cloth on the table and lighting it.

It took the full efforts of all the village women—big and small—to prepare for the Izayges people and their guests for the night’s festivities.

It would be the first feast they’d had since Leawyn and Xavier’s wedding, which was almost nine months ago. Leawyn stood up from her crouched position, looking around as she wiped her hands on the rag that lay ready beside her. Namoriee was right; everything did seem to look ready.

Much to Leawyn’s annoyance, most of the women would not let Leawyn see to more than simple tasks. Their reasoning was that it would not be appropriate for the lady chief to be seen handling such tasks

“
We wouldn’t want you to ruin your dress,”
 they said, but Leawyn knew it was because of her mark.

Instead, they respectively listened to her direction and requests when needed, but for the most part Leawyn’s sole duty was to set the surrounding tables with plates and silverware. It was both sweet and frustrating.

“This looks amazing. I can’t believe we pulled everything off so quickly!” Leawyn laughed.

The feast was set to be in the middle of the entire tribe. The girls had to quickly gather as many tables, or things that could be used as tables, in order to fit all the tribespeople and guests. Two giant fire pits sat in the center of two separate squares of combined tables, while another separate fire had two wild hogs roasting over it. Namoriee wiped her hands on her dress and stood beside Leawyn, staring proudly at their work.

“All we need now is the men,” Namoriee said wryly.

Leawyn laughed in agreement. “Indeed, we do.”

Leawyn glanced at Namoriee, taking in her ragged and dirty clothes. “Namoriee, you should go change. I can take care of things here while you do.” Leawyn looked around at their surroundings again before returning her gaze to Namoriee. “There’s really not much left to do.”

Namoriee shook her head in disagreement. “I can’t. I won’t even be attending the feast, really.”

Leawyn frowned. “What are you talking about?” she asked in bewilderment. “Of course you are!”

Namoriee wrung her hands together nervously. “Lady Chief . . .” she faltered. “I appreciate how well you treat me, but you m-m-ust know I don’t hold a very h-high stature.”

Namoriee glanced up at Leawyn, still seeing her confused expression, she flushed anew. “My j-job is to be with the other serving wenches, serving food and ale.” Leawyn could tell Namoriee grew frustrated with her stutter, but it had gotten better, only coming out when she was nervous.

“Namoriee,” Leawyn grabbed her small shoulders, “you are 
not
 just a serving wench, or in low stature.”

Namoriee opened her mouth to refute, but Leawyn cut her off with a stern “
no
” and continued on.

“You are my handmaiden, and more importantly my 
friend,
” Leawyn stressed in sincerity. “You 
will
 be attending the feast, and you 
will
 be sitting with me.”

Namoriee’s eyes widened, shaking her head madly. “N-n-no, Lady Chief! My duties! I c-can’t just—”

“Okay,” Leawyn soothed. “I understand, Namoriee. You don’t want to abandon your duties.” Leawyn gave in to stop Namoriee from having a panic attack. “You can serve with the rest of the women.” The girl’s shoulders sagged in relief. “But only for the first half, after that, you’re done and you’re going to enjoy yourself.”

Namoriee’s elation deflated. But she knew better than to argue. “Yes, Lady Chief,” she mumbled compliantly.

Leawyn grinned in triumph. Using her grip on Namoriee’s shoulders she spun her back around in the direction of her hut. “Now, go and pick out one of my dresses—not the ones Xavier gave me though.” Now that she knew they belonged to his mother, Leawyn didn’t want anyone to wear them but her. It said a lot that Xavier kept them in the first place, and that he gave them to her.

Namoriee’s eyes widened again. “But—” Once again, Namoriee was caught off.

“Go!” Leawyn ordered sternly. She gave Namoriee an encouraging, but forceful, nudge to get her moving.

Namoriee stumbled forward, glancing back at Leawyn, who simply pointed at her hut as she would to a dog. She didn’t pay attention to her surroundings, or the particular pair of blue eyes that followed her there.

T
HE NIGHT WAS
loud with laughter and roars of men as they drank deeply from their goblets of ale and wine.

Different members of the family tribes and the Izayges occupied the tables, men and women alike. Though the atmosphere was cheery and lighthearted, there was an air of pretense.

Word of the annihilation of the Rhoxolani quickly spread throughout the visiting soldiers, and the busted faces of the Siraces and Asori chiefs only added to the suspicion something dark was on the horizon.

Leawyn scanned the crowd with her eyes. She watched the interactions between all the men of the tribes gathered around with equal amounts of fascination and disgust. She overlooked the men who sat at their respective tables enjoying the meal of wild boar and mead, their arms wrapped casually around the women warming their laps. Occasionally, some of the men would grab one of the serving girls as they passed them by and haul them onto their lap with a squeal from the girl.