“I was told that it works just as well dried, just not quite so quickly.”

“I can think of other uses.” Isdra smiled slyly. “It would be handy at moon times. Would it grow on the Plains?”

I flushed, uncomfortable even as I shrugged. She spoke so casually about something that wasn’t discussed out loud by my people. At least, not in mixed company.

Epor had dismounted, and was looking at the leaves he was holding. His horse nosed his hand, but threw its head up when he offered it the leaves. “Would it work on a horse?”

“Why is it always about horses with you people?” I snapped, suddenly irritated.

There was an uncomfortable silence. The surprised looks on their faces made my pique vanish. I looked down at Marcus’s back and mumbled. “I don’t know.”

Gils, bless his youth, was oblivious. “I’s filled my bag, Warprize.” His arms were filled with his pickings. “I’s can fill another, if you want?”

“That would be good.” I looked around, amazed to see that the little plant was spread through the grass as far as I could see. “Two handfuls in each warrior’s kit would be useful in case of injury.”

Gils quickly handed out his crop, making sure that each had at least two handfuls. Even Marcus took a supply. Gils placed his own in his saddlebags and then mounted. “I’ll pass the word, Warprize. Two handfuls”

“Tell them to dry it well, Gils.” I called after him as he galloped off. “We’ll see to Cadr once we stop for the night.”

Rafe mounted up as well, and Marcus headed us back toward the army at a more sedate walk. “Hisself will not like his warriors stopping to pick posies.”

“They all have to pass water at some point, don’t they?” I pointed out.

Rafe laughed, but Marcus just grunted.

As we returned to our position in the flowing mass of warriors, Marcus was careful to thread his way back into the direct center. Rafe and Prest rode ahead of us a little ways, and Epor and Isdra faded behind us. They didn’t really try to maintain any kind of position, since there were warriors all around us. I shifted, trying to get comfortable, and tried not to sigh in Marcus’s ear.

Marcus must have heard me, for he cleared his throat. “Epor meant no offense, Warprize, asking about the healing of horses.”

“I know, Marcus.”

I yawned, tired now that the excitement was over. It had been a brief change from the monotony of the days since Keir of the Cat, Warlord of the Plain, with his dark hair and flashing blue eyes, had taken me up on his horse and reclaimed me as his Warprize. I fingered the leaves that I still held in my hand. Eln would be so pleased to hear that bloodmoss thrived in this area. I could send him a plant with the next messenger, dig it up, roots and all, and wrap it in wet cloth. Even his dour face would crack with a smile at the sight. I’d laugh to see it—except that I wouldn’t be there.

Suddenly, it all seemed too much. A flood of sickness rose up in my body, a sickness of the heart for which there was no cure. I was all too familiar with this feeling, for I was sick for my home, for the castle and the people that I’d left behind in Water’s Fall. For Anna’s stew and Heath’s teasing, and my old room with its four familiar stone walls. I’d lived my whole life in sight of the castle of Water’s Fall, and I felt sick at the idea that I’d never see it again. I sighed, trying not to feel sorry for myself and failing.

“You’ve not been yourself, Warprize.” Marcus had his head turned, and I could just see his nose and lips under the hood of the cloak. His voice dropped to a low, gentle tone. “You’re not eating, and I’m thinking that you’re not sleeping either.”

I watched the ground pass below us. “I’m fine.”

“Are you pregnant?”

I dropped my head onto his shoulder and groaned. “Marcus…”

“It’s a fair question.” Marcus replied. “Our women take precautions in the field, but you Xyians have such strange ways…”

“I am not pregnant.” I growled. I didn’t want to think about that, although he was right. I hadn’t taken any precautions. My courses were due any day. But the idea of being pregnant raised issues that I didn’t want to consider. Of things that Keir and I had yet to talk about.

“Then what is wrong, Lara?”

The fact that Marcus was using my name, a rare event, told me that he was worried. I opened my mouth, but the truth would not come. “I’m fine, Marcus. Truly.”

He snorted. “As you say, Warprize.” He stiffened in the saddle, and I knew that I had upset him. This scarred little man had come to mean a great deal to me within a short period of time. He was fiercely loyal to his Warlord, and I was included in that loyalty. I wasn’t sure that was by virtue of my own self, or the fact that I was Keir’s chosen Warprize. Regardless, how could I confide my worries and fears to him? He already held Xyians in contempt on general principals. My fretful complaints could only heap wood on that fire.

I settled for an obvious question. “When do you think we’ll stop for the night?”

“A few hours yet, Warprize. Hisself will keep us moving until we lose the light.”

“Why is he in such a hurry?”

“Hisself has his reasons. You’re to be confirmed when we reach the Heart of the Plains, and the sooner the better.” Marcus’s tone was a clear indication that the topic was now settled.

I looked about for a different distraction, and caught a glimpse of Epor reaching over to tug on Isdra’s braid. “Epor seems sweet on Isdra.”

“Eh?” Marcus growled. “Sweet? What means this?”

I floundered for the unfamiliar words. “That he cares for her.”

There was an unnatural pause. I leaned forward. “Marcus?”

“They are bonded.” He spoke grudgingly, almost as if the words caused him pain. “Do you not see the ear spirals?”

“Bonded? Is that the same as married?” I twisted about, trying to get a better look at their ears, but Marcus had apparently grown weary of me.

“Ask Epor. Or Isdra.” His tone was curt and he whistled, somehow catching Prest’s attention. Prest raised a hand, and started to move back toward us. Because I was a burden on the horse, I was traded off every hour so as not to tire any one animal. The elements forbid that a horse be over-tired. I was starting to feel like a package in a trading caravan.

Marcus spoke as Prest moved into position. “Joden is a good man, Lara, valued for his wisdom. He is heard in senel, although he holds no rank, and even by the Elders when he appears before their councils. He will make a great Singer once he is recognized as such.”

Prest drew closer, preparing to transfer me to his horse, but I ignored his outstretched hand. I leaned closer, trying to figure out what Marcus was talking about.

“If you can’t confide in anyone else, you can confide in a Singer.” Marcus’s voice was so soft, it was almost a whisper. “Words spoken to a Singer are held to his heart, where they cannot be pried free. Talk to Joden, Lara. Please.”

With that, they transferred me to Prest’s horse without breaking stride, and Marcus faded back and away into the crowd.

Prest was a full head taller than Marcus and easily twice as broad. I rather dreaded riding with him, since I couldn’t see over his shoulders. That meant my stomach would be upset by the time I left his horse.

Prest also wasn’t much of a talker, which left me free to dwell on my miseries. If Atira were here, I might be able to confide in her, but she’d been left in Water’s Fall, under the care of Eln. Her leg would heal true, but the break would not let her travel. Even surrounded by thousands of warriors, I felt terribly alone. Keir had been absent now for two days, and part of me feared he’d decided that this Warprize no longer interested him. Maybe I could talk to Joden, confide in him. Joden had helped me so much when I’d been taken to the camp. He’d been the one to figure out that I’d been lied to by Xymund, my late half-brother. But I felt so very stupid and silly. Like a spoiled child with a broken toy.