Warna stopped eating, and used her napkin. Verice didn’t seem upset; his face was set and controlled. There was no hint of emotion there. But there’d been none at Wolfe’s either. “It needed doing,” she said quietly. “I didn’t know the details of the attack, but what would happen if there were wounded that needed tending here? The place was in no state fit for ill or injured warriors, that was certain. And this building is overflowing with the healthy already.” Warna raised her chin. “Besides, I needed a place to sleep. The poor sergeant couldn’t keep shifting men around to suit my needs.”
The worst of it was that she was right.
He should be furious, because even if she wasn’t aware, his men knew full well that he’d shut down the castle for security reasons. But—
“In the past, the worst hurt were brought here to my healers. They were the best.” Verice admitted, more to himself than to Warna.
“They were Elven?” Warna asked.
Verice snorted. “Elven healers do not concern themselves with human or half-elven anatomy, Warna. They tend to focus on magical healing, and rarely deign to touch a human. No, our healers were half-elven for the most part, from around the barony.”
“Where are they now?” Warna asked.
“Most are scattered along the border,” Verice said. “Three are housed in the town, in case of need here. They are but a short ride away.” He winced a little. That sounded foolish, even to his ears.
“The building sleeps a good many,” Warna said.
“Some of the rooms were meant for the ill and injured,” Verice said.
“There may be wounded that need tending here at the keep,” Warna said. “Best to have the place ready, in case of need. There’s a lovely small room at the very top, and I can sleep there.”
“I’d thought to send you away, again,” Verice said. “Somewhere safe.”
Warna dropped her eyes, but he caught the flash of resistance. “Where were the attacks yesterday?” Warna asked.
Verice sighed, and pushed his bowl away. “To the south, along the border with Edenrich. We suspect the Usurper is probing, looking for a weakness.” He poured himself some more kav. “We are spread too thin as it is.”
Warna nodded as Verice talked in detail of troop placements, and the difficulties of protecting a large border. Most of it went over her head, the names and places unfamiliar to her. But his concerns, his fears for his people came through clearly. He seemed to take comfort in talking, as if it helped him see the situation in his mind’s eye.
Finally, he stopped, clearly frustrated, and took a sip of kav. Warna took a breath, and spoke quickly, almost afraid of his response.
“Lord Verice, it strikes me that there is nowhere as safe as here.”
His eyes were tired and his pain clear. “It hasn’t been, in the past.” He stared into his mug. “I think it best that I send you somewhere else. To start your life, Warna.”
“That’s the problem,” Warna said, ignoring her fear. “I don’t know what I want yet.” She hesitated, surprised she was confiding this to him, but wanting him to understand. “It’s all too new, too unsettling. Cleaning though...” she laughed wryly. “Cleaning is something I am all too comfortable with. It keeps my hands busy. Lets me think.”
“New songs, perhaps?” Verice said.
“Or finish the ones I’ve started.” Warna smiled, but she let it fade as she grew serious. “I need time, m’lord. Time to think.”
Verice stared into his kav, but then he slowly ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m not convinced it’s all that safe, but I admit that I don’t have an alternative. At least until the Healing Hall is clean.”
“I’ll see it done,” Warna assured him as she reached for more bread. “And I can see it stocked, if you wish. Best there are supplies in place before a need.”
He didn’t want this.
The kav turned bitter in his mouth, and heavy in his stomach. He knew where this was going. Common sense and simple logic cried out for both castle and keep to be restored.
His heart cried out against it.
He closed his eyes, wanting to hold it all back, stop time and space, make no changes. The lump of pain in his chest grew until he didn’t know how his heart had room to beat anymore.
The dogs stirred; Brindle got up and nudged his arm with his nose. Warna was silent, spreading cheese on her bread, her head down, giving him what privacy she could.
In his pain, the mental image of Charrin raging out his grief flashed before his eyes, and Verice felt a flash of sympathy for the elf. How did one ever deal with such anguish?
He opened his mouth, wanting to deny Warna, wanting to order her to stop, order her to lock the Healing Hall back up, order her to leave—
No. He didn’t want that.
“Not the keep, Warna.” He managed to strangle out the words. “Not the keep.”
She lifted her gaze, and her brown eyes were warm, and understanding. “I promise, Verice.”
He held her gaze, and knew without knowing quite how, that he could trust her.
A blush rose on her cheeks, and she glanced at the dog beside him, its head just above the table. “M’lord, perhaps you’d introduce us? I still don’t know their names.”
Chapter Twenty
The next morning Captain Narthing was tightening the girth on his saddle when the Constable Ricard sidled up to him, and muttered something out of the corner of his mouth.
“Eh?” Narthing gave the men around them a glance. They were all preparing to mount. Lord Verice had returned to his normal routine. The day before had been a nice change of pace, but they were back to it this morning.
“My orders have changed,” Ricard said again.
Narthing straightened, and gave the man a puzzled look. “Verice changed your orders?”
“Aye,” Ricard said.
“Really?” Narthing glanced at his Lord, who was checking his own gear.
“I’ve said, haven’t I?” Ricard replied, his face straight.
Narthing rolled his eyes over to him. “You’re enjoying this,” he said.
“First change in how many months?” Ricard’s mouth quirked.
“And the change?” Narthing demanded.
A stir in the men drew his attention away from Ricard. The Lady Warna was weaving her way through the horses and men. She came right up to both of them, and gave them a warm smile. “Good morning, gentlemen.”
“Morning,” they both responded. Narthing found himself returning her smile, feeling his spirits lift.
“Ricard, I’m going to finish cleaning the Healing Hall today, and I’ll be sleeping there from now on. Would you have someone carry over my basket?” Warna said. “It’s in my room, ready to go. You can reassign that space as soon as you wish.”
Narthing blinked.
“As you wish, m’lady,” Ricard replied. “I’ve four lads who need to be shown the error of their ways. I’d thought to have them flush the privies, but if you’ve a need…”
“That would be lovely,” Warna said. “Many hands make light work.” She gave Narthing a nod. “Travel safe, Captain.”
“My thanks,” Narthing said, but Warna was already moving, seeking out Verice. The Lord exchanged a few words with her, and then she headed toward the Healing Hall. Verice turned back to his horse, a calm expression on his face.
“Ancestors,” Narthing swore. “What’s—”
Ricard nudged his elbow. “My orders,” he said.
“What?” Narthing asked.
“You asked about my orders,” Ricard’s smile was a broad one.
“Yes,” Narthing narrowed his eyes. “What did Lord Verice say?”
Ricard chuckled. “‘Let the Lady Warna have her way.’”
Warna was surprised at the amount of comfort she took from her task.
She’d feared that the mindlessness of the work would force her to think about things that she wasn’t ready to confront. But the regular swish of a broom on the wood floor
and the slap of a soapy cloth on a dusty surface were sounds she could lose herself in. There was no past, no present; there was simply dust and dirt, and it all had to be dealt with.
It was soothing, to worry about dirt her ‘assistants’ had missed, or to scan the ceilings and corners for cobwebs. Maybe the peace she found in doing these things was a false one, but it was still a peace.
The Healing Hall was finished by early afternoon. She’d released the lads assigned to her, and they’d escaped quickly. But not before the constable grabbed them, and had them carry her lidded-basket and bedding to the top-most bedroom. As tired as she was, Warna still wanted to make the room as comfortable as she could before she sought her supper.
Not that there was much to arrange. The clothing the supply clerk had provided were all tunics and trous, worn and soft, perfect for cleaning. Warna had to sigh over the state of her skirt and blouse. The hems were all worn, and they were almost grayed out of any color they once had. She’d have turned them both into rags, but they were the only womanly clothes she owned at the present.
She had a comb from the supply clerk as well, along with a bit of soap and towels. Yet there were other things that an army clerk probably couldn’t provide. She paused as she put the folded clothes into the press, counting the days. There was time yet, but she couldn’t wait too much longer. Although the idea of outright asking the clerk for moon pads made her blush.
She shook out the sheets and blankets and made up the bed quickly, smoothing out the pillow and giving it a pat. This would be better than the barracks, by far.
For an instant as she stood in the clean, small room, however, her heart returned to home. To her old room, scattered about with pillows, the smell of bread baking in the kitchens below, and her brothers’ laughter coming through the window as her father called them to task. Grief caught her unaware, and was all the more powerful because of it. Tears welled, threatening to spill, as she stood in that strange, silent, empty room.
“Warna?” Verice called from below, his footsteps echoing as he mounted the stairs, his voice loud and slightly annoyed.
Verice had thought that Warna would be waiting for him, so that they could eat together. He took the steps two at a time as he called out to her. “Warna?”
He stopped, caught by the look on Warna’s face. She looked so sad, so...bereft. Standing there, her clothes stained and damp, her hair bound up with strips of rag. Suddenly, all he wanted was to ease her sorrow. Replace that pain with a smile.
He glanced around the room. “Settling in?” he asked.
Warna looked away. He could tell she was wiping her eyes. He hesitated, not sure what comfort to offer, then his gaze fell on the bed.
“You know, if you were the Queen of Valltera, it would take thirty handmaidens and half the morning to make your bed.”
Warna turned then, staring at him with reddened eyes. “Really?”
“Oh yes,” Verice said. “Each of the twenty has their own task. It’s considered a high honor to plump the pillows, place them on the bed, and smooth them to perfection.”
Warna sniffled, then laughed weakly. “You’re teasing me.”
“As I stand before my Ancestors,” Verice placed his hand over his heart. “I’ll tell you about it over dinner. There’s chicken and mushroom pie tonight.” He paused. “If you’d join me.”
To his relief, Warna’s face cleared. “Just let me wash up, and I’ll be right there.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Verice stood by his chair, and patiently waited.
The table was set. The food was still covered, but the smell of hot chicken pie filled the air. The dogs were all settled around him, curled in their normal positions. Brindle sat by Verice’s side.
Normally he’d be impatient, waiting like this. But he was feeling something entirely different.
Anticipation.
It struck him that he’d not looked forward to anything in some time. The last few months had all been taken with the care of his lands, the safety of his people…
It felt odd that it felt odd. That he wanted to share the story of the formal rituals of Valltera. That he was going to share a meal with Warna again, someone who wasn’t concerned with troop placements, or scouting reports. He’d not done this with anyone else, and certainly not since...the guilt rose from his gut and kicked him hard, remembering those who had died. Who would never share another meal, another laugh, and all his—
Brindle whined and pushed his head into Verice’s fingers.
A soft knock, and Warna slipped into the room. Her eyes red-rimmed, she gave him a tentative smile, seeing his expression. “I took too long. Forgive me.”
She was hurting; the sorrow was deep in her eyes. Maybe he could help her forget her pain, if only for a moment. It was something they shared, that grief.
“Not at all. They just brought our supper.” Verice gestured her to her chair. “No, I was thinking on the Ceremony of the Bedchamber in Valltera.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Thinking on it, I think it’s more like thirty people required to make the King’s bed.”
“Now I know you are teasing me,” Warna said. “What would they all do?”
“Well, first, the Warder of his Majesty’s bedchamber summons the nobles—”
“Nobles?” Warna asked. “To make a bed?”
“A King’s bed,” Verice pointed out. “And the ritual is the same for the Queen, by the way. At any rate, they are all summoned to the outer room, where they line up in order of precedence.” Verice shook his head at the memory. “They gather up the clean sheets, pillows, and blankets. Two carry in the fresh feather mattress—”
“A fresh mattress?” Warna’s eyes went wide. “Every day?”
Verice offered her the gravy pitcher for her pie. “So, they file into the room in perfect order. The Four Lords of the Curtains each pull back one of the bed curtains, and hold it away from the bed for the entire ceremony.
“The four Lords of the Bed stand at its sides, their hands upon their sword hilts, as the bed is stripped down to the straw mattress. A nobly born esquire then leaps on to the bed and rolls around, checking that the straw has no weapons concealed therein to the King’s harm.”
“Lord of Light,” Warna exclaimed. “Truly?” She gave a startled laugh as Verice nodded.
“The fresh feather mattress is then laid over the straw one, and fluffed.” Verice poured kav for both of them as Warna cut into her pie. “And then begins the placement of the sheets and the blankets, each sheet then being spread out and smoothed, because they dare not leave a single wrinkle to offend the King’s body.”
Warna shook her head. “They all stand around while this is done?”
“With somber stares, for their presence is an honor, and a right by virtue of their blood,” Verice said. “Woe betide any that hold the wrong curtain or fluff the wrong pillow. So, to finish my tale…”
Warna laughed. “There’s more?”
“Of course,” Verice said. “Once the pillows are in place, the bed curtains are closed and the bed is sprinkled with scented water, and blessed by one in service to the Ancestors, then the entire lot troops back to the outer chamber and are served wine. This happens each and every night, even if the King is not in residence.”
Warna shook her head. “What a waste. Their time could be better spent, I think.”
“So did I, in my youth.” Verice grimaced. “I’m afraid that if I hadn’t left the Court of Valltera, I’d have been banished before long.”
“You were a trouble-maker?” Warna asked.
“Let’s just say I was an impetuous youth, who chafed against every rule, every restriction.” Verice said. “If it weren’t for my weaponsmaster, I’d have certainly been sent away in disgrace.”
Warna tilted her head. “How so?”
“He sat me down after a practice, and told me that being at Court was like fighting a bout. ‘Three basic rules, lad. Speak only in response. Answer, but never ask. And never make the f
irst move.’”
Warna shook her head again, mopping up the last of her gravy with bread. “That worked?”
“Yes,” Verice said wryly. “After that, I knew well exactly why I was in trouble.”
Warna choked on her bread, laughing and sputtering as she reached for ale.
Satisfied, Verice set about finishing his own few bites.
Once she got her throat clear, Warna sat quietly as Verice finished his meal. The silence was a comfortable one. She had so many questions, but each one had the potential to raise the past in a way that might hurt Verice. It made her feel awkward and rude, and suddenly the weaponsmaster’s advice made perfect sense.
The efforts of the day were starting to catch up to her, and she was looking forward to crawling into her new bed. She glanced around at the crowded room, the chests lining the walls, and the weapons hanging there. There was a pile of papers that had been cleared off the table, and next to them, the petitions that Verice had taken in town.
Verice caught her glance and grimaced. “I haven’t gotten to those yet, and I should.
The petitioners will be expecting a response in a day or so.”
“What do people petition for?” Warna asked.
“Various reasons,” Verice said. “To complain of an official without drawing his ire or ask pardon for a loved one. Sometimes they wish for money, or aid.” Verice pushed his plate back. “I normally have a scribe deal with them, but…”
“What would the scribe do with them?” Warna asked.
“Sort through them and investigate.” Verice said.
“You must still have people working in that regard,” Warna said hesitantly. “Just not here.”
“Yes,” Verice said slowly.
“Send them to him, then,” Warna said. “Or send for him.”
Verice went silent, studying the table in front of him. It went on for so long that Warna thought she had offended, but then he nodded. “I will,” he said. “My thanks, Warna.”
Fate's Star Page 11