“How do you cope? Warna asked.
“Well, most have elven in the family, you know, and then there’s some that hire elves to sell their wares, or work the booth. Some shrug and carry on.” Mayth sighed. “We’d more trade with the human baronies than Tassinic, truth be told. That’s one of the reasons rebuilding will be hard. There’s no trade with those bandits roaming the lands.”
The sound of other voices made them all lift their heads. The constable stood at the door, scanning the room and Warna raised her hand to call him over.
“M’lady,” Ricard gave her a nod from the doorway. “A moment, if I may.”
“Of course,” Warna rose, ignoring the speculation in Lottie and Mayth’s eyes. She threaded her way past the tables to walk with him to the door. “Is something wrong?”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Ricard looked flustered and strained. “Nay, naught beyond concerns for these people.” he said. “Will these barracks be ready for them?”
“Yes,” Warna said. “There shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Then they’ll need bedding and blankets, and other such things.” Ricard looked over the room. “Safe to assume they have nothing and start there.”
“Constable,” Warna started, but the poor mael cut her off, airing his frustrations.
“The bakery and buttery have started their ovens, and the cooks have started bickering over things I cannot fathom.” Ricard was scowling. “Lord Verice is dealing with the scouts and reports from the border, but has left provisioning to me to deal with. Wasn’t bad when it was just the lads and I, but now the castle is opened up again and I—”
“Not the keep,” Warna gave him a worried glance. “We promised—”
“No, no,” Ricard sighed. “Not that. But—”
“I’ll see to the cooks and bakers.” Warna wrinkled her nose. “And the needs of these people. Is Ersal here?”
“Aye, he’s waiting with petitions for Lord Verice,” Ricard said.
“The petitions will have to wait,” Warna said. “Send him to me and we’ll start in.”
“My thanks,” Ricard’s relief was obvious. “Lord Verice said to tell you that he regrets that he may not be available for dinner.”
A stab of disappointment went through her. “Understandable,” she said.
“He’s ordered that you’re to sleep in the Healers Hall this night.” Ricard frowned at her. “Ordered Priest Dominic to clear out that top bedroom for you. I’m to see to it that your things are moved back.”
Warna nodded her thanks, but Ricard’s frown deepened as he continued. “I didn’t know you were squeezed out.”
“My idea,” Warna said shortly. “The wounded come first.” Suddenly irritable with all of them, she frowned right back at him. “If there’s nothing else…?”
Ricard paused, then glanced around the dining hall. “Is there a problem, lady?” he asked carefully. “Did someone say something? Or offer insult?”
“No,” Warna said. “Nothing like that,” she gave him a frustrated look. “But there’s much to be done, Constable.”
“Aye to that,” he said. “I’ll send Ersal to you.”
Warna returned to Lottie and Mayth. “Lord Verice wants to see you all settled here as soon as possible.”
“It won’t take long to finish the cleaning,” Lottie said.
“I’m off to see to bedding and whatever else you need,” Warna said. “Soap, towels—”
“Swaddling cloths,” Lottie said. “Oh, and-” she lowered her voice. “Moonpads.”
“Of course,” Warna sighed.
Verice sat in his outer chamber, confronting a sea of maps and scouting reports.
The tale they told was incomplete, jumbled, and set his teeth on edge. There was none with Narthing’s gift for organizing information, and as such he’d a need to hear all the information directly.
“Is it the vanguard of a larger attack?” He asked the warriors clustered around.
Which brought out new maps, counters and another round of discussion. Because the information they had was uncertain and vague at best. Forces spotted here, camps spotted there, movement of troops in the distance. New scouts sent to re-check what others had seen. Discussions of the scrying that had been done, and the limited information it had produced.
Through it all, through the talk and the maps and the waiting, in the moments between, all he could think of were Wolfe’s words about Warna.
“—face the truth of it now. Before it goes much further.”
What was he thinking? Wolfe was right. For all that Warna was, well, Warna, she was still human.
It wasn’t that he disliked humans. King Everard had been a good man for all that he wasn’t of elven blood. Verice had friends that were human, although he didn’t go out of his way to cultivate such friendships. Humans came and went with the seasons, never making a lasting impression on him, truth be told.
But Warna had.
Verice frowned at the map in front of him, without seeing it, his mind filled with images of brown eyes and—
“M’lord?” The man who’d placed it before him hesitated.
Verice shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Continue, please.”
So, the afternoon wore on. By mid-day, his warriors were positioned, his strategy for the next few days set.
Verice was then free to talk with the people of Birch Cove and listen to their desire to rebuild. Which might indeed be best in the short run, but in the long view the value of that path was doubtful. Their trade with Farentell was gone, and who knew how long it would be before the trade routes with Summerford would be restored. The wiser course could be to rebuild in a new location, farther away from the border, closer to the river that would widen their markets and access to trade routes.
But he could see in their stubborn round faces a determination to argue, and he mentally sighed in frustration. After talking and asking them to consider well the decision, he sent them off for a mid-day meal and gave the constable his orders. Only then did he seek a few quiet moments with his own bowl of soup and bread, alone in his chambers.
It wasn’t fair to toy with Warna’s heart and life. As short lived as humans were, she deserved more than that. The honorable action would be to pull back gently, so as not to hurt her. Remembering the look in her eyes, the taste of her mouth, a pang of regret arced through his chest, but Verice shook his head at his own stupidity.
Unfair to her, heartbreak for him. It had to be done.
He returned to his tasks, after reassurance from the constable that his message had been delivered. The men of Birch Cove gathered once again and Verice was surprised to find that they seemed more open to the idea of resettling. The maps returned, but this time with a sense of hope in the future.
Then the scouts reported with fresh news and more information and once again his chambers rang with the going and comings of his warriors, all bearing reports. He listened carefully to their words, watching their hands on the maps, pointing out where and what they’d seen.
“So, no massing of troops. A probe perhaps, but one with no real force behind it.”
Nods all around.
He stood, satisfied. “Then we’ve done what we can for now, to see the border secure. Seek your beds, all of you, with my thanks.”
They filed out, and he stretched his back, tired. It had gone well enough, given Narthing’s absence. He missed having the man at his side. There’d been no word all day as to his injuries, but Verice was inclined to think that no news was good news. But he’d see the man himself before he sought his bed.
Which brought him up short. He’d have to talk to Warna tonight as well. He couldn’t let that issue linger any longer. It would be painful enough as it was.
The night sky was clear as he stepped out into the courtyard; it was later than he’d thought. A few steps brought him to the door of the Healers Hall; a quick question told him where Narthing was to be found. But first he went among the wounded, going from
bed to bed, taking the time to ask after them and listen to their responses.
Finally, he came to Narthing’s door, and after a light tap, he entered the room. “How goes it, my friend?”
Narthing’s pale face lit in a smile.
Warna was sitting at his bedside.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Narthing,” Verice moved into the room, conscious of Warna’s gaze. He took a chair from the far wall and moved it to the bedside. The sharp scents of medicines and mixtures tickled his nose. “How do you fare?”
“Well enough.” Narthing’s voice was breathy and thin.
“Pain?” Verice frowned.
“Some,” Narthing said slowly. “When I take too deep a breath. As long as I move slowly, and don’t laugh, it’s tolerable.”
“They haven’t dosed you?” Verice asked.
Narthing shook his head, but Warna answered. “He wouldn’t take it,” she said quietly. “He put them off, told them he wanted to talk to you.”
“Wanted to know,” Narthing put his hand over his wound, as if to brace it. “You’ve reports, Lord?”
“Ah,” Verice nodded his understanding. “Then lay there and listen, Captain.”
Verice summarized what he knew briefly, but with enough detail that Narthing seemed satisfied.
“So, if it was a probe, it wasn’t a serious effort,” Narthing breathed out. “That’s good. Better than I’d hoped.” He let his head sink into the pillow, staring at the ceiling for a moment.
Verice waited, watching his face, letting Narthing mull over the information. “But what of Birch Cove?” Narthing finally asked, his eyes narrowing.
“The town’s a loss,” Verice said. “I’m sending warriors with the menfolk to see what can be retrieved of personal belongings, and to round up what they can of the livestock.”
Narthing gave the slightest shake of his head. “That river ford—” he said and then winced.
“We think alike,” Verice said. “I talked to them about building there. They seem amenable to the idea.”
Narthing cast him a doubtful look. “Really? Humans can be stubborn, m’lord.” He blinked owlishly at Warna. “No offense,” he said.
“I’m fetching that healer,” Warna said. “It’s past time you slept.” She slipped out the door.
“You must have a care,” Verice said. “That was a mean slice you took.”
“No fear,” Narthing said. “Dominic stood here and told me all the complications I risk unless I follow orders. His description of a bowel rupture was graphic enough that I fear to cough, much less anything else.”
Warna returned with healers in tow, who gently shooed them both out of the room. “He needs his rest, m’lord.” The one said as she closed the door in Verice’s face.
Warna was on the stairs, leading up to the room tucked under the eaves. It seemed his orders had been carried out then. She had a place to sleep.
She paused, and turned to look at him, her face closed and warded. “Goodnight, m’lord.”
“Warna,” he said firmly.
She paused on the stairs, one hand on the railing. There was the slightest trembling in her fingers as they rested on the wood.
“We should talk,” Verice said softly. “Walk with me. In the gardens.”
The night air was cool on Warna’s flushed cheeks, a slight breeze played with her hair as Verice lead her out of the Healing Hall. The dogs gathered around them, tails slowly wagging as they walked.
The courtyard had emptied of all but the watch and a few souls. Light spilled from the buildings around them, which thrummed with life. As tired as she was, as confused as she was about the man next to her, Warna smiled at the visible proof of her labors.
Except for the keep, of course. It lay at the center, dark, still, and daunting.
Much like its Lord High Baron.
“All are settled, it would seem,” Verice said quietly, standing next to her.
“Yes,” Warna said, just as softly.
“And you’ve your room back,” Verice said.
“Yes, but only for tonight,” Warna said. “Dominic was called to Church duties, and he will return tomorrow. I’ll need to find another place.” Verice scowled, and opened his mouth to speak, but she hurried on. “It’s only right that he be with his patients. It’s not as if he will sleep on a cot in the dining hall.”
“But where will you—” Verice cut off his own words.
Warna glanced away, not willing to look at him.
Verice cleared his throat. “This way,” he said softly as the dogs rose to join them.
“I didn’t know there were gardens here,” Warna said, wincing as it sounded more like an accusation than a question.
“The moat between the inner and outer castle walls was foul and disgusting when I arrived,” Verice’s face was mostly in shadow, but she could hear the pride in his words. “They were using it for all matter of waste and garbage. The reek was thick. So, I ordered it drained.”
“The area between the outer and inner walls?” Warna blinked, frowning as she thought back to the ride through the gates. That area had been big. Really big. “How long did that take?”
“Not long,” Verice said absently as he led her around the Healing Hall, to a heavy wooden door set into the wall. “Four, maybe five years.”
“Five...years?” Warna said.
“Ten more after that to really get the soil ready, and get the plantings established.” Verice chuckled softly. “There was some protest from the warriors, about the need for a moat for protection. But I planted rantha bushes and that put an end to the protests.”
“Rantha?” Warna asked.
“Take twenty years to mature,” Verice explained. “But well worth it. The flowers are sweet smelling but the vines are thick with thorns that are wicked sharp and as long as a man’s hand.”
Thirty years? Warna added it up in her head. Thirty years to plan such a thing, and Verice thought nothing of it?
Between the Healing Hall and the next building was a small, heavy wooden door, barred and locked. Verice removed the bar, and began to free the various latches. The dogs milled around their legs, tails wagging.
“This area is more the herbs and medicinal plants,” Verice said as the door swung open. Warna peered inside. There was just enough light to see a path, and a garden stretched out beyond. The breeze touched her face, carrying the sweet scents of flowers and herbs.
“After you,” Verice gestured.
Warna stepped forward, through the door—
And smacked into an invisible barrier.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Verice froze, not understanding for a heartbeat, then understanding all too well. The warding. He had released it temporarily when they’d left for Wolfe’s Tower, but he hadn’t taken it down.
Warna stepped back, frowning, staring at the doorway. Before he could move, she reached out, her fingers stopped by the invisible resistance.
Sand and Gray slipped past her and into the gardens, their nails clicking on the stones. Gray returned, coming back to Warna, whining in his throat as if he sensed something was wrong.
“I,” Verice’s stomach sank. “For your own protection, I—”
“That’s what Kalynn was talking about, wasn’t it?” Warna’s expression was guarded, her eyes shuttered. “When she said ‘caged’?”
“Warna—” Verice wasn’t even sure what he could say, how he could tell her—
“Lord Verice, perhaps we could discuss this later.” Warna took a step back from the door, her gaze cast down, the perfect image of proper deference, but with an edge to her voice. “The day has been a long one, for both of us.”
“Warna.” He couldn’t leave it like this, couldn’t let her go without trying to explain. Yet, what really could he say?
“Good night, m’lord.” Warna turned away.
“I’m sorry,” Verice said. For so much. For leading you on, for the pain I’ve caused you. But he kept those words in hi
s heart.
She paused but didn’t look at him. “I’m sure you acted as you saw fit, m’lord.”
He watched as she walked away, followed by Sand and Gray.
Brindle whined and pushed his head against his leg. Verice reached down to stroke her ears. He whistled the rest of the pack to his side, and then, with an odd sense of relief, regret, and utter defeat, he swung the door shut and dropped the bar into place.
“It’s been days since they’ve shared a meal?” Narthing asked.
Those clustered around his bed all nodded glumly.
Narthing sighed.
They’d all gathered in his room at mid-day, supposedly to share a meal and keep Narthing informed as to events.
Honestly, what he wanted to hear was the gossip.
“They’ve not eaten together, they’ve barely spoken,” Ersal said, staring at the chicken leg in his hand. “And when they do speak it’s of laundry supplies and cooking oil.”
“And painful to watch,” Janella added, poking at her own plate. “As if each is afraid of pricking the other if they get too close.”
“What happened?” Narthing asked. The healers still had him on a soft diet, and he eyed Ersal’s chicken leg with longing, then picked up his mug of broth.
“Don’t know,” Ricard sighed. “They went for a walk the night the Chaosreaver appeared.”
Narthing jerked, almost spilling his broth. A jolt of pain went through him at the movement.
“Narthing,” Janella scolded.
“She came back alone,” Ricard continued. “He followed after a while, looking morose. Well, more morose than normal.”
“When was the Chaosreaver here?” Narthing demanded. His stomach clenched
against the tightness in his chest, and he set the broth back down.
That got him surprised looks all around. “The day after you were wounded,” Ersal said. “Didn’t the Lord mention it?”
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