Fate's Star

by Elizabeth Vaughan

“Lady Warna is not going,” Verice said.

  Warna glanced at Verice, then at Narthing.

  “M’lord, I hesitate to say this,” one of the older maels spoke slowly. “But she is included in the invitation. Her presence will be expected and—”

  “No,” Verice said. He stood there, considering, his arms crossed over his chest. “Everything you’ve said to me is true, and I understand your concerns. What we need is information, and its better if it’s exchanged face-to-face. King Barathiel can be difficult, but he is honorable. I have no reason to believe this is other than an exchange of information. I will go. Warna will remain here.”

  “Is that a command?” Warna asked.

  “What?” Verice stopped, stunned. “Of course it’s a command.”

  “Why?” Warna asked. “My name is on the invitation. Isn’t it my choice?”

  The room went silent.

  Verice glared. “It’s not safe.”

  “If it’s not safe for me, how is it safe for you?” she countered. “And if I do not appear at your side, that could be offensive, correct?”

  Heads nodded in agreement around the room, but Verice had a counter. “You’ve not the wardrobe to visit the Royal Court,” he said.

  “I’m in mourning,” Warna replied. “Plain garments are expected.”

  “Which excuses her from any formal parities, and those intricate dances,” Janella piped up from a corner.

  “The fact that they’ve pulled a young woman from her home during a time of mourning will not be viewed favorably,” Pernard said with a helpful tone.

  “She does not know elven ways, or proper behavior,” Verice snapped. “You’ll cause more problems than—”

  “Speak only in response,” Warna threw his weaponsmaster’s words back in his face. “Answer, but never ask. And never make the first move.”

  “That will serve,” Narthing chuckled.

  Verice shot him a glare. “She doesn’t speak elvish.” he said.

  “Please,” Dominic spoke up from his corner. “That’s a simple spell for you, one that allows her to speak and understand. And a decision must be made quickly. My patient needs his rest.”

  “I’m fine,” Narthing protested.

  “Bowel ruptures,” Dominic said.

  Narthing sank back onto the pillows with a mutter.

  “The decision is yours, of course m’lord,” Warna said, standing and brushing off her dress. “And I will abide by your command. But this summons seems to me both threat and promise, to you and your people.” Something fiercely protective rose in her chest for him and Tassinic. “If we both go, we may discover their intent easily. If I am not there, you may waste precious time dealing with the consequences.”

  She lifted her chin, and waited to see if she was pawn, possession, or person in his eyes.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Verice eyed her cooly for a long moment, but the determination in her lovely face just grew. When had he lost control over the situation? Over her?

  She’d made her choice, and his heart swelled at the idea that she would put the interests of Tassinic over her own. But that pride also bore a tang of fear. Fear for her stepping into the unknown.

  He shook his head in surrender, acknowledging the truth of her words. “Very well. We leave at noon.”

  Warna gave a sharp nod. “There’s not much time then.” She started to weave her way towards the door.

  “For discussion?” Pernard asked.

  “To look presentable,” Warna retorted.

  “Just be certain to be ready on time,” Verice said.

  She halted just at the door, and gave Verice a look, raking him from head to toe. “Look to your own self, m’lord.”

  With a flash of blonde hair, she was gone, running down the stairs, calling for some of the female healers to check and make sure the bathhouse was ready.

  “You’ve been given your orders, m’lord,” Narthing said with a wan smile.

  “It would seem I have,” Verice snorted softly as the others started to file from the room.

  Dominic stood by the bed, eyeing his patient. “That took more out of you than you’d care to admit,” he observed. “You’ll sleep now.” Narthing nodded weakly, submitting to Dominic’s ministrations.

  “I needed his advice,” Verice said.

  “The Royal Court of Valltera places high values on appearances, m’lord,” Dominic said. “Appropriate attire and a certain level of grooming would be in your best interests. Think of it as armor for the coming battle, if you must.”

  “So, Warna is right?” Narthing asked.

  “Not that I’d admit to,” Dominic said.

  Narthing laughed, then groaned, holding his stomach.

  The women’s bathhouse was ready, thankfully, and Warna plunged in, refusing all offers of oils and unguents, except for the plainest of creams for her face and hands. Black dress, with black shoes, and someone found a black cloak that fit her well. Her hair didn’t need washing, and there was no time to dry it anyway, so she braided it tight and wound it up on her head, making certain this time that her ears were exposed. She’d not cover up what she was, not ever again.

  There was a tingle of excitement deep in her stomach. Valltera, the palace of the Elven King and Queen. She read so many stories as a child, she couldn’t help wondering if it would be like the tales.

  It was only when the women were chattering around her and she was putting on the cloak that Lottie entered, hesitating at the door. “M’lady?”

  “Lottie.” Warna took her hands and drew her into the room filled with faellas. “I’m about to depart with Lord Verice, but is there something you need?”

  “I know, we heard, Lady.” Lottie had a bundle in her hands. “Mayth managed to pull some things from our home. I thought perhaps—” She lifted her hands, and a black lace veil spilled from the bundle, with a pattern of roses woven within.

  “Lottie,” Warna breathed as the others ooh’d and ah’d. “You made this?”

  “Aye. There’s no scent of smoke on it,” Lottie assured her. “I thought perhaps...given that you’re dressed in mourning…”

  “It’s perfect. Thank you,” Warna took the soft veil from her hands and draped it over her head, winding the ends around her neck. “How do I look?”

  Lottie reached out, and adjusted the drape with pride. “Like a perfect lost soul, overcome with grief.” She stepped back. “You watch over yourself and our lord now, you hear?”

  “I will,” Warna said. “I promise.”

  The women, human and faelle, all curtsied as she turned to leave. Warna flushed and made for the door.

  She walked quickly across the courtyard where she could see Ricard standing. He greeted her and gave a nod over her shoulder. “He’s just coming now.”

  She looked behind, and her eyes went wide.

  Verice had taken the time to bathe, and his fine white hair was long and flowing outside its normal braid. He was wearing black leathers with a silver chain shirt, belted at the waist with his sword and dagger at his side. He looked like the very picture of an elven prince, down to the black boots and black leather gloves. He wore a black cape, but the chain ran across his chest, and its hem touched the back of his boot.

  “I take it I have ‘looked to my own self’,” he said with a quirk of his lips.

  “You’ll do,” Warna said.

  Ricard looked up. “Almost time, m’lord.”

  “But first there’s one thing I must take care of.” Verice stripped off one glove. “Warna,” he said softly, lifting his hand to her face. “If you would allow?”

  Warna tilted her head slightly, feeling Verice ease his fingers under the veil and brush the delicate skin behind her ear. She shivered at his touch.

  He whispered something she couldn’t quite make out, and a tingle went through her, down to the tips of her toes.

  “Lady, can you understand me?” His breath touched her cheek as he whispered strange words.

  “Lord,
I understand what you are saying,” she whispered back, but the sounds were odd on her tongue.

  He withdrew his hand, brushing her ear again, looking satisfied as he put his glove back on. “It will not last much more than a day, but it should suffice.”

  A chime sounded in the air, ringing a perfect tone.

  “It’s time,” Verice said, and a portal opened before them. “Constable, you have the watch, but defer to Narthing in all things.”

  “Aye, m’lord,” Ricard said. “Travel well, and return safe.”

  “M’lady.” Verice extended his arm.

  “M’lord.” Warna placed her fingers on the back of his wrist and allowed him to lead her through the glowing white curtains of the portal.

  Verice grimaced mentally as he and Warna emerged into the sunlight dappled grove in the palace gardens of Valltera.

  “Oh my,” Warna breathed, and he knew she was taking in the tall spires that rose above the gardens.

  How long had it been since he walked these halls? Hundreds of years was his best guess. Yet it looked the same, even down to the vines and flowers. The more the world may change, the more elves remained the same, that was certain.

  Verice had no idea how they endured it. It was one of the reasons he’d left these lands.

  One of many.

  “Verice, Bearer of the Blood of Tethnar, I offer you greetings.” A royal herald stood before them in stately robes, holding his staff of office, looking as welcoming as an offended cat. “I am Mathonalar, and I am to escort you to the royal presence.”

  “Mathonalar, I accept your greetings, and extend my own in return.” Verice gave a formal bow. “But I must correct you in your choice of title. I am of Palins now, Lord High Baron of Tassinic.”

  Mathonalar bowed formally in return, as slow and stately as one could wish. “I offered greetings as I was commanded.”

  “I see,” Verice would have spat the words, if that were permitted. “May I introduce my ward, Lady Warna of Farentell.”

  Warna curtsied, and Mathonalar bowed, offering his formal greetings yet again. Verice had forgotten the elaborate slowness of ritual welcomes. It made him grit his teeth.

  “Once the guard has peace-bonded your weapons, I am instructed to bring you to Their Majesties’ presence,” Mathonalar continued.

  Which was another way of saying ‘show up and wait your turn,’ Verice thought, but let no hint of it show on his face. He turned to the guard, and they started the ritual of binding each blade in its scabbard with ribbons and wax seals.

  This promised to be a very long afternoon.

  Mathonalar set a slow pace through the gardens and halls as he escorted them to the King and Queen. Warna was quiet at his side, but a glance told him that her eyes were wide with delight, drinking in the sights.

  He could hardly blame her. Elves moved about them, graceful and serene in their bright robes that shimmered as if woven of moonlight and shadow, their ears decorated with the traditional piercings along the edges, glittering with jewels and precious metals. They walked down corridors of glowing white marble, with thick carpets patterned with leaves and birds in patterns that never seemed to repeat.

  And the air was sweet with perfume and soft music floated through every window. Perfect, unblemished, unchanged. As it had been for centuries.

  “It’s lovely,” Warna dared whisper.

  It’s stifling, was Verice’s thought.

  But at last they turned down a short hall, and at Mathonalar’s gesture, the guard drew open the double doors. As they stepped through into the large chamber filled with courtiers, Verice could see King Barathiel on his throne at the other end of the room, with Queen Blesenthala beside him.

  Mathonalar led them straight up to the throne at his slow, regal pace to give those present time to study and assess them, Verice was certain of that.

  Mathonalar stopped before the throne, and tapped his staff three times upon the floor. “Verice, Bearer of the Blood of Tethnar, and his ward, Warna of Farentell.”

  Verice narrowed his eyes at the lack of title for Warna, wondering who had instructed that little detail. But the room had gone silent, and King Barathiel was rising to his feet, a smile on his face.

  “Welcome, cousin!”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  It was all Warna could do not to let her mouth gape open like a dying fish. Cousin?

  Verice took a step forward as the King approached them. The courtiers were all bowing, and moving to the side, creating a path for the King.

  “Your Majesty,” Verice gave a formal bow. “I offer thee greetings.”

  “So formal.” King Barathiel waited until Verice rose, and then grasped Verice in a hug that seemed to catch him by surprise. Before Verice could react, the King released him, and faced Warna directly. “And this is Warna? Your ward, I believe.”

  Warna sank down as gracefully as she could and bowed her head.

  “So lovely,” King Barathiel murmured. “We’ve heard much of your gifts, Warna.”

  That brought her head up, to stare into eyes more cruel, rather than kind. A frisson of fear ran down her spine, but Warna remembered herself enough to lower her gaze. “My thanks, your Majesty,” she whispered.

  “So shy,” King Barathiel said. “And so sorrowful. We are saddened to hear of your loss, Warna. The actions of the Usurper of Palins are a threat to us all.”

  The waters here were deeper than Verice had anticipated, and rapidly rising over his head. “Your Majesty?” he asked, careful to leave his question open-ended. He’d forgotten the layers within layers of the simplest of words spoken in the royal court of Valltera.

  “Come, cousin,” Barathiel took his arm, and guided him towards the dais. “Charrin has told us much of your ward, and the situation you are facing. We’ve had many long talks with him.”

  That came as a shock. Charrin was seated on a stool one step down from the throne. A signal honor. He sat, face turned toward Verice, his harp in his hands.

  “We, Your Majesty?” Verice asked.

  “Our advisors, the Queen and myself.” The King left his side and mounted the steps to his throne. Verice glanced back to see that Warna had followed him, standing one step behind him, a single black rose in a mass of colorful dresses. “We’ve discussed it for some time, and have reached the only conclusion possible. The Usurper threatens your barony, cousin.”

  “There is tension within Palins, Your Majesty,” Verice agreed cautiously. “But to my knowledge it has yet to reach the borders of Valltera.”

  “It is only a matter of time.” Barathiel settled back on his throne with a confident air. “Tassinic must come under our protection, Verice. And you must be restored to your rightful place in our society.”

  A political pit yawned wide at Verice’s feet. “Your Majesty, I was released from my oaths to yourself and this land many years ago. I have sworn my allegiance to Palins and—”

  “To a dead human king, and a lost bloodline,” Barathiel said sharply. “That means little now, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “No.” Verice replied and etiquette be damned. He wasn’t being pushed into this. “I am bound by those oaths.”

  “A simple matter, really.” Queen Blesenthala’s eyes glittered, her voice low and lovely. “In all honor, you will be brought back within the Royal family. Blood binds tighter than any oath. And to that end, we have had a thought to bind you even tighter to us. A marriage.”

  “Marriage?” Verice gaped at her, as the pit became a chasm. “Your Majesty, I—”

  “Too long you have been without companionship, Verice.” Barathiel leaned forward. “It’s not healthy to live alone without the love of a faella.” He paused. “Unless you prefer a mael?”

  “No, Your Majesty,” Verice said. “But—”

  “Then there is no impediment,” Barathiel said. “We would see you wed to a faella of a Blood that will bring you all honors.”

  “Your Majesty—” Verice tried to gather his wits. “My oaths—
”

  King Barathiel would have none of it. He cut through Verice’s protests. “Tassinic is best brought within the protection of our throne and power.”

  “Your Majesty—”

  “Your blood is of the highest, Verice. It’s time for you to stop wasting time with these—” his eyes flicked to Warna and away. “These amusements. Take up the duties and responsibilities imposed on you by virtue of your birth. There’s really no reason you cannot be wed, is there?”

  Verice’s mouth was as dry as his brain. “Your Majesty—”

  “Actually, there is,” Warna’s voice came over his shoulder as she advanced to his side. “He has pledged his troth to me.”

  Warna watched with a great deal of satisfaction as her words wiped the smug looks off the faces of the King and Queen.

  The Queen recovered first, her face serene, her eyes enraged. “We’d no word of this,” she said icily, shooting a glance at Charrin.

  “Your Majesty.” Warna gave her best deep bow, more to give Verice time to find his voice than to honor the Queen. She rose to her feet as slow as grace would allow. “Our vows were only recently exchanged. I’d asked my lord to keep this between the two of us, in hopes that my family might be located and permission given.”

  Verice seemed to recover, and lifted his wrist, extending it to Warna, who placed her fingers on it gratefully. “I honored my lady’s request.” He bowed to both the King and Queen. “Please forgive our delay in informing you of our intentions,” Verice focused on Warna, and she glowed at the warmth in his eyes. “We’d love to have you for the ceremony.”

  The silence was icy, but the look in Verice’s eyes was enough to protect Warna from the chill.

  Verice turned back. “If that was all, Your Majesty, we would return to Tassinic. I offer assurances that I will keep my borders secure, and honor the treaties between Palins and Valltera.”

  “No.” Barathiel stood abruptly. “This warrants private discussions between you and I. But at this time, other petitioners await our attention. Perhaps you wish to show your...intended...the gardens? We will summon you to our side shortly.”