Fate's Star

by Elizabeth Vaughan

  “I know,” Warna sighed. “But if Dominic’s assigned to the Church in Palins, perhaps they’d assign you here?”

  Evie wrinkled her nose. “As much as I’d like that, it’s doubtful. They like to reserve my powers for the nobles at Court.” She flashed a grin again. “Not that I let that stop me.”

  “Dominic’s social climbing skills will be most welcome then,” Warna snorted.

  “He’s very skilled, both as a healer and apparently in moving among the ranks of power. Not one of my abilities, I’m afraid,” Evie said. “But they won’t remove Dominic from his position here until they’ve found a qualified healer to replace him.”

  “Use that as an excuse to visit,” Warna suggested.

  “Lord Verice has said that I might call on him at any time.”

  “I hope you take him up on that offer,” Warna said.

  Evelyn gave her an odd look. “I will think on it,” she said. Then she smiled, her face once again calm and serene. She stood, reaching for her cloak. “For now, I’ve promised Dominic I’d look in on one of his patients to see if I can speed his healing. Apparently, the man is such a horrible patient that Dominic wants him healed and on his way before Dominic’s own bowels rupture in pure frustration.”

  “Before you go,” Warna took a deep breath. “I wanted to talk to you about—”

  “Yes?”

  Warna made her decision. “I want to talk about babies. Well, not having babies.” She blushed scarlet, trying to find the right words. “Preventing babies.”

  Evie gave her a direct look. “Warna, I’ve scanned you. I’ve heard the rumors, but I know that you have not had relations with a male.”

  “Yet,” Warna said.

  I’d like to talk. Please come.

  Warna.

  Verice stared at the note, and felt an odd flutter in his chest.

  “She first asked for hot kav, and a bath,” Ricard spoke with satisfaction, having delivered the note himself. “Dominic and Priestess have both given her their blessing. The Priestess even saw to Narthing. Nice of her,” he sniffed. “Unlike some healers we know.”

  “Warna wants to talk,” Verice said, and felt that flutter again. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t talked since her recovery. But there’s always been healers or servants in the room, seeing to Warna’s care and comfort. There’d been no privacy.

  Verice had felt oddly relieved at that when he’d visited. He wasn’t certain what to say to her, or how to express so many things. His admiration for her manipulation of the situation. His horror that she would drink gwenwyth and sacrifice herself. His terror at the knowledge that she’d do something so fundamentally stupid as to drink the entire cup without knowing what it would do to her, just to spite her foe.

  Ricard interrupted his thoughts. “If the Lady Warna wants to talk,” he said, “best be about it.”

  Verice nodded, and rose from his table. But not before he tucked the note into safe-keeping.

  He schooled himself on the walk from the barracks, nodding greetings to all. There were many knowledgeable looks and smiles, so the word must have spread that the healers had released Warna from their care.

  He entered the keep from one of the smaller doors, not really ready to trod the main staircase, but the lit hallways and buzz from the various rooms and offices didn’t cause any pain. Maybe because he was more intent on seeing Warna, than anything else.

  He allowed himself to mount the steps two at a time, and paused at the door just long enough to catch his breath.

  He knocked.

  “Come in.,” Warna’s voice was strong.

  The room was flooded with morning sunlight. Flowers in vases sat on every open surface. Even though there were chairs by the hearth, Warna sat at the end of the bed, her hair flowing down her back, dressed in one of her light gray dresses. She was smiling, her brown eyes clear and bright.

  She was alone.

  Verice closed the door. “Good morning,” he said.

  “Good morning,” Warna answered. “Dominic and Evelyn have released me from their care. I’m free.”

  “That’s well, then,” Verice stood there, feeling awkward and rather stupid.

  “Verice,” Warna caught his gaze, her eyes warm and intent, “I know what I want now.” She lifted her head, glowing with confidence and strength. “With my life, I mean. At least, for the next month or so.”

  His mouth went suddenly dry. “What?”

  “I’ll tell you,” she said abruptly. “But right now, I want the sun on my face and the wind in my hair. Let’s go walk in the gardens.”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  To Warna’s delight, Verice extended his hand without hesitation. “As you wish,” he said. “But you may not find it as easy as you think to get to the gardens.”

  “Why so?” she asked.

  Her answer came when he opened the door. “Because I will have competition for your attentions,” he whispered. The corridor was filled with people cleaning, all turning towards them with smiles on their faces.

  “Oh.” She hesitated, feeling the heat on her cheeks. “I don’t suppose—”

  “No.” Verice escorted her through the door, and extended his arm again. He lowered his head to her ear. “We can’t go another way.”

  Warna sighed, and returned all the smiles and greetings as they walked along the corridors and down the various staircases.

  Out in the courtyard, it wasn’t so bad. Most people hung from windows, waving kerchiefs, but those in the yard itself didn’t crowd all around them. Warna felt warmed by the greetings, and by the sun on her face. It felt good to be up and about.

  The constable crossed the yard to greet her, along with Verice’s dogs. “It’s good to see your smile, m’lady.”

  “Thank you. Ricard.” Warna smiled back. “I’m going to walk in the gardens for a bit,” she explained as the dogs milled about their legs, looking for attention.

  “Mind the rantha thorns,” Ricard warned. “There’s been no gardeners out there, m’lord, and they’ve probably overrun the paths.”

  “We’ll have a care,” Verice said. “I’m not going to let her go far, trust me.”

  Ricard stepped to the small door in the castle wall, throwing back the locks and releasing the latches.

  “You might have Ersal send word to the gardeners,” Warna said innocently. “So that they can get to work trimming things back.”

  “They’re already at work in the kitchen gardens.” Verice gave her a wry look. “Apparently when I opened the keep, that was interpreted as a general invitation for everyone to return.” He gave Ricard a raised eyebrow. “I wonder where my people learned that ploy.”

  “Hard to say, m’lord,” the constable said as he opened the door. The dogs pushed past him, snuffling the air with anticipation.

  “Warna,” Verice gestured to her to go first.

  Warna didn’t hesitate as she stepped through the doorway and into the garden beyond.

  If this had been a moat, it must have been a wide one, deep and dangerous. The area between the walls was large and spacious and the ramparts towered over her. She could see guards along the outer wall, pacing out their watches.

  But the land between the walls was lush and green, and filled with the wildness of over-grown rose bushes, with large pink roses, their blooms as big as cabbages. The plants sagged under their weight, and petals littered the stone walk that angled away from them.

  Warna took a deep breath of the flower-scented air, and lifted her face to the sky. She could hear Verice walking up behind her, and the dogs running around through the bushes, stirring up birds in pursuit of a rabbit.

  “I should not have neglected it for so long,” Verice said. The sorrow was thick in his eyes. On impulse Warna reached for his hand, taking it in hers. Verice squeezed once, and kept hold as he continued. “It didn’t take long for this place to turn into a wilderness. Watch out for the rantha vines.”

  “It’s not that bad,” Warna said. “I like it
better than the palace gardens in Valltera. Those plants were groomed to within an inch of their lives.” She tugged once, and they started walking down the paths, Verice reaching to clear the branches out of the way. It wasn’t really practical to remain hand in hand. But he didn’t release hers, and she wasn’t going to pull away.

  “Everything perfect, nothing out of its place,” Verice said. “Not so much as a fallen petal.”

  “I never got the chance to ask.” Warna laughed. “They told me you’d been invited to make the king’s bedchamber for the ceremony. Did you get to smooth the king’s pillow?”

  Verice snorted. “I was just positioning it on the bed when word came you’d taken ill.” He stopped for a moment, lifting his head. “You might want to hold your breath for a moment,” he said wryly. At her puzzled glance, he nodded to a bush off to the side. “Gwenwyth.”

  She wrinkled her nose as she got a faint whiff.

  He hurried her past, leading the way. “If I remember correctly, off to the side here…”

  He released her hand and thrust aside more branches, revealing a bower under a trellis of large purple flowers, with two stone benches opposite each other. He cleared the leaves and twigs from one. “Here,” he gestured. “Sit for a while.”

  “Tell me about the ceremony.” Warna sank onto the bench. The stone was warm from the sun that dappled through the leaves. “And what did Barathiel say to you?”

  Verice brushed the other bench clear, then sat opposite her, adjusting his sword as he took his seat. Something flashed through his eyes, but he spoke easily, explaining King Barathiel’s position, describing their conversation. There was something he wasn’t telling her, but Warna could imagine enough not to need details.

  “What of you?” he asked finally. “What happened while I was apart from you?”

  So Warna told him about Charrin, and the Queen’s invitation to a private tea. “I couldn’t think of a way to refuse,” she said. “And once I was there, and the tea was poured, she was so superior, so smug—”

  “You drank the entire cup,” Verice finished.

  “I wish I could claim that I thought it all through,” she admitted. “That I had this grand plan. But really I just...improvised.”

  “I find that at once admirable,” Verice quirked the corner of his mouth. “And terrifying.”

  Warna laughed.

  “But you need to know what’s happened as a result,” Verice said. He told her the situation, from the Usurper’s notes to the pull-back of Barathiel’s armies.

  Warna frowned. “Why would he do that?”

  “Warna, elven faella do not conceive easily. Elven children are rare, and as such, are considered precious above all things,” Verice said. “Any threat to a child, or an expectant mother, human or faella is unpardonable.”

  “Oh,” Warna thought it through. “So, my lies—”

  “I’ve had several unofficial communications,” Verice said. “From elven nobles, from Barathiel, from Blesenthala, even from the Usurper, all delicately inquiring as to the fate of your unborn child.”

  “Lord and Lady.” Warna bit her lip. “It never occurred to me—” She stopped. “But you and I, and my healers know the truth.”

  “Still, when you don’t give birth in the next year, it will be assumed that you miscarried the non-existent child.” Verice looked away. “On one hand, you’ve provided the perfect diplomatic weapon against Barathiel. But on the other, your reputation has suffered, and for that—”

  Warna snorted. “Reputation? What reputation? Verice, I’d been fleeing the Usurper’s army for months, sleeping in ditches, fields, and sheep lofts before you rescued me. Not to mention sleeping in a barracks full of men once I arrived here. No need to be concerned for what is already broken.”

  “I fault myself for that,” Verice said. “I should have had a chaperone, a handmaiden or—”

  “I don’t fault you,” Warna said. “And I don’t regret a moment of it, either.” She let her gaze fall to her lap. “I do feel bad that Blesenthala thinks she killed a child,” she started, but then in her mind’s eye she saw the Queen’s expression as she stared over her teacup. “But she knew exactly what she was doing, didn’t she? She may not have thought I might be pregnant, but she certainly meant me ill.”

  “You certainly caught her off guard,” Verice said. “What with the vomit on her shoes.”

  “But not on her lap,” Warna admitted with a smile.

  Verice looked at her, the laughter in his eyes slowly fading. “So that is where it stands now. Stalemate. Hopefully, a peaceful stalemate. Not that I will relax my guard just yet.”

  “So that just leaves us,” Warna blurted out.

  Verice jerked his head in a nod.

  Gathering her nerve, Warna sat up straight on the bench. “Verice,” she started, her words catching in her throat.

  He raised an eyebrow, and waited for her to continue.

  “Verice,” Warna said. “I know what I want.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Verice’s heart leaped with a sudden, irrational fear that she’d ask to leave. She’d every right to ask to go, but he—

  He swallowed, and chose the honorable path, as much as it choked him to do so. “Whatever you want, Warna.”

  “Hear me out,” she chided. She breathed deep, and he took a moment to just look at her, lovely in the scattered sunlight. She seemed to glow against the greenery that sheltered them.

  “I want to celebrate the Festival of Light and Laughter with you in the Great Hall.” She raised a hand to forestall any protest. “You and I have been dancing around the central issue of the castle and your keep since I’ve arrived. We’ve - your staff and I - we’ve used subterfuge, dissembling, shams and deceit.” She gave him a solemn look. “As conspiracies go, it’s been a fairly quiet one.”

  Verice couldn’t help but snort, and at Warna’s questioning look, he raised an eyebrow of his own. “Isn’t that the very nature of conspiracies?” he asked.

  That got him a soft smile but it didn’t reach Warna’s eyes. “And you’ve let us. Turned a blind eye to our doings; ignored what was happening around you.”

  Verice said nothing, kept his face as still as stone. But Warna wasn’t fooled. She rose, pushed through the dogs, and sat next to him, taking his hand.

  He felt the warmth of her skin, took in the soft scent of her hair and the band around his chest tightened.

  “That was fine,” she assured him. “It worked, in fact. For both you and those around you. But now, going forward, there should be only truth between us. No more lies, no more coy maneuvering. What I want is for us to be honest with each other.”

  “Very well—” Verice began

  “I want to open the Great Hall, bring the business of the keep to its full operations as the heart of your power,” Warna said. “We’ll honor the dead, I promise you, and then celebrate the full Festival in all its glory.”

  “Then, after-” she faltered slightly. “After the Festival is concluded, after a week or so, we will quietly break our troth. I’ll go to my great-uncle’s and rebuild my life.”

  “This is what you want?” Verice asked, staring at her hand in his.

  “Well, there’s one more thing,” Warna said, and now he felt her fingers tremble in his. She didn’t continue, and he glanced at her to see her eyes downcast as well.

  “Warna?” he asked in the barest of whispers.

  She took a trembling breath, leaned closer, and kissed him.

  Her heart was going to beat its way out of her chest. Warna took her failing courage into her hands and kissed Verice.

  His lips were smooth and dry against hers, and when he didn’t respond she felt all her hope die a long agonizing death. She missed the warmth of his mouth even before she pulled away.

  She felt his hand on the back of her neck, and his warmth returned as he kissed her with a power that stole the breath from her body. Warm, wet, inviting, his mouth was all that and more. Somehow, witho
ut her even realizing it, she was wrapped in his arms.

  She broke the kiss, trying to catch her breath. “I want you,” she half-sobbed, half-laughed. “I want this, whatever this is, for as long as I remain.” Words failed her now as she plunged along, trying to explain. “I want to explore you, to touch you, to know you, to have you know me. Please, Verice.” She was more than willing to plead for this. “I know I won’t be more than a flower in your garden, but please—”

  He kissed her again, cutting off her words, and she moaned against him, sensations swirling around her like a tempest. Only one real thought remained. She’d be a brief moment of pleasure to him, that was certain.

  But she’d love him for a lifetime, and beyond.

  It meant separation, it meant having him, and losing him. So be it.

  Even those thoughts scattered as his hands stroked her through her dress, and rational thought fled. She was lost in the wonders of his mouth, his touch, and a burning craving that flushed her skin.

  He broke the kiss, his voice hoarse in her ear. “Warna, are you certain? Because—”

  Warna rested her head against his, and nodded. “I talked to Evie, and asked her to make certain that I can’t get pregnant. She’s taken care of that with her magic.” Warna swallowed hard, leaning back to catch his eye. “Verice,” she whispered “Please.”

  A shadow crossed over him then, but it was gone in an instant, and something else burned there. She caught her breath.

  “It would be my honor,” Verice said, and the tightness in her chest eased.

  “Here?” She trembled with longing, and a touch of fear. “Now?”

  “No.” Verice closed his eyes. “If you don’t think there are more eyes on us now than there ever were at the elven court, you are mistaken.” He darted in for a kiss, startling her as his tongue flicked out to lick her mouth. But he rose just as fast, and pulled her to her feet.

  “Come,” Verice said. “Let’s see about getting you what you want.”