Fate's Star

by Elizabeth Vaughan

  Verice inclined his head. “Our thanks to your gracious majesties.” Before Warna could start her curtsey, he led her off through tall doors on the other side of the room, and into the gardens.

  Verice didn’t stop until he was sure they were well out of the range of any listeners. He took Warna’s hand and urged her through the rows of hedges and flowers, all perfectly trimmed without a leaf or branch out of place.

  Finally, he found a bench surrounded by a field of knee-high lavender, where he had a clear field of vision. He stopped, and checked their surroundings.

  Warna sank down onto the bench as if all the energy had drained from her. “Verice, I am so sorry,” she started.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for.” Verice started to pace in the area before her, still keeping watch.

  “I’ve all but trapped you into a marriage,” Warna said. “But I didn’t see any other way. They both seemed so smug, so sure they’d trapped you—”

  “They may have,” Verice said. “And please believe my anger is for myself, not you. I should have seen this coming.”

  “I don’t see how,” Warna said.

  “Barathiel has always resented Palins,” Verice said. “And that his father, my uncle, consented to releasing me so that I could swear fealty to King Jeverard.”

  “So, he is your cousin?” Warna asked, her eyes going wide.

  “Only when he deems fit to acknowledge that fact,” Verice growled. “Now, to find a way out of here without offending their delicate sensibilities.”

  “You will find a way,” Warna said.

  “I appreciate your faith in me,” Verice paused in his pacing. “Since I have no idea of how I am going to do that.” He stared down at her. “But one thing is clear. We are being watched.”

  Warna’s eyes went wide. “But you said—”

  “They can’t hear us,” Verice assured her. “But they can see us. And it would appear that we have been arguing.” He shook his head. “So, we need to address this issue,” he knelt before her, and reached for her hand, pressing it to his chest. “I will ask forgiveness, as a proud elven warrior should when he has offended his lady.”

  “And as a gentle human lass, I will forgive.” Warna smiled. “This isn’t your fault.”

  “Nor is it yours,” he replied.

  “I never intended—” Warna started.

  “I know,” Verice murmured. “We’ll discuss this at another time. But in order to hold true to our story, there’s another thing we must do.”

  Warna blinked. “Yes?”

  He leaned in, his lips hovering over hers. “With your permission?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Warna whispered and pressed her lips to his.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Warna melted into his body, bringing her arms up to wrap around his neck. His mouth felt so good on hers. When his tongue danced over her upper lip, she parted them and let him in.

  They kissed for long moments, until Verice pulled back slightly. “Not sure we’ve convinced them,” he whispered in her ear.

  “I agree,” she said solemnly, and captured his mouth again, eager for more.

  A clearing of a throat came from behind them. “Forgive me, Verice, Bearer of the Blood of Tethnar, but I’ve been sent to escort you to the King.”

  Verice broke the kiss, breathing heavily. “Give us a moment, if you would.”

  “But of course.”

  Verice helped Warna with her veil. “They will separate us,” he said into her ear as he helped her to rearrange her veil. “Remember the three rules. And if it comes to that, seek out my old weaponsmaster. His name is Arthrano. He would aid you.”

  “How would he know who I am?”

  Verice’s chest rumbled in a deep, quiet chuckle. “After our little announcement? I suspect the entire Elven Kingdom knows who you are.”

  Warna took a deep breath to still her shakiness. “Once we are free of this place, we will discuss this further,” she said. “And in more detail.”

  Verice’s face stilled, all humor gone. “You have my word, m’lady.” With that he rose to his feet. “We are ready now.”

  The guard advanced and bowed to Verice. “This way, Bearer of the Blood. There is a small sitting room where your ward can wait. You and the King are to have words.”

  “We will indeed,” Verice said mildly.

  “You always were the unconventional one,” Barathiel said in the privacy of his chambers. “Wine?”

  “No, thank you.” Verice followed Barathiel into the room. He’d been forced to leave Warna in the care of one of the handmaidens down a distant hall. He chafed at the separation.

  “Charrin has told us that you were attracted to the human woman.” Barathiel poured himself a glass. “Polluting your blood line even further than it already is.”

  Verice stiffened.

  “Have her if you will,” Barathiel continued. “For the time she has left. But no children, Verice.”

  Verice gave the man a cold look.

  “Seal the borders to Palins, and the taint will dissipate from your lands over time. Tassinic can become one with our land. We would honor your boundaries and welcome you into our confidences.”

  “They aren’t chess pieces, Barathiel.”

  “Take the long view, Verice,” Barathiel gestured with his glass. “Sooner or later, there will be war with the Usurper. You and Tassinic will be caught in the middle. Ally with us and we—”

  “As in the royal we?” Verice asked. “Is Blesenthala behind this offer?”

  Barathiel paused, swirling the liquid in his glass slowly. He finally lifted his gaze to Verice. “She’s a lovely thing, your human,” he said. “If you like that sort of thing. But at best she’s good for what, another fifty years? Your interest will wane, or she will.”

  “We’ll be leaving.” Verice stood.

  “No,” Barathiel said. “You’ll stay until this is settled. Attempt to open a portal without permission, and my mage-guards will see to it that small chunks of your flesh rain down on your precious castle.”

  “I find this hard to believe, cousin,” Verice said coldly. “That your sense of hospitality suffers so.”

  “Nonsense,” Barathiel said as he strode to the door, opening it to reveal an escort. “I’d honor you, cousin, by assigning you a role in the afternoon ceremonies. It’s rare that one such as yourself is afforded the honor of smoothing the royal pillows.”

  “What of Warna?” Verice growled.

  “Another reason you should consider your position,” Barathiel said. “But have no fear, cousin. We will see to her comforts.”

  A handmaiden escorted Warna into a small room with paintings on the walls, and windows overlooking the gardens. There was no other way out beside the one door, and she was fairly certain there was at least one guard in the hall.

  She settled on one of the chairs by the windows, and resigned to wait patiently.

  She had to smile in spite of herself. Her picture books of elves and their lands hadn’t done justice to the beauty and elegance of these people. And hadn’t prepared her for their arrogance either.

  The Lady of Laughter alone knew where she’d gotten the courage to claim Verice before the King and Queen. Warna had to admit to herself that part of her motivation was simply anger at their smug faces, certain that they’d caught Verice in their snares.

  She hadn’t thought of rumors, or that the word of their engagement might travel as swift as flight, but she should have known. Even elves weren’t above a good gossip, it would appear. Something none of her childhood story books had mentioned. And wasn’t that a disappointment, to find out that elves were human?

  Her stomach rumbled a bit, reminding her that it had been some time since her morning meal. Had it only been half a day since she’d awakened to the sound of Verice’s sword against the pells? If felt like forever…

  With any luck, they’d feed her at some point.

  The door opened, and Charrin walked in.

 
; He really hadn’t changed since she’d seen him in Bode’s tower. Tall, elegant, with that horrible slash over his eyes, puckered and red. He was carrying his harp and wearing formal robes embroidered with flames.

  “Warna,” he said.

  “Bard Charrin.” Warna rose and curtsied.

  “You needn’t bother,” he said, moving unerringly to the chair opposite her. “It’s not like I can see your courtesies.”

  “Still I offer them,” Warna said. “Out of respect.”

  “I don’t see why,” he said. “It’s not like I have any respect for you or your kind.”

  To the hells with the three rules. “Then why are you here?” Warna demanded.

  “To tell you that I heard the note of surprise in his voice,” Charrin said. “That I know that you are no more betrothed to Verice than I am able to fly.” Charrin placed a hand on the back of the chair. “Retract your lies before the court, so that Verice can take his true place in society.”

  “That which lies between Verice and I is a private matter,” Warna said. “And his surprise was in the announcement, not the betrothal.”

  “He pollutes his bloodline again if he goes forward with this,” Charrin spat. “Tassinic needs to be cleansed of its human taint, and brought within the Kingdom.”

  Again? Warna wasn’t going to ask, because a deep chill ran down her spine at his words, his lovely voice filled with hate. Recalling Kalynn’s words at the tower, she didn’t hold back. “Does your hatred of humans,” Warna paused. “Does your hatred of us truly add value to the memories of your Lady Summer?”

  Charrin reared back. “How dare you speak her name,” he hissed. “What do you know of loss, of pain? You, who have barely seen twenty years, if that? I have underthings older than you.”

  Warna wrinkled her nose at that, but then answered him honestly. “In the last year, I’ve lost everything. My family, my home.” She looked down at her hands, pale against the black of her skirts. “A degree of belief in the goodness of people, human as well as elven. I am not sure that the number of years matter. We share these things, Charrin. Elf and human alike.”

  “How dare you,” Charrin spat, his face contorted in rage.

  “It’s easier to hate than to mourn, isn’t it?” Warna continued on. “Easier to dwell on the grief than live.”

  “You miserable, hateful—”

  A knock on the door brought Charrin to a stop, trembling as he stood there.

  “Forgive the intrusion,” it was the handmaiden, peeking in through the open door.

  “Enter,” Warna said. “Please.”

  The handmaiden advanced, her flowery skirts rustling on the carpet, and curtsied before Warna. “Please forgive the delay. Queen Blesenthala invites you to take tea with her.”

  Warna didn’t think twice. “I’d be delighted.”

  Charrin watched the human flee.

  How dare she compare her squalid feelings to his. How dare she claim that they shared anything.

  Verice had to be made to see his error, his folly, and no amount of song or poetry would convince him, Charrin was certain of that. Only actions would suffice to bring that stubborn Lord around.

  Charrin took a deep breath, composing himself. There would be a time and place.

  And then he would act.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Warm sun streamed through the windows as Verice watched the nobles strip the bedding from the King’s bed with slow, careful movements.

  It was probably for the best that he had been ‘invited’ to participate in this ceremony. It gave him time - lots of time - to consider his position.

  Barathiel had caught him flat-footed and off-guard with his proposal that Verice abandon Palins, and marry to bring Tassinic into Valltera. Thank the Ancestors that Warna had stepped forward with her declaration. Verice’s only other course would have been to try to stall, and Barathiel had seemed fully determined to force the issue then and there.

  The mattress had been stripped, and turned. They all stood waiting patiently as the fresh bedding was carried into the room.

  King Barathiel was an absolute ruler, Verice knew that well enough. But he had a council of Earls who held a great deal of power. Not all of them would be pleased with Barathiel’s heavy-handed manner, for what force he brought to bear on Verice could easily be turned on them.

  Verice cursed himself for his lapse in not knowing what was happening in Valltera much beyond the borders. He was an idiot, a thrice-times idiot, and he’d pay for that lack now. It would take time to locate the Earls, time to seek out their positions, and in the meantime Barathiel seemed determined to keep him here, a prisoner in the court.

  Or Verice could risk the offense, open a portal, and defend himself from whatever happened next. But Tassinic could not stand against the concentrated might of Valltera.

  And he couldn’t risk Warna.

  Barathiel knew that, damn him.

  They were spreading the first sheet now. Verice sighed stoically, and girded himself for a long afternoon.

  Warna felt like a black stain in a sea of flowery dresses. The hallway that the handmaiden led her down was filled with elven maidens in their finery. But the handmaiden walked serenely on, and Warna followed dutifully as she wove a path through them.

  One of the faella leaned forward as Warna passed. “Your veil, so lovely,” she whispered.

  “Where did you find such quality?”

  Warna’s merchant soul rose up within her. “Its maker resides in Tassinic,” she whispered. “Send word to me there, and I’ll pass on her name.”

  The faella gave her a grateful look, and Warna continued on, following the handmaiden through large double doors. Only to find herself in a large room, as large as any ballroom she’d ever seen in her picture books.

  At the far wall was a single throne, capped with a cloth of gold that shimmered under the light of a thousand candles. Before the throne, spread out in a fan pattern, were delicate white chairs, each with a tiny table beside it, each set with a white cup and saucer.

  “Private tea?” Warna muttered under her breath.

  The handmaiden led the way to the chair facing the throne, almost isolated from its neighbors. “I bid you welcome in Queen Blesenthala’s name.”

  “I thank you,” Warna replied, settling carefully in her chair. All she could do was fold her hands in her lap and wait.

  The room filled, each faella taking her chair, sitting with perfect posture and composure, looking more like perfect painted dolls than living beings.

  The cup and saucer caught Warna’s eye, startling in their whiteness, of porcelain so fine she swore she could see through it. She’d love to own such a pretty thing, but right now she had but one thought: Lord of Light, Lady of Laughter, don’t let me drop it.

  The stir behind her finally stopped and a hush fell over the room as the doors were closed. Once all was silent, with each lady facing the throne, the doors opened again, and Queen Blesenthala swept in, and to her throne.

  Warna rose with the others, and curtsied, careful not to let her skirts knock over the tiny table.

  “Ladies, and Warna of Farentell, you are most welcome,” Queen Blesenthala cooed, settling herself on her throne. Her dress was a vivid pink, making her the rose in the garden. “Let us refresh ourselves with tea and conversation.

  “Warna, you are a delightful surprise this day, and we extend our greetings to you,” the Queen continued. “Verice has been invited by the King to the Ceremonies of the Bedchamber. He is to place the pillows on the King’s bed. A singular honor.”

  “Your Majesties are both so kind,” Warna murmured, after it seemed that the Queen was expecting a response.

  The Queen tilted her head gracefully to a footman off to the side, and servers flooded into the room, each carrying pots of tea held in towels.

  “Verice is held in high regard here,” Queen Blesenthala responded. “And we honor his choice of betrothal.” She watched as her tea was poured, steaming, i
nto the cup.

  “An odd choice, of course,” the Queen continued. “Humans are like flowers that bloom only to wither away so quickly. A brief moment in time.”

  “But, Your Majesty,” Warna sent a mental apology toward Verice. “While it blooms, it is cherished all the more for the briefness of its beauty.” She watched as the servant poured her cup of tea. “One treasures the time one is given.”

  Queen Blesenthala had lifted her saucer, her cup poised before her lips. “Well spoken,” she said with a lift of her cup. “Shall we drink?”

  Everyone else had claimed their cup and saucer. Warna lifted hers as well. She paused as the steam brought a flowery scent to her nostrils. “May I ask, what flavor is this?”

  “Hibiscus,” Queen Blesenthala hid her smile behind her cup. “My favorite.”

  No, it wasn’t. Warna recognized the scent. It was gwenwyth tea.

  ‘Your pardon, lady,” Aeric had said. “but me mum was full human, and while she liked the taste, it gave her the flux something fierce.’

  The cup poised, Warna froze, staring at the Queen as the Queen stared back. The steam rose, the cup warm beneath her fingers, and yes, she could see them through the thin white porcelain.

  Warna narrowed her eyes, hoping against hope that her thoughts were reflected in her eyes. ‘You think humans are delicate little flowers in your garden, don’t you?’ Warna thought. ‘Well, guess what, bitch—’

  She drank the entire cup, setting it softly back on its saucer.

  ‘We are not.’

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Verice had the honor of placing the first pillow, and was smoothing the top when there was a flurry of movement and raised voices at the door to the King’s Bedchamber.

  It would never do to have the ceremony disrupted, so Verice finished his task, and stepped back to allow the next ridiculous step to occur in this foolish ceremony.