Fate's Star

by Elizabeth Vaughan

  Until he heard Warna’s name in the talk.

  He bowed to the bed, backed from the room, then turned on his heel to face the guards and the clearly agitated handmaiden. “What’s this?” he demanded.

  “Verice, Bearer of the Blood of Tethnar,” the faella was wringing her hands. “Your betrothed has taken ill. Violently ill. She drank her tea, and suddenly—”

  “Take me to her,” Verice snapped, pushing through the guards. “Now.”

  The handmaiden turned, and actually ran, telling Verice more than she ever could verbalize. He ran behind her, ignoring shocked looks and quiet protests of outrage as the serenity of the palace was broken.

  It wasn’t far. Verice charged through the doors, and slid to a stop.

  Faellas lined the side of the room, chairs and small tables abandoned. Queen Blesenthala was on her throne, her face pinched and tight. And Warna, his Warna—

  —was on the floor, on her hands and knees, heaving violently. Evidence of her illness lay before her, stretching all the way to the tips of the Queen’s slippers.

  “Warna,” Verice breathed.

  She turned her head, giving him a miserable blank stare. Then her eyes focused, and she smiled weakly. “Verice.” She grimaced as he strode to her side. “No, Verice, don’t—”

  The retching caught her again, and she turned away as her body was wracked with pain.

  “Here, now,” Verice knelt down, heedless of the mess. He rubbed her back, offering what comfort he could. “What’s happened?”

  “Your betrothed has taken ill,” Queen Blesenthala spoke, her face pinched. “Healers have been sent for and they will attend her.” She glanced at the doorway. “There was no need to send for you.”

  “There was every need,” Verice said mildly, hoped that for her sake, the handmaiden had

  disappeared into the crowd. “Warna, let me get you off the floor.”

  “No,” she panted, letting her head hang down. She grabbed his wrist as if to prevent him and tapped the back of his hand three times with her finger.

  Verice held his face still, keeping his anger behind a wall. Something then, something the Queen had done. He tapped his finger on Warna’s back, so she knew he understood. There were shards of teacups all around them, but no evidence of foodstuffs. The tea? His mind was working even as Warna succumbed to another round of horrible vomiting, her skirts now stained with urine and...his heart stopped.

  There was blood seeping through her skirts.

  Rage colored his vision red.

  Warna spat to clear her mouth, then glanced at him, her eyes tinged red, her face covered in broken blood vessels. Her grip tightened on his wrist. “Verice,” she moaned. “Take me home.”

  That startled him out of his anger.

  Running footsteps, and a small cadre of mael and faella healers burst into the room. The foremost ran forward, reaching for Warna.

  Warna reared back, seeking shelter in Verice’s arms. “No,” she warded off the healer’s hands. “Do not touch me.”

  “Our healers are the finest,” Queen Blesenthala declared, but the healer only withdrew her hand, and knelt, seeming to take no offense.

  “Lady, I am gifted in magical healing. Let me see to—”

  “Have you ever healed a human?” Warna demanded, her voice hoarse and thick with pain. She pressed herself closer to Verice, and he tightened his arms around her.

  “No, lady, but—”

  “My lord and I anticipated our wedding vows,” Warna lied as loudly as her throat would let her. “I may bear his heir. Would you risk us both?”

  No longer surprised by anything Warna said, Verice moved his hands, making sure the healer caught sight of the blood on Warna’s skirts.

  The healer’s eyes widened, and she lowered her hand. “Your Majesty, it would be for the best if—”

  “No,” Queen Blesenthala declared.

  Verice banked his rage, tamping it down, barely maintaining control.

  Another commotion at the door, and King Barathiel arrived. “What is this? What has happened?”

  Warna groaned, turned away from Verice and retched.

  Barathiel stopped a few feet away, his nose wrinkled in disgust. But then his eyes narrowed. “Blesenthala, what have you done?”

  “Nothing,” the Queen said quietly, lifting her chin. “Warna has had a bad reaction to the tea, that is all.”

  “There’s a chance she is pregnant,” the healer rose to her feet. “It would be best if she is seen to by those who have tended humans and half-elven before.”

  “Is this true, Verice?’ Barathiel demanded.

  “Would you take that risk?” Verice demanded in return. “For the sake of any potential child, Barathiel, let me take her home.”

  Barathiel stood frozen for an instant, then shook his head. “Go. We grant permission—”

  “No,” Blesenthala rose from her throne.

  Verice didn’t wait another moment. He stood, and cast the spell, summoning a portal to Tassinic.

  “Don’t think we are done,” Barathiel called out. “We will speak again, and soon.”

  Verice ignored him. As soon as the oval opened, the white curtains flowing in a non-existent breeze, he swept Warna and her sodden skirts into his arms, and stepped through—

  Into a bed-chamber covered in dust from months of dis-use.

  His bedchamber. The one at the top of the keep.

  Verice stood, paralyzed for a moment, as memories rose up before his eyes. But then Warna moaned in his arms, and he moved to place her on the bed.

  “No,” she groaned, plucking at his arm. “Privy.”

  He got her through the door and propped against the hole just as she started to heave again.

  “Warna,” he rubbed her back, pulling the hair away from her face. “How do you fare?”

  She cast her eyes up, giving him a look. “Fine, just fine,” she coughed and spat into the hole. “Where are we?”

  “Home,” Verice stood. “Just give me a moment,” he strode out into the bedchamber. Warna muttered something after him, but he was intent on his task. With a word and a gesture, he threw open every window in the room. “Constable,” he bellowed, using his powers to amplify his voice so it shook the stones around him.

  “M’lord?” came the faint response from somewhere below.

  “Warna’s ill,” Verice shouted, trying not to let his fear echo with his voice. With another gesture he slammed open every outer door to the keep. “Come to her aid.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Everyone came running, healers, warriors, dogs, all thundering through the keep, calling for Verice and Warna. “Here,” Verice called from the doorway, and stepped aside to allow the healers through. “She’s—”

  But the sound of her retching was clear and the healers disappeared into the privy.

  “Constable,” Verice said to the man huffing and puffing by the door. “Keep them back for now. But have runners ready for whatever the healers might need.”

  Ricard had a million questions on his face, but all he said was, “Aye, sir.”

  Verice caught Brindle trying to squeeze through the door. “And try to keep the dogs back as well.”

  Verice returned to the doorway, watching as Warna, supported by the healers, retched helplessly.

  “We’ll get you out of these clothes first,” Dominic said, his voice holding a rare note of gentleness. “Then we’ll see to this.”

  “There’s blood,” Verice said sharply. “On her skirts.”

  “Blood?” Dominic asked sharply. “Warna—”

  “Lord and Lady, can this day possibly get worse?” Warna moaned. “It’s my monthlies, I think. On top of everything else.”

  The knot in Verice’s chest released, and it felt a bit easier to breath. Not a wound then. Or something worse.

  “We’ll check you out to be sure,” Dominic said, leaning forward to seemingly peer at the vomit. “What brought this on?” he asked. “Was there fever? Pai
n? Did you eat—”

  “Queen Blesenthala said it was hibiscus tea,” Verice offered.

  Warna muttered a few pithy phrases about the Queen. “It was gwenwyth,” she panted, after her strength ran down.

  “Gwenwyth?” Dominic frowned. “That can cause illness in a human, yes, but not this violent a reaction. At least, not usually.”

  “I drank the entire cup,” Warna admitted.

  Verice jerked in shock. Dominic sputtered. “An entire cup?”

  “Why?” Verice asked. “If you knew—”

  “Because she knew,” Warna sagged against the wall. “Because she knew I knew she knew.” She sighed. “Maybe just to spite her.”

  “Warna,” Verice whispered, half in admiration, half in dismay.

  “We’re home, aren’t we?” Warna closed her eyes, looking sick and weary.

  Verice reached out, and gently placed his hand on her head. “We are,” he admitted.

  Warna swallowed, then grimaced. “But drinking the entire cup,” she sighed. “May have been a mistake.”

  “How long ago?” Dominic asked.

  “I don’t know,” Warna said wearily. “We sat there, staring at one another until...it seemed like forever.” She coughed, glaring at the jakes. “It was violent when it hit.”

  “You vomited on the Queen’s slippers,” Verice said, thinking on the room.

  “I was aiming for her lap.” Her disappointment was clear. “No more than an hour, I think.”

  “Well, now I know what I’m dealing with,” Dominic said firmly. “We’ll need water,” he glanced at Verice. “Fresh clothes, and clean cloths. I’ll send one of my apprentices for medicines. There’s no sense in moving her—”

  Warna heaved, bringing up little more than spit and bile.

  “At least until that stops,” Dominic added. He raised an eyebrow at Verice. “My lord, give us some time to see to her.”

  “I—” Verice hesitated. “Warna—”

  She gave him a wan smile. “Go,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

  Verice stepped back, reluctantly, then returned to the main doors, to find Ricard waiting with Ersal and a half-dozen of the staff. “Dominic needs water, hot and cold,” Verice said.

  One of the men in the back darted off.

  “Some fresh clothes for Warna, and clean cloths and towels—”

  Two more disappeared.

  “And I want runners waiting here if he needs anything else,” Verice added. “Ersal,” he hesitated, glancing back at the bed behind him. Pain rose in his chest, memories of that horrible night—

  The sound of Warna being sick again echoed from the privy.

  “Ersal, see to it that this room is cleaned and restored.” Verice ordered. “Do everything possible for Warna’s comfort.”

  Ersal’s face was solemn. “M’lord, I will see it done. It would be easier though, if we could use the hot springs below, and the smaller hearths.”

  Verice’s throat closed. For a moment the pain threatened to overwhelm him. But he didn’t let it stop him. “Whatever you need, Ersal. Except the Great Hall. Let no one enter there.”

  “On my honor,” Ersal bowed his head. “It will be done as you command.”

  “My thanks,” Verice said. “Ricard, send word to the commanders along the border with Valltera to watch for trouble.” Verice said grimly. “Then join me at Narthing’s bedside.”

  “M’lord,” Ricard acknowledged the command. He hesitated for a moment. “You might want to clean up first.”

  Verice looked down at his stained and fouled leathers. “I will. We’ll need to send word to my advisors as well,” he started off down the dimly lit and dusty corridor, Ricard at his side. “There is much to discuss.”

  The stars were out that night by the time Verice returned to the keep. He entered through the main doors, taking the steps two at a time. Painful memories lingered in the shadows, but he ignored them. His thoughts were of Warna. He’d received hourly reports from Dominic, all of which boiled down to ‘no change’.

  The keep was alive with light and movement as the work of cleaning progressed. Ersal’s voice was coming from the Seneschal’s office, but Verice didn’t pause to inquire. He continued on.

  The main corridors were being scrubbed, the carpets removed to be aired and beaten. Verice acknowledge the staff’s quiet nods and ‘m’lords’ as he strode on, climbing the stairs and walking the halls to his chambers.

  He tapped on the door, and one of the apprentices opened it and bowed him in.

  This room shone, having been cleaned to a fare-thee-well. The smell of fresh soap and linens filled the air, but there was an underlying scent of medicines and sickness.

  Warna was lying in bed, almost dwarfed by the bedding and pillows. She gave him a weak smile. Verice crossed to the bed and took her hand. “You look terrible,” he blurted out.

  “Trust me,” she said wryly. “I’m not feeling much like a delicate flower right now.”

  Verice sat on the side of the bed, looked over to where Dominic was conferring with the other healers. Dominic caught his look, and motioned for him to wait.

  “What’s been happening?” Warna rasped. “Anything?”

  “Yes,” Verice hesitated. “Barathiel has sent messages of concern for your health and assurances of the sanctity of our mutual border.”

  “What does that mean?” Warna said.

  “We’re not sure,” Verice admitted, enfolding her cold hand in both of his. “There have also been messages from the Regent of Palins, inquiring as to the health of my betrothed and offering assurances of his readiness to defend my borders.”

  Warna’s eyes went wide. “But how would they know? So fast?”

  Verice shrugged. “Spies, no doubt. In both courts, probably. Here, even. News flies on the wind.”

  Warna’s fingers tightened weakly around his. “I’ve made a mess of things, haven’t I? I was lying my fool head off to get us out of there, and never thought through the consequences.”

  “Hush,” Verice said. He reached out to push a strand of her hair back off her face. Her skin felt flushed. “Are you cold?”

  Warna pulled at the blanket. “Can’t seem to get warm.”

  Dominic and the others approached the bed. “Well, let’s see to you,” the healer said.

  Verice rose, and released Warna’s hand slowly, making way for the healers.

  “Open,” Dominic ordered, and Warna obeyed. “Let this melt under your tongue. That will ease the pain, and let you sleep.”

  Warna grimaced. “Bitter,” she complained.

  “Let us help you to the privy before the drug takes effect,” Dominic said, and Warna grimaced, but nodded weakly. Dominic pulled Verice away as she was aided out of bed.

  “Well?” Verice asked softly.

  “She hasn’t been able to keep anything down, even water.” Dominic said. “I’ve never seen this violent a reaction to gwenwyth before, but then I’ve never known any human to drink a full cup of the stuff. We’re hoping that a night’s rest will settle her stomach. We’ll try a bit of broth in the morning, and see what happens. We’ll stay with her tonight.”

  The implication being that Verice was in the way. Verice sighed as Warna walked slowly back to the bed, and was tucked under the covers.

  “I’ll have warming stones brought—” Dominic started.

  “Yes, do that. But for now…” Verice stepped forward. Warna gave him a puzzled glance as he put his hands on the bed. “Allow me,” he said softly, then cast a warming spell on the bed.

  Warna sighed as the heat enveloped her, some of the lines in her face easing.

  “That feels lovely,” she whispered.

  Verice sat on the side of the bed. “Would that my gifts included healing,” he said ruefully. He glanced over his should to see that Dominic and the others were giving them a bit of privacy.

  “So sorry,” Warna said softly. “Never thought it through.” She fumbled her hand out from under the blanket, an
d reached for Verice. He took hers in his, pleased that her fingers were warmer. “Trapped you in a marriage,” she whispered, struggling to keep her eyes open. “Didn’t mean to...I’m sorry.”

  “I am not,” Verice whispered, but she was already fast asleep.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  “Well, that explains quite a bit,” Verice said, as he studied the map of Tassinic, and the neighboring baronies laid out on the floor of Narthing’s room in the Healing Hall. The day had been a blur. Between fears for Warna, and fears for the border, Verice wasn’t sure where the hours had flown.

  “I can’t believe that the Baroness of the Black Hills attacked Wyethe and Athelbryght at the same time.” Narthing said. He was seated on the edge of the bed, trying to keep his toes out of Palins. “She had to know that Summerford would rise in response.”

  “King Barathiel has pulled his troops back from our border,” Verice said.

  “Not far enough,” Ricard growled.

  “Far enough to show his intent,” Verice said.

  “Aye, sit back and wait for a weakness,” Ricard grumbled.

  “True enough,” Verice said. “I’ve let my sources of information lapse there, Pernard.”

  “Easily remedied,” Pernard replied. “Leave it to me, m’lord.”

  “And the Usurper,” Ricard consulted some notes. “His forces have pulled back as well.”

  “Thanks to Elanore’s mistake. With the Black Hills fighting a war on two borders, he can’t count on her support.” Verice said with no little satisfaction.

  “Warring on two separate borders at once?” Narthing said. “She’s mad.”

  “Well, if she’s taken to raising odium then even if she’s not now crazed, she soon will be.” Verice said grimly.

  Pernard shook his head “Has she turned to blood magic?”

  “I can’t confirm it,” Verice said. “And I will not risk scouts to learn if it’s true. But what Elanore forgot is that while the High Baron of Summerford and the High Baroness of Wyethe despise each other, they each leap to the other’s defense at the slightest hint of a threat. They’ve joined forces against her, and even if she’s using odium, she cannot stand against them.”