“Might as well try to organize mayflies,” Janella sighed. “For all the good it will do.”
“No plan survives the first encounter with the enemy.” Narthing smiled as he took a seat.
“But we need review our plans, none the less,” Warna said firmly. “So, let’s start with the First Night.”
Narthing caught his breath as a sudden stillness filled the room. His own pain caught him off guard, with a sudden swift clutching of his heart. The faces around him all reflected the same. They’d all known it was coming, known that it had to be done. Now it was here, and no easier.
Warna looked stricken by her own words. For a moment, he thought she might start crying, but she took a deep breath and continued. “Priest Dorne and I have talked. We’d like to share our thoughts on how we should proceed.” She dropped her eyes to the scroll that was set out before her. “I want you all to aid us in this; to honor the dead, and re-open the Great Hall. So, if you have anything to offer, please do so.”
Narthing moved to the chair she gestured him to, glad of a chance to cover his emotions with movement. The others organized themselves around Warna’s desk.
“We’ll start with a call to prayer,” Priest Dorne started. “And then—”
Narthing concentrated, not wanting to miss a word.
Surprisingly, with Dorne’s calm demeanor, they managed to review the plan for the entire First Night fairly quickly. Everyone had contributed, and the final plan met with general approval.
Warna handed off the last scroll to one of the assistants for copying, and heaved a huge sigh. Her brown eyes were warm as she surveyed them all. “I think the hardest part is behind us. Let’s get some hot kav, and then continue.”
The others relaxed as well, and the tension in the room eased.
What a Baroness she’d make, Narthing thought as he took a mug of kav from a servant. She’d the deportment and skills, that was certain. With this Festival, she’d have restored the castle to working order, and restored Lord Verice as well.
Narthing knew, hells, the entire castle knew that she and Verice were sharing a bedchamber. Admittedly, it wasn’t proper, but given all that had happened, no one was pointing fingers.
The fact that Warna was human, well, that had raised a few eyebrows. Narthing hadn’t heard much talk on that topic, but then he didn’t move within the social circles. He glanced at Pernard and wondered. Although from Pernard’s expression, he need not have concerns on that aspect. Pernard clearly approved of Warna, and why not? Practical, smart, and lovely as humans go.
Warna caught him staring, and gave him a questioning look. Covering his embarrassment, Narthing gestured to the piles of scrolls on her desk.
It was Warna’s turn to be embarrassed. “The morning’s delivery. I haven’t gotten through it all yet. Mostly responses to our invitations, but I do need to sort them out this morning.”
“There’s one there with the Valltera royal seal,” Narthing noted.
“Probably Verice’s, then,” Warna said matter-of-factly. “If everyone’s been served, let’s move on to the Second Day—”
They continued on, covering all seven nights and the days within faster now that the subject matter had lightened in tone.
“You’ve made arrangements for the actors?” Warna asked Ersal.
“Aye,” Ersal said. “They know when and where to place their stage in the courtyard.”
Narthing said nothing. He and Lord Verice had already discussed the actors. Nothing seemed out of place, and everyone had vouched for Master Zester. Still, they’d be confined to the courtyard, under the watchful eyes of his men.
“I won’t bore you all with the orders for ribbons, banners, flags, and flowers,” Warna laughed. “Trust me when I say that the castle will be decorated to a fare-thee-well.” She looked at her desk, and then at each of them. “I think we’ve covered everything. Does anyone have anything to—”
Alarm horns sounded from the battlements.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Verice stood on the inner wall and scanned the courtyard as the alarm horns were sounding. He watched in satisfaction as everyone turned away from their tasks and responded to the drill. Some ran for designated shelters where warriors already guarded the doors. Others pulled their weapons, and moved to locations where they’d been told to gather. All acted quickly, quietly, and with deadly seriousness.
He knew it was disruptive and difficult. No one complained. His people remembered all too well the betrayal, and the deaths that had resulted. Drills, repetition, knowing what to do, that would make a difference when the next attack occurred.
“Give me time to check the keep,” Verice commanded. “Then sound the ‘all’s well’.”
“Aye, m’lord,” was the response, but Verice was already headed down the stairs.
Captain Narthing was by the main gates, and he raised a hand to show that his people were in place. Constable Ricard was over by the kitchens and bakery. Verice couldn’t see him, but he knew well that he’d be making sure that all was as it should be. He’d receive detailed reports later, but his goal now was the keep, and to make sure that everyone had obeyed their orders.
Ersal was barricaded in his office, with most of his staff and two armed guards. Verice lifted an eyebrow to see Priest Dorne in the room with them, but he didn’t stop to talk.
He’d finished checking three floors when he heard the horns calling the ‘all’s well’. Everything had been in order so far, with everyone barricaded in their rooms, armed with whatever weapons they could bring to bear, knowing what was expected of them. Satisfied, he went to check on the very last occupant of the keep.
Warna’s office was empty, as it should be, with a few papers scattered on the floor. He checked the bedchamber, just in case, but it was empty as well.
So, he returned to the outer chamber, locked the outer door, then stepped to the wall, and pressed his hand to the corner. With a soft rumble, the marble wall shifted aside.
Warna was seated within the bolt-hole cross-legged, her lap covered with scrolls and letters.
“You are supposed to leave your tasks,” Verice said pointedly. “Stop what you are doing and get to safety.”
She looked out at him in exasperation. “This is the fourth drill in three days,” she said. “Some of us have work to do,” she waved one of the scrolls at him.
Verice folded himself in next to her. She slid over to give him a bit of room.
“If you’d dropped one of those letters or scrolls it could have given your position away,” Verice said.
“But I didn’t,” she pointed out. “I grabbed a handful, waited until the others left, and crawled into the first available of your little cubby-holes, and closed the door behind me.” She rolled her eyes at him. “I sat quietly, waiting for you. I didn’t leave when I heard the ‘all clear’. I waited for you to come.”
“And if I hadn’t come?” Verice asked.
Warna gestured to the corner. “Then I’ve food and water for two people to last three days, along with a pallet and a chamber pot.” She wrinkled her nose as she recited her instructions. “At the end of three days, I’m to wait until dark, leave the cubby hole, and seek to learn more. Although I have to say that if two people were to hide in here, they had better like each other.”
“It was meant for family,” Verice said shortly.
“I know,” Warna said. She fingered the edges of one of the envelopes. “How did the rest of the castle perform?”
“Well,” Verice said. “I’ve no reports yet, but I am satisfied that everyone knows what to do. Which doesn’t mean I won’t drill them again, if time allows.” He frowned. Warna was staring at the pile of letters in her lap, but she wasn’t really seeing them “Warna?”
She lifted her head, blinked at him then bit her lip. “Verice...this letter was addressed to me,” She handed him the stiff paper, and he scowled at the royal crest at the top of the page. “It’s from Charrin.”
Verice
took it from her. Warna leaned her head against his shoulder as he read.
Lady Warna,
I have thought on our last conversation and have considered your words carefully. As hard as they were to hear, I have heard them.
I would request that I be permitted to attend your Festival of Light and Laughter, at least on the First Night, to add my voices to the others.
Bard Charrin
Verice let out a long, slow breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Well,” he said. “This is...unexpected.”
Warna took his hand in hers, but didn’t say anything.
“Charrin has harbored his hate for so long,” Verice continued. “I wouldn’t expect that mael to change.”
“He’s harbored his hate as long as you harbored your grief,” Warna whispered.
Verice nodded absently, lost in thought, studying the words of the letter. “What do you think?” he asked.
“I wish I could spare you this pain,” Warna said. “But we both know that it must be faced. Charrin wants to face his, here with us, in the place that his love died. I do not want to deny him that, but—”
“I don’t want him to lash out at you,” Verice growled.
“He may,” Warna acknowledged. “If we warn Dorne, and Narthing, they can be ready to deal with him gently. With understanding.”
Verice snorted as he folded the letter away. “Fair enough.” He leaned over and nuzzled her ear. “How goes the planning?”
“Three days left,” she said, her voice softening at the touch of his lips. “Really, we are down to tiny details, and sudden crises.”
“And is there anything in that pile of paper that can’t wait a while?”
“Well…” Warna tilted her head. Her skin shivered under his lips. “There’s a lace order for the women of Birch Cove that I want to forward on. From one of the faellas at the Valltera Court.”
“That won’t take long,” Verice said. “I need to check in with Ersal and Narthing to make sure that all went well with the drill, but after that…” he paused, nipping at her neck.
“Why, m’lord,” Warna gasped as he dragged his teeth over her skin. “What did you have in mind?”
“More,” Verice growled.
Warna jerked her head back, her eyes wide, sparks flying in their brown depths. “I’ll meet you back here,” she scrambled up and out of the cubby-hole, gathering her letters as she moved.
Verice was right behind her. He took the steps two at a time, trying to rush with some degree of dignity befitting a Lord High Baron.
Ersal, Narthing, and Ricard were waiting for him, all with pleased looks on their faces. “It went well, then?” Verice asked.
There were nods all around. “Although the cooks ask that you time future drills for a moment when they are not spitting carcasses,” Ersal said. “But they obeyed orders, m’lord.”
“Excellent,” Verice said. “I will be conferring with Lady Warna about the details of the Festival this afternoon.”
Their well-trained faces were professionally blank, although there was a distinct look of approval in Ricard’s eyes.
“Just one thing, m’lord,” Ersal spoke up as Verice turned to go. “Lady Warna has written a letter to her great-uncle in the Barony of Summerford. Should I find a special messenger, or send it along the regular trade routes?”
Chapter Sixty
Verice’s first thought was to rip the letter from Ersal’s hand and tear it to shreds.
“The trade routes are slow and uncertain,” Ersal frowned at the letter. “The city of Alsmeda lies along the border with Summerford. We could probably find a messenger there, but there’s a cost involved.”
Warna had been honest with him. She’d told him what she wanted, and she’d laid out what would happen. Why was he so angry that she was keeping her commitments to him?
Yet, he didn’t want that message to go.
“M’lord?” Ersal waited for an answer.
“Special messenger,” he managed to croak, but it wasn’t what he wanted to say. He wanted the damn thing in the fire, or on the oldest, slowest, fattest pony that ever walked a caravan route.
“As you wish, m’lord,” Ersal said.
Not really, Verice thought, but he managed to keep his mouth shut as he left the room. With the door shut, he took a calming breath, and then headed for their chambers.
He was rounding the last flight when he saw her. Warna appeared down the hall, her errands done, heading for their chambers. There was a flush to her cheeks, and a twinkle in her eye as she stopped and stared at him.
His heart started racing.
Warna laughed, and she backed up a few steps, as if daring him to—
With a laugh, a twist of her skirts, and a flash of a lovely ankle, she was gone.
Verice gave chase.
Warna caught her breath at the look of desire in Verice’s eyes. She couldn’t help laughing in pure delight, and then with an impish leap of her heart, she turned and run down the corridor.
She had spent enough time in the keep to know its twists and turns. She darted up the next staircase, hearing the sound of Verice’s footsteps behind her. She flew down the next corridor, avoiding some of the staff scrubbing the floor. With a frantic motion, she shushed them as she ran past. She could hear their stifled laughter as she disappeared around the next corner, and pressed herself against the wall.
Verice ran by, his surprise clear as he sailed past her, sliding to a halt. She fled back the way she’d come, running by the servants who were smiling and giggling. Warna rushed for the stairs, daring a quick glance behind.
Verice was running, gaining on her.
She laughed, picked up her skirts and bolted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Breathless with excitement, she headed for the farthest door, and dashed through it, onto a balcony of white marble that shone bright in the noon sun.
Verice bolted through the door, and his heart almost stopped in his chest. For an instant, he saw Warna in her tattered clothes, fleeing from him, about to leap out into—
Warna turned, her hair flying free, her laughter ringing out, and the memory was wiped away in the next instant. She launched herself into his arms, and he swept her up, twirling her in a circle that left her even more breathless.
“Verice—” but he cut off her words by claiming her mouth.
She moaned, returning the kiss with passion, wrapping her arms around his waist. It was only when the need for air was overwhelming that he broke away, burying his face in her hair as they both struggled to breathe.
“Bed,” Warna whispered in his ear.
He nodded, sweeping her up into his arms. “Bed.”
She wanted to preserve every moment in her memory, remember every detail humanly possible. Every touch, every soft sound of pleasure.
Verice’s gaze seared her skin. Intent, hungry, focused on her and her alone. It was terrifying, yet she wasn’t afraid. There was no fear in her heart as they came together, grasping at clasps and fumbling with buttons and laces. No, the tingles on her skin, the feelings in her chest, those weren’t fear.
She reached for him, comfortable now with touching and stroking. She knew the places, the ways to touch him. Verice responded, and reached for her as well.
His kisses were sweet, not just on her mouth, but along her neck and over her shoulders, and her breasts. Warna leaned back, giving him access, confident in the strength of his hands to hold her upright even as she melted against him.
The bed was cold, but the heat of their bodies warmed it quickly. With the bedding thrown back they were free to sprawl together, arms and legs entwined as they kissed and stroked each other.
At first Warna was content to follow Verice’s lead, but as her need grew her patience faded. “Verice,” she moaned into his mouth, trying to push his fingers deeper within her folds.
“Wait,” Verice said.
“Verice,” she pleaded, but he stayed her questing hands with his own, pinning her to the bed and
distracting her with his mouth.
She arched her body, wanting more. There was no fear, only need when he urged her legs open, rose up over her and slid within. She gasped at the hot, heavy pressure.
More. It was so much more.
Verice released her wrists, bracing himself over her, studying her face intently. He held perfectly still, waiting. “Warna?”
“It’s just so-” she shifted and drew a sharp breath at the pleasure that spiked through her.
“Verice, please—” she sobbed, not sure exactly what she was pleading for.
Verice kissed her jaw, just below her ear. He shifted and she cried out as the burning heat crashed over her, carrying her further and further up. Faster, faster, and she moved as well, meeting and matching him as she laughed and cried at the sheer wonder of it all.
Until the heat built white hot and exploded, blocking out all the world, except the sound of Verice reaching his own heights, crying out her name.
The world faded back slowly, sweetly. Warna was cradled against Verice, the cooler air delicious against the heat of her skin.
Verice was stroking her hair, his movements slow. Warna murmured her pleasure, shifting just enough to reach his mouth for a long, slow kiss.
“Warna?” he asked softly. “All’s well?”
“Perfect,” she whispered.
His chuckle rumbled in his chest. “I’d agree,” he said quietly. “Shall we sleep for a bit? Tell me what you wish.”
Warna hugged him tighter. ‘I wish it could be like this forever,’ She thought silently. ‘I wish I could spare you the pain of the Festival. I wish joy wasn’t so fleeting.’
She raised her head to look into his silver eyes, and reached up to rub the very tips of his ears. “More,” she said simply, hiding her true desires, taking what was offered.
“As you wish, m’lady,” Verice said and pulled her into his arms.
Fate's Star Page 27
