Fate's Star

by Elizabeth Vaughan

  Warna clapped when one of the huge creatures floated down to hover over the balcony, then dissolved in a shower of gold and red sparks. She raised her hand to catch one. It faded even as it touched her skin.

  The sky seemed to roll, and suddenly streams of horses galloped over wide plains of grass, their manes and tails flowing behind them. Warna caught her breath at the beauty of it all. Without thinking, she reached out her hand to Verice.

  He took it in his, his hand warm under her fingers.

  She looked at him, tears in her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He tilted his head, raised one of those lovely arched eyebrows.

  “For all this,” she said, knowing he probably wouldn’t understand what she really meant. “For the Festival. For everything.”

  A shadow crossed his face for just a moment, then he leaned over, still holding her hand. “You might not thank me when we have to start cleaning up after it all.”

  Warna’s laughter bubbled out

  Verice ignored the crowd around them as he claimed Warna’s lips in a kiss that left them both breathless.

  Warna blushed, settling back to watch the sky, still keeping his hand in hers.

  She’d sounded so definite, thanking him, as if their time together had ended. Verice settled back as well, but he kept stealing glances at Warna. She was entranced by the display, and her face reflected her pure pleasure at the sights and sounds.

  It was too soon. She should enjoy the results of all her efforts. Besides it would take weeks before the regular routines were restored, and the castle and keep set right after all this celebrating.

  “What are those?” Warna breathed. “Dragons?”

  The sky above was filled was filled with aerial combat, with airons diving and swooping down on their foes.

  “No, those aren’t dragons,” Verice explained. “They’re wyverns.”

  The scene flickered and changed, with tiny boats with white sails and a giant sea monster, tentacles flying and smashing into the sea, just barely missing the valiant boats.

  The spectacle continued on, to the pleasure of the entire company, until at last the bells of the church began to peal midnight.

  With that, the display once again erupted in explosions of light and magic, sending tiny shards of diamond bright lights floating down to the ground as the Festival counted down to its end.

  Verice rose as the last of the colors faded, keeping a tight hold on Warna’s hand. They bid farewell to their guests. Warna glanced at him, smiling a smile that was for him alone.

  She knew well his intent.

  He tried to remain the gracious host as he saw his company out. Courtesy was, of course, important. Still, he tried to make sure his guests kept moving.

  The night was not yet over. He and Warna still had their own magic to make.

  “Just how much cooking oil did the kitchens use?” Warna asked.

  Ersal unrolled the accounting and placed it before her. “See for yourself, Lady.”

  “Ersal, I don’t doubt your figures,” Warna sighed. “But one would think the entire staff bathed in it, given those amounts.” She pulled over the list of the supplies they were restocking. “Can the merchants provide so much to us?”

  “We’ll order extra each week,” Ersal said. “Over time, we’ll have enough.”

  “Well, next year, start ordering more earlier, before the Festival,” Warna said. “It’s not good to have our supplies so low, even if we can see to the daily needs.”

  “Yes, m’lady,” Ersal said.

  There was a knock at the door, and Ricard poked his head in. “Seneschal, there’s a delivery of hams and the butcher is waving his cleaver at the carter. Will you come?”

  “Lord and Lady, now what?” Ersal said, as he hurried off.

  Warna chuckled, and turned to the next list of supplies. The festivities had been lovely, but they’d drained the castles supplies down to bare shelves in some cases. Of course, they hadn’t had much on hand, but she wasn’t pleased with the situation. She’d underestimated the food and drink necessary, that was certain. They’d not run out of anything, really, but larger reserves were needed. She’d leave notes for Ersal for next year—

  Because she wouldn’t be here.

  Warna looked up with a sigh, not really seeing the room or the documents before her. The task of cleaning and restocking after all the celebrations was absorbing, and over-seeing the rebuilding of the window in the Great Hall, and the memorial in the gardens had taken a great deal of time.

  They’d restored the practice of dining in the Great Hall every other night. Verice had seated her at the high table beside him. The staff certainly appreciated a return to the normal routine, and it was good to see the tables filled with laughter and talk, no matter how subdued.

  The other nights, she and Verice dined privately. They’d talk of their day, the work being done, of the security at the borders, and the news of Edenrich and Valltera. And then—

  Warna flushed.

  She’d raised the issue of her departure, but Verice so far hadn’t been inclined to discuss it. He’d ask how work was going with the restocking, or tell her a new bit of gossip he’d heard, or he’d lean over and kiss the breath from her body.

  Warna frowned, thinking. How many days had it been since the Festival?

  She added them up in her head, and her eyes widened. So long?

  Warna closed her eyes in pain as she realized the truth.

  Verice wouldn’t do it.

  For whatever reason, Verice was stalling. Delaying the inevitable. She huffed out a breath. Drat the mael. Putting off what had to be done, leaving it up to her to do it, no doubt. Typical.

  Warna closed her eyes. She didn’t want to be the one to do it, either. To say the words, to break the arrangement between them, as they had agreed to do.

  To leave his bed.

  Her sob caught her off guard, welling up in her chest. Verice deserved so much. As much love as she could give him for the rest of her days. But he also didn’t deserve the pain she’d cause him, growing old, dying before his eyes.

  She sank down into a chair, staring at the roses. Even freshly picked, one or two petals had fallen to the table.

  She hadn’t heard from her great-uncle yet, and that was a real reason to delay. Except that she could live in Octara, but she shied away from the thought. Of living in town, seeing him from a distance, just another face in the crowd, waving to her Lord High Baron.

  Or worse, seeing him with a faella beside him, riding through the streets.

  Warna clutched at the rose in her hand, and felt the thorn prick her fingers. No. That wasn’t even to be thought of.

  Unbidden, a verse of her song leaped to mind.

  Life is bitter, life is grim

  What need then to be with friends?

  What need then to laugh with glee

  when you smile so sweet at me?

  What need to kiss, to touch, to take,

  or my oath to ne’er foresake?

  Warna closed her eyes against bitter tears.

  It was time.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Verice was seated at the high table, talking to Narthing, just starting to wonder why Warna was late when she appeared. She didn’t smile, didn’t head for her seat, just approached and stood before him.

  In her eyes, he saw a look he both admired and feared. The determined, focused drink-the-entire-cup intention.

  “Warna.” Verice placed his hands on the table as the room went quiet.

  “Lord High Baron.” Warna wasn’t really looking at him; her red-rimmed eyes were focused slightly above his head. “I wish to thank you for the shelter and protection you have extended to me. As painful as it is, as much as we might wish it otherwise, it is time to make public what we both have come to know.”

  ‘Ancestors,’ Verice throat closed, his mouth as dry as the sun.

  Warna’s face was stark as she turned away, facing the confused and dismayed
gathering. “Lord High Baron Verice and I, by mutual agreement, have decided to sunder our betrothal, for reasons that are our own.” Warna’s back was straight and stiff, her voice clear. “I will depart for Summerford as soon as I may, to join with my great-uncle and his family. I thank you all.” Warna’s voice wavered, but she kept on. “I thank you all for the care and kindness I have received at your hands.”

  With that, she walked out, the silence so deep Verice could hear her footsteps as she went through the main doors, heard her breaking into a run down the stairs and out into the courtyard.

  “You’re an idiot,” Pernard said, not looking up from his plate.

  The room was buzzing now, with angry glances being thrown his way.

  Verice was aware of them as he stared out the doors, still stunned at Warna’s action.

  “That’s a bit harsh,” Narthing said calmly. “But accurate.”

  “In truth, the Lady Warna is a fine choice of a wife,” Ersal didn’t look up from his plate. “It strikes me that Lady Warna was a fine helpmate, skilled in running a household as large as this castle and keep.”

  “It’s unlikely that you’d need to make a treaty or alliance marriage outside of Palins, given the current political situation,” Pernard added. “And certainly not with the Elven Kingdom. You should feel no hesitation to marry as you would wish. Besides,” and here the old mael cocked his head at Verice and gave him a sympathetic look. “There are few that would put up with your personality. Or be willing to overlook certain character flaws. Unless, of course, you’ve made her unhappy?”

  Now his advisors were all glaring at him.

  “No, that’s not—” Verice shook his head. “She’s—” he swallowed hard. “I’m—”

  “I suspect that this is a misunderstanding. A private matter,” Narthing said. “Something that needs to be discussed between the two of you.” He raised an eyebrow as if waiting.

  Constable Ricard leaned forward. “Go after her, you fool!”

  Verice did just that. Striding from the Great Hall, down the stairs into the darkening courtyard. The dogs ran to greet him, milling around his feet.

  The courtyard was empty. Verice looked to the walls, but there was no sign that the guards had noticed anything out of the ordinary. The castle gates were closed, so she was still—

  The garden door was open.

  “Hup, hup,” he commanded. Brindle and the entire pack focused on him. “Warna,” he commanded. “Find Warna.”

  Tails wagging, heads high, the dogs set off for the garden door, barking with joy at the game.

  Verice followed.

  Warna ran, picking up her skirts, blinded with tears, and found herself in the gardens.

  She kept running, kept moving, afraid that her sorrow would catch up with her if she stopped. She hadn’t wanted to do it, to say it, and Verice’s face had been so shocked.

  She ran until she couldn’t breathe, and her face was a mess, and the path was narrowing because the gardeners hadn’t come this far yet. She slowed, wiping her face with her hands, and finally gave up and used her skirts to wipe her eyes and blow her nose. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered, not anymore.

  And she kept walking, brushing aside leaves and branches, still crying, because she knew full well that she still had to face Verice, still had to talk to him, damn it, and it all hurt so very much.

  A sound, the slightest stirring under a bush and she jumped away, her heart in her throat. It was the cat, walking up to her, rubbing against her skirts, its tail in the air. Warna stumbled slightly, trying not to step on the silly thing. She staggered to the side of the path.

  Something caught at her skirt, and she turned quickly. Too quickly, for the rantha thorns caught the fabric and with her twist it wrapped itsself around her legs.

  The cat ran off into the garden, its tail high, the tip flicking back and forth.

  Warna cursed

  Dogs barked in the distance. Warna jerked her head up, cursed again, and reached down to try to pull the thorns free.

  Sand and Gray ran up, their tails wagging, barking at their joy of finding her. The rest of the pack wasn’t far behind, and they all pushed into her hands, so pleased with themselves. “Careful,” Warna said, trying to push them away from the vines, their lean bodies moving all around her. But the dogs were smarter than she was, seemingly able to avoid getting snagged.

  “Warna.”

  Verice stood there, in the fading light. Her tears started fresh.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “So very sorry, but it had to be done, Verice, and it was better that I do it, and you wouldn’t—”

  “Impetuous human,” he said.

  “It had to be done,” Warna huffed at him. “And sometime in my lifetime.”

  He took a step forward, and she flinched back, the vine tightening around her. Her skirts started to tear and she froze at the sound.

  “Warna, stand still.” Verice knelt on one knee, shoving the dogs aside.

  She obeyed, wiping at her tears again, without much success. She felt his hands on touching her skirts as he examined the tangle.

  “The thorns are buried deep,” he said softly. “I’m not sure I can free you. Not without tearing it. Hurting it.” He looked up at her, his eyes so silver, so kind. “You’re crying.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “I can’t seem to stop. I’m trying to be reasonable, and logical, and—”

  “Marry me,” Verice said.

  Warna stared at him, in shock. “I just broke our engagement in front of your entire court.”

  “I know,” Verice quirked his lips. “They are rather upset with me at the moment.” He continued to look at her, his face calm and composed. “Marry me.”

  “No, no, you don’t mean that,” Warna sputtered. “Not for forever. Not for a lifetime. Verice, please. Just let me go.”

  “Is that a command?” Verice asked.

  Warna snorted out a sob, trying to catch her breath. Her face was hot, and her nose stuffed up. “I can’t, I won’t—I’ll hurt you.”

  “Hurt me?” Verice raised an eyebrow. “Warna, I am a Bearer of the Blood of Tethnar, a Lord High Baron of Palins, a skilled warrior—”

  “And just as vulnerable as the rest of us,” Warna said. She let her fingers ghost over his cheek, his skin warm under her cold fingers.

  “Far too late to worry about that,” Verice said. His hands moved in the fabric, trying to work the thorns free. “My heart is already pierced through, my rose.”

  Warna jerked back.

  “Struggling against it won’t help.” Verice placed a firm hand on her hip.

  “I’m so sorry,” Warna whispered.

  “I’m not,” Verice stood, and wrapped his arms around her waist. “You are essential to my home, my hearth, and my heart. Whatever comes, for the rest of our lives and beyond, you are my love, Warna of Farentell.”

  Warna buried her face in his chest, wrapping her arms around him even as she felt the tug of the vines around her legs. Verice leaned in for a kiss, but she pushed back, wiping her face. “I’m a mess.”

  “You haven’t answered my question,” Verice said. “Marry me?”

  Warna stilled then, shaking her head in disagreement. “Verice, the day will come when you will regret this choice.”

  “No,” he said firmly. “Never. Every moment of our lives together will be worth any grief that might follow. We don’t know what comes, do we? I could be the one to fall, to a sword or crossbow bolt.”

  Warna grasped his shoulders with a jolt of fear.

  “I want ‘us’ for as long as we last,” Verice said. “I want to have that with you. I want to build memories with you. I know there’s pain to come but it would come regardless at this point, if I let you go, if I beg you to stay.” Verice drew a deep breath, and backed up a step. “Please. Be my love and life and lady. Marry me.”

  Warna trembled, suddenly cold without his touch. “But what if tomorrow—”

  “What if?” Verice
sighed. “I don’t know what tomorrow holds. Do you?”

  “No,” she admitted.

  Verice held out his hand. Warna held her breath when she saw those long, elegant fingers shaking. “Please, Warna. Shall we find out? Together?”

  For one breath out, she thought to deny him. But then she breathed in, and joy swelled within her heart. “Yes,” she took a step, and then another. The thorns shredded her skirts as she threw herself into Verice’s arms. “Lord and Lady, a thousand times, yes.”

  Verice wrapped his arms around her, and met her kiss with equal passion.

  It was the cheering from the walls and the balcony above that broke them apart.

  “Shall we go announce our betrothal?” Verice said into her ear.

  “I’m not sure that’s necessary,” Warna smiled. “And only after I’ve changed my dress.”

  Verice laughed, and tugged her along, and they both raced back toward the keep, laughing, the dogs running along beside them barking all the way.

  The End.

  Epilogue

  They were a quiet, still bit of peace in a world of utter madness.

  Wolfe sheltered Kalynn in his cloak, holding her tight against him. They stood upon the walls of a besieged town, amidst fire and flame. The name of the place mattered not; what mattered was that war raged at the gates as waves of attackers rode forward, firing arrows and hurling deadly lances, only to ride away to circle round and come back again.

  The defenders were outside the gates, trying to hold a precious bit of ground, striving in a hopeless cause.

  Here on the walls, men struggled desperately to work the ballista under a rain of deadly arrows. “Bring up the naptha,” one shouted. “We’ll show these Firelanders!”

  It would not save them, Wolfe knew full well. The town was lost; this was but the death throes. He tightened his grip on Kalynn’s waist and concentrated on keeping them both cloaked, both wrapped in magical cushions of quiet and shelter.