Fate's Star Page 3

  Her heart in her throat, she ran up the stairs and down a long hall. If she could find the barracks, the barn, or even that rose garden, she could get over the wall and disappear. She’d not risk the others; if she got out, she’d keep going, back into the forests, hiding and moving by night.

  The hall kept going, but she found another set of stairs, and then another. She wasn’t really thinking in her panic. She could hear cries of pursuit far behind, but the dark and dusty halls themselves were silent and still, the only light from distant windows.

  Finally, she saw great doors, and a white marble balcony beyond, gleaming in the sun. The stone was cold beneath her bare feet. She ran out, catching herself on the balustrade, looking for the garden—

  —only to see castle walls, and beyond them, an enormous city stretching out before her. This wasn’t Anera. Where in the name of all the Gods was she?

  Cries behind her. She spun, and ran back to the door. There was no other way off the balcony, she’d be caught if—

  Warriors filled the doorway. Warna slid to a stop, her heart in her throat. Only one way to freedom. Better death than a slave.

  “Lord of Light, forgive me.” Warna drew in a huge gulping breath as she sprinted for the balustrade, reaching out for the cold marble, feeling it under her fingers. The blue sky waited just beyond. Over, up, and free. “Lady of Laughter, open your arms and welcome my spirit—”

  “Warna!”

  Her name, screamed, as if torn from a soul. Warna hesitated, looked back into silver-blue eyes—

  And cursed herself as she embraced oblivion once again.

  “We seem to have a misunderstanding.” That deep, reserved voice woke her again.

  Warna blinked at the suddenness of her awareness. One moment on the edge of the balcony, now…

  Facing Verice, she was seated in a wooden chair, surrounded by armed guards.

  She swallowed hard, dizzy. Odd to be alive after she’d faced her death. She took a breath, and then another as her heart raced.

  The white marble halls were gone; instead they were in a room with wooden walls and floors, and shuttered windows. Chests lined the walls, and there was a table covered in maps in the center of the room.

  “—not my intent to—”

  Lord High Baron Verice was standing before her, his arms crossed over his chest, talking, apparently to her. At least, he was looking at her and speaking. Warna gripped the seat of the chair, looked away and trembled within. There was no escape now, none that she could see. Two guards by the door, and another at the window of this small room.

  “—want you to understand that I meant no—”

  He was talking. Warna was fairly certain his words were supposed to mean something, but she couldn’t seem to make them out. She frowned at him, puzzled. He was angry, this elven lord. He was gesturing, and talking and—

  “—name?” Verice frowned at her, fierce and cold.

  The silence let Warna understand he was asking for her name. She looked around at the guards again and wondered just exactly how many they thought it would take to kill her.

  One was probably more than enough.

  The Lord High Baron sighed, and the sound made Warna focus on him. “In the camp, they said your name was Warna. Warna of Farentell?” he said again, this time softly.

  “Yes. Of Farentell,” she gathered her courage and rose to her feet. “I will not be your slave.”

  The Lord High Baron bristled. “That was never my intent. Here in Tassinic, there is no slavery, despite whatever madness may have infested the rest of the Kingdom.” He lifted his chin in a graceful, arrogant gesture. “You are alone, and clearly in need of protection. I extend my safeguards to you, as a ward within my household.”

  Confused, exhausted, Warna blurted out her first thought, “Why?”

  “What do you mean, why?” Verice demanded, irritated beyond words. “You are alone, with no male relatives to see to your safety.”

  “Lots of the women in camp are alone,” Warna said. She looked tired, standing before him, pointing out the obvious. “They’re not being singled out for—”

  “They are also under my protection,” Verice snapped. “You are a maiden, are you not?”

  The fiery blush over her cheeks was a sign he’d offended. “Unwed, I mean,” Verice said impatiently.

  “I’m fairly certain there are other unwed women among those that fled,” Warna argued.

  “Not with your gift of music,” Verice countered, certain of victory. “That gift should be cherished and protected, and I’ll see to it.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes down but her face filled with doubt. “My music?”

  “Your songs,” Verice took in a deep breath. Was the woman thick? “Your songs. They are—”

  “That’s just something I do for myself,” Warna said. “I’m not that good.”

  “You are,” Verice insisted. “You are too harsh on yourself. I will see you and your gifts protected, even over your protests.”

  “Why?” she asked again in that maddening, all-too-reasonable tone. Again, she seemed to be staring off to the side, not looking him in the eye.

  “Is there some reason you won’t look at me?” Verice growled.

  “Yes,” she snapped back. “I’ll not be charmed or bedazzled by your tricks.”

  A sudden feeling of shame flooded through him, catching him off guard. “It was necessary,” Verice said. He caught himself before he continued to justify his actions to this human.

  She didn’t look up.

  “I’ll pledge not to use magic upon you if you will pledge to remain under my protection. I do not know your sense of honor; humans rarely seem to have one. But I—”

  She bristled, standing stiff and staring him in the eye. “My word is as good as yours,” she retorted. “But I’ll not give that promise.”

  “Then I shall take what steps are necessary,” Verice stated. “You will remain here.”

  “Why?” she demanded again.

  Verice stood, and drew himself up to tower over her. “Because I say so,” he gritted through his teeth. “And as I am the Lord High Baron of this land, my word is law.”

  Those brown eyes studied him with skepticism.

  “Narthing, see to her needs,” Verice commanded, determined to end the conversation by leaving the room.

  “I don’t even know where I am,” she complained as he strode past. “This isn’t Anera, is it?”

  “No,” Verice paused. “This is Octara, my capital. You have the freedom of the castle and its grounds, but understand, lady, you are not to venture outside its walls. Is that clear?”

  Her gaze dropped, her lashes dark against her skin. She executed a perfect curtsey, sinking to the floor with grace. “Yes, Lord Verice.”

  He didn’t trust that for a moment.

  Narthing stared at the human woman in dismay. His Lord had commanded, and it was his to obey, but what in the name of all his Ancestors was he to do with her?

  She stood there staring at him, waiting. His men were all staring at him too.

  She’d given them all heart attacks, fleeing into the castle that was supposed to be sealed, running for her life and what she thought was her honor. Narthing admired her; he’d been just behind Verice and seen her determination to face death over degradation. It had been a close thing.

  It was the sight of her bare feet that did it. She’d been just like any new recruit showing up at the gate with naught but the clothes on his back, and a willingness to serve.

  Well, from the look in her eye the willingness wasn’t there, but all else was the same.

  “Welcome to Octara, Lady Warna,” Narthing started with assurance. “We’ll need to get you settled, and then—”

  “Where is Octara?” she demanded. “How far are we from Anera?”

  “About four days ride,” Narthing said.

  “Four days? I’ve been unconscious for four days?” she asked, her voice climbing higher.
r />   “Nay,” Narthing said. “Lord Verice opened a portal.”

  Her eyes were wide at that. Narthing had heard that very few humans were gifted with powers.

  “He’s been inspecting his border towns and seeing to the defenses. But we’re based here in Octara, the capital of Tassinic. Now then—” he almost called her recruit. “What say we get you a wash and a meal, and then some sleep. Tomorrow’s soon enough to show you around and answer any questions.”

  “I’d rather—” She stopped suddenly. Narthing’s ear twitched as he caught the faint sound of a grumbling in her stomach. The lady smiled wryly. “Food would be good.”

  “This way.” Narthing gestured toward the door, signaling two men to bring up the rear. He’d noted that she hadn’t promised to stay, and she was too fleet of foot for him.

  He escorted her out of the High Baron’s office, and down to the barracks dining hall. The cooks there were setting another dinner shift, and he gestured Warna to a corner table. As the serving lads seated her and served kav, he gave soft orders to the others to see to her housing.

  He’d talk to Constable Ricard. They’d shift maels and rooms around a bit tonight, give her a private chamber. Tomorrow they’d make more permanent arrangements.

  From the stares of the men, word had already gotten around. Curiosity, more than anything, about the human woman Lord Verice had brought within the castle walls. Tongues would be wagging, that was certain. There’s no worse gossip than a bunch of hardened warriors.

  She made an odd picture, that was true enough. A slim, lovely human woman, with golden hair, seated in a roomful of armed and armored elven warriors. Narthing shook his head as he settled himself across from her. What was his lord thinking?

  She gave him a nod as he settled and poured a mug of kav for himself. She was lacing hers with cream and honey, he saw. He preferred his black.

  “The fare is plain, lady, but good and plentiful.” Narthing leaned back as the lads brought platters with baked spiced fish and turnip cakes. A basket of bread and a crock of soft white cheese also appeared, along with a clatter of plates and silverware.

  He saw an unwilling smile on her face as the lads banged the plates down before them.

  Not condescending either, not like he expected.

  But she was puzzled. “Why aren’t we in the castle, Captain?” She reached for the bread. “One of your rank would normally dine at the High Baron’s seat, at least in Farentell.”

  “Here as well, lady,” Narthing said. “But the castle’s abandoned, by Lord Verice’s command. Left to the Ancestors.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “I’ll leave that for Lord Verice to say,” Narthing said firmly. “Tuck in, lady. While it’s hot and within reach.”

  Thankfully, she did just that. Narthing breathed a sigh of relief. If the Ancestors were kind, she’d not press the issue. He’d see her safe in a bunk and then be off to his own.

  Tomorrow was Lord Verice’s problem.

  Chapter Four

  Verice waited until after midnight to begin his casting.

  He’d planned the spell the moment he found a long golden hair caught in his armor. A simple matter, really, but it was a casting he hadn’t done in some time. It would involve the protections he’d built into the castle walls, but that was a minor complication.

  He dug a silver bowl out from one of his chests, and set it on the table next to the pitcher of crisp, cold well water he’d drawn himself. Clearing off the maps and markers from the table, he set them carefully to the side.

  He stripped off his chest armor, setting it on its rack, and hung his swords and daggers with care. Sometime soon he’d need a day to see to them. That wasn’t a task he cared to have anyone else do, but he might not have a choice.

  He stripped to the waist and pulled the ties from his braid, letting his hair flow free down his back. Kicking off his boots, he pulled off the thick socks he wore underneath. The rough wooden floor felt cool under his feet.

  He took a moment to stretch, trying to loosen the muscles in his back. Tight and tense from a long day in the saddle, casting portals, dealing with his people and their fears. Just this one last little chore and then he’d sleep, if the nightmares would let him.

  With the door and shutters closed and bolted, the room was dark, but his concentration was assured. With a wave of his hand he lit one small candle.

  All was in readiness.

  He stood listening for a moment more, for the silence of the warriors sleeping in the barracks, for the tramp of the night guard along the walls. He touched the web of protection that he’d set around his castle, even into the city itself. Those protections cost, in his time and energy, but it was well worth the price. This particular casting would add to the burden, but it must be done.

  He started the chant, the words flowing soft and formal from his lips. The bowl began to glow as he poured in the water. Carefully he wrapped the hair around his fingers, and touched the water’s surface. “Warna,” he breathed.

  The water shimmered, then grew still and obeyed.

  She was sleeping, in one of the loft chambers it looked like. The small window was unshuttered, allowing the moonlight to spill within. Her bed was a simple bunk, filled with old camp blankets, and pillows.

  Her hair was spread around her head, her lips parted slightly. She breathed evenly, and regularly, deep in some sweet dream, he hoped.

  She shifted then and the blanket slipped down to reveal a bare shoulder. It was then he saw her clothing neatly folded over a chair, her slippers tucked beneath, and understood that she was naked underneath the bedding. He hesitated, wondering just for a moment what she’d look like, bare and sweet in the moonlight.

  And chastised himself with his next thought. She was a vulnerable innocent, and a gifted one. Defenseless in a world full of treachery and deceit. Someone worthy and deserving of protection. His protection.

  The grief rose, catching him unaware, like a bolt of pure pain through his heart. He’d failed to protect so many of his own.

  She shifted then, rolling to her side, hugging a pillow. The blanket shifted further, and he could see the curve of her shoulder. Guilt flooded over him, adding to his pain. Honor demanded he finish his task, and be done. Not be some kind of disgusting voyeur.

  If he really wished to protect her, he should send her away. He nodded in agreement to his thought. That would be best. Send her to safety somewhere else, or even into one of the other baronies.

  He started to dismiss the spell, and paused as he looked down. A lovely woman, yes, but she was fairly fast on her feet. She’d slipped from his hands quickly enough, almost getting trampled by his horse. How had she slipped through the mage-warded doors, and how had that particular door come to be open? He thought about how she’d fled before him, terrified. She’d frightened the very breath from him as she’d run toward the balcony—

  He paused as the image played out before his eyes.

  It would take time to arrange a safe location. Perhaps, in the meantime, he should make sure…

  Without giving himself a chance to think, he focused his will again. The bowl glowed, and now he took the fine strand of hair and let it fall to the surface of the water. As he chanted, the glow extended to Warna, outlining her against the blankets and pillows.

  “This far,” Verice whispered. “And no farther.” He closed his eyes, seeing the castle and its walls. “Here, but not beyond. Within, but not without. As I will, so guarded and warded be.”

  The bowl flared bright, then the power faded, leaving only the empty bowl behind.

  There. The geas was cast. He could release it temporarily, or dismiss it, at any time, whenever he made the arrangements for her safety. His work was done. Now he could seek his rest.

  He threw the bowl back in the chest, replaced the maps and markers, and then opened the shutters. Moonlight poured in and over his bed. Verice stripped, and settled in. The casting had left him weary; with any luck he would sleep.r />
  As he drifted off, a vision appeared in his mind’s eye, of a sleeping Warna and the curve of her shoulder.

  He slept deeply, untouched by nightmares.

  Chapter Five

  Captain Narthing looked down from a window to the courtyard below. Lord Verice was out there at sword-practice, attacking the pells like a man possessed. Which wasn’t that unusual, but he seemed to have more energy than normal.

  “He’s been out there all morning?” He glanced at Constable Ricard.

  “Aye sir, since before dawn.” Ricard looked slightly smug.

  Lord Verice’s decision concerning the castle had placed a hardship on them. It required the Castle Watch, under the constable’s command, and Narthing’s men, the Army of Tassinic, to house together. For the most part, they’d managed to work through the inevitable tensions. But they each enjoyed a silent rivalry with the other, especially when it came to dealing with Lord Verice.

  Narthing sighed, and stepped away from the window. “Looks like it’s going to be one of those days, Constable.” He finished buckling on his sword-belt.

  “That it does, Captain.”

  “And the Lady Warna?” Narthing asked.

  “At breakfast, sir.”

  They both went down to get their own meals, knowing full well they needed to eat before the Lord High Baron was done. Narthing was drinking the last of his kav when Lord Verice strode into the dining hall, slapping his gloves against his thigh with impatience. “Narthing, what’s keeping you,” he demanded as he stopped at the end of the table.

  “Just finishing, m’lord,” Narthing replied calmly. Ricard dabbed at his eggs with his last bit of bread. Thankfully, the Lord High Baron wasn’t one of those that stood on ceremony at meals.

  “We’re due at Izteria,” Verice growled.

  “At mid-morning,” Narthing said. He glanced at his Lord. “Of course, it’s always a good plan to arrive before one is expected, m’lord. See what the real state of readiness is.”

  “Just so,” Verice agreed. “And where’s Warna? She wasn’t in her chamber.”