Fate's Star Page 5

Whatever had happened to her, she hadn’t taken her things.

  Warna sighed and moved on, peeking into rooms as she went. All bore the weight of their departed residents, even to perfume dried in bottles long unused. The hall went on, but she could not. Warna turned back, and returned to the spiral staircase she had ascended.

  She paused there, holding the lamp, and considered. Up or down?

  She went up.

  Breathing hard, she emerged into a small chamber. There were linens here, some stacked on shelves, some bundled for the laundry. It had to be a servant’s supply room. The door beyond was open just a crack, and there was a faint glow of sunlight beyond.

  She pulled open the door, gasped in delight, and then sneezed.

  Sunlight flooded through the huge arched windows and down the length of a long room, High and clear letting in a lovely light. Between them were four vivid colored-glass windows, staining the white marble below them with reds and golds and vibrant greens. This had to be the main hall of the keep, the Great Hall. Warna followed along the one wall, staring at the designs.

  Only two on each side were of colored glass. The first depicted spring, with fresh green glass, and a lovely oak tree that arched over the scene: a meadow of flowers. The details were amazing, with animals of the forest at the base of the tree, and the birds building nests and courting in the high branches.

  Warna hurried to the next. This one was summer, with the deeper greens, and the animals feeding and raising their young.

  A glance showed her that the other side had to be fall and winter. She darted across the room, stirring the dust and coughing as she hurried to see the other designs. But the center of the room stopped her in her tracks.

  Shattered chairs, tables and benches lay strewn about like broken toys.

  There’d been a gathering of some kind. There were some tables still set with dishes, others overturned, with crockery broken on the floor. Something had happened here, something terrible.

  The sunlight was diffused here, but she still had her lamp. There were wine-stains on the floor, and food dried in the bowls. The air was stiff and stale. Mice droppings on the tables and floor. Some of the debris was weapons, swords and daggers left where they’d fallen. There was a shield with a blade wedged deep within.

  No bodies, thank the Lord and Lady.

  Almost against her will, her gaze turned to the high table. It was overturned as well, the cups and plates smashed. The actual high seat was broken, splintered and cracked, as if it had been used in defense. And in the space before the high table?

  Warna stopped just at the edge of the reddish-brown stain. It covered a huge area, with signs that someone had struggled within it. There were smeared hand-prints, and drag marks all around the deepest darkest part.

  Warna could barely breathe.

  She lifted her head as a breeze touched her cheek. In the wall behind the high seat there was a large circular window, its glass shattered and gone, open to the sky.

  “Warna.” The voice, low and deep, came from behind her. She wasn’t even startled to see Verice standing in the opposite doors.

  There was such pain in his face, and she knew instantly that she was the cause. She stood frozen, holding the tiny lamp before her like a shield. “M’lord, forgive me. I didn’t think—”

  “Come,” Verice said, holding out his hand. “You should not be here.”

  Warna advanced to place her hand on his wrist. His skin was cool under her fingers, his eyes dark. Her mouth dry, Warna licked her lips, afraid, but unable to stay silent. “M’lord, what happened here?” Her voice was a whisper against the silence.

  His eyes grew more shadowed, his mouth set in a line. “Death. Betrayal.” He drew a slow breath, turning his back on the room. “Come.”

  He led her slowly down the main staircase, to the wide double doors at the base. Out in the courtyard, his men waited, with Captain Narthing, their horses, and a very pale Constable of the Watch.

  “Lord Verice,” Ricard stammered

  “At ease,” Lord Verice said. “Lady Warna did not know, and I neglected to tell her that the keep is forbidden to all. I failed to give her instructions in the matter. You are not to blame.”

  Ricard relaxed, mumbling his thanks.

  Verice gestured, and Warna handed the small lamp to Ricard. “Return that to the kitchen area, and secure that door,” he said.

  Ricard bowed over the lamp.

  Verice gestured again, and the huge main doors slammed shut and bolted themselves. Warna jumped at the violent sound, startled at Verice’s action. Everyone else reflected the same surprise.

  “If you will join me, the evening meal is ready” Verice inclined his head to Warna. “After you’ve freshened up.”

  Warna blushed, noting her tunic and trous were covered with dust and cobwebs. “Yes, m’lord.” She fled to her chamber, feeling guilty and ashamed and yet so filled with curiosity. She wanted to know more but…

  Her dress was dry now, so Warna washed fast, and changed. She got the cobwebs and dust out of her hair, and braided it, all the while knowing that she’d hurt him.

  Why did she feel so guilty?

  He’d kidnaped her, after all, used magic on her person, imposed his will on her without so much as a ‘please’ or ‘will you’. He required no protection from her actions, needless to say.

  And yet.

  She cursed her stupidity, and her thoughtlessness and her idle curiosity, and wondered how she could really make amends. Such a fierce, strong warrior, and she’d wounded him by wandering into the keep. His face—

  She dropped her hands into her lap and sighed. She’d no clue how to make amends, beyond the words she’d already said. She felt horrible.

  Maybe she could send word that she was ill. Ask to be excused, beg off eating with him. It was true enough. Her stomach was in a knot.

  But then she’d be a coward on top of it all. And there’d be the morning to face. It wasn’t going to get any easier.

  One of the serving lads bowed to Warna and gestured her through the door.

  Lord Verice was standing by a chair, waiting to seat her. A fire burned in his hearth, and lanterns glowed in every corner, with one set on the table besides. The other door was shut; she presumed those were his sleeping quarters.

  “Good evening, Warna,” Verice said.

  “Good evening, Lord Verice.” She curtsied, and sat as he eased in her chair.

  “If you’d be more comfortable, I can have someone sit here in the room with us.” Verice offered.

  Warna glanced back at the warrior who had escorted her to Verice’s chambers. “That’s not necessary, m’lord.”

  Verice dismissed the warrior, with thanks. “I’ll leave the door open, nonetheless, lady.” He settled in his chair across the plain wooden table from her. There was the sound of running feet and clattering china outside the door. “Shush,” someone admonished, and then silence descended. A timid knock on the door frame came next.

  Verice’s grimness gave way to an odd look of patience. “Enter,” he called.

  A lad started across to them ever so slowly, carrying a covered dish. He placed it on the table, took a step back and bowed, before dashing off, almost colliding with the next lad, slowly making his way with a covered bowl. That brought an end to any attempt at decorum. The lads all ran in, deposited their burdens, and took off at high speed, leaving the table tottering, but no food spilled.

  Warna laughed despite herself.

  “They do try,” Verice said. He lifted a bottle. “I drink no wine, but for you, m’lady?”

  Warna shook her head. “No, m’lord. It’s been so long, I would fear to keep my wits.”

  “The water here is very good, and there’s kav for after.” Verice placed the bottle to the side. “We’d best eat while it’s hot.”

  “M’lord, I wish to apologize to you again,” Warna said. “Except the lamp, I disturbed nothing. I am so very sorry that—”

  “Apology accepted.
” Verice lifted the lid from a serving dish. “Chicken?”

  Warna stared at him for a moment, then accepted that the matter was closed. She raised her plate. “Yes, thank you.”

  They dished out the meal to each other. Baked greens and onions with cheese, chicken roasted with rosemary and onions, and a loaf of bread.

  Warna tore off a hunk as Verice cleared his throat. “I’m the one who should offer an apology. I fear that I have been...less than courteous in our dealings. This conflict within the kingdom has destroyed much that was graceful and fair, including my manners.”

  “You’re used to taking command, issuing orders, and seeing them obeyed,” Warna said softly. “I suspect that aspect of your leadership has saved more lives than either of us knows.”

  “I do not deserve your understanding,” Verice said. “But I thank you for it. Pernard’s roses are lovely, don’t you think?”

  “Oh yes,” Warna smiled. “I do so love flowers.”

  “Well, I must tell you then, that some of his are cuttings from my gardens,” Verice said. “I make a point, when I journey, to see if I can find a new flower or plant to add to my collection. Those roses are from Soccia, if I remember correctly, from a small village—”

  Verice lulled her with talk of roses, all the while drinking in the sight of her. How long had it been since he’d talk of things other than war and troop movements? He could not remember.

  She sparkled, brown eyes glowing gold as she talked. He felt her warm to him, relaxing and talking about flowers and their care. She shared stories of her mother’s garden, her bright brown eyes only occasionally dimming with the memories. She took pleasure in the meal, even though the fare was plain.

  So, he kept the talk light as they ate, not wanting to see the shadows in her eyes, although he knew the pain was there, under the surface. Time enough for that.

  “So, were you trained in music?” he asked finally.

  “No,” Warna chuckled. “My family was far too practical for that. My father saw no profit in those skills. No, I was trained to run an estate, with the hopes that my father would arrange a marriage to a minor lord or landed knight, who in turn would aid my brothers to noble wives. My father loved us dearly, and had ambitions for us all.”

  Verice nodded, understanding. “But you are not wed? Or pledged?”

  “My mother sickened shortly before King Everard’s death,” Warna said. “With the chaos, and her illness, my father delayed a formal betrothal. After she died, the Lord High Baron called every able man to arms. My father, brothers took up arms and…” She trailed off.

  “How did you survive?” Verice asked.

  “When word came that the Usurper’s forces were upon us, Father and Grandfather hid me,” her voice was filled with pain. “When the flames started, Father stayed to try to protect his warehouses. Grandfather got me away. He died a short time thereafter. I’ve been running ever since.”

  “That explains your song,” Verice said quietly.

  Warna lifted her head, and he could see the tears gathering in her eyes. “Grandfather always told me, ‘Pain’s part of the agreement, Warna. Part of the price.’” She blinked away her tears. “I didn’t really understand him, because it sounded so cynical, so bitter somehow. I didn’t want to think that life was like that.”

  “Now you know it’s just the truth,” Verice said. “Your song expresses it well. How did it go again?

  Life is fleeting, life is pain

  What need then to dance in the rain?

  What need then to sleep in the night

  Safe in the arms of my lover held tight?”

  Warna listened, her amazement clear as he sang, keeping his voice low. He’d impressed her, and it pleased him that she blinked away tears.

  “It sounds so much better when you sing it,” she whispered. “Were you trained in music?”

  Verice shook his head. “No, not really. There was a time, before I took the Barony of Tassinic, when I thought to become a bard. But after about ten years or so, I realized that it was not truly my gift.”

  “Ten years?” Warna asked.

  “Yes.” Verice stood to retrieve the kav pitcher that sat by the fire. He returned, offering some to Warna. “So, I decided to seek my fortunes in the human lands. I offered my sword and my fealty to King Jeverard, and he accepted it. Later, he awarded me Tassinic for my services to the crown.”

  “King Jeverard was King Everard’s grandfather,” Warna said slowly, as if trying to absorb what he was saying.

  “Oh yes.” Verice gave her a wry look. “And I know the answer to your next question.”

  Warna stared at him blankly. “My next—”

  “I’m seven hundred and ten years old,” Verice said.

  Chapter Seven

  “Seven hundred and ten?” Warna’s breath caught. It was one thing to be told that elves lived long lives. It was quite another to hear one say it so casually.

  “Give or take,” Verice shrugged, then chuckled. “It always hits you humans oddly. Every time I say it, the humans around me get the strangest look on their faces, as if it couldn’t be.”

  “It’s just that your voice is lovely,” Warna said. “And ten years studying music seems to me almost a—” she hesitated. “A lifetime.”

  “For you, perhaps.” Verice nodded. “War and magic leave little time to perfect other arts. But I always encouraged others in their endeavors.”

  “Tassinic is known for its love of music and dance,” Warna said.

  “It was,” Verice agreed. “There is little time for such pleasure now.”

  There was a tap at the door frame, and at Verice’s ‘Enter’, the serving lads swooped in, removing all the platters, bowls and plates at a rush. Warna managed to save her kav, but the rest was gone in a flurry of clattering crockery.

  The door closed behind them, and Warna became conscious of the time. “It’s late, m’lord. My thanks for the evenin—”

  “What were your plans?” Verice asked. “If I hadn’t taken...command?”

  “I’d hoped to go back,” Warna said. “Try to salvage what I could and rebuild. But no one was sure what was happening, and until the Lord High Baron took control again, it wouldn’t be safe to go back. Grandfather had a brother, a wine merchant in the Barony of Wyethe, who would have sheltered us. At least, that was the plan.”

  Verice studied his cup, then looked her right in the eye. His were so startlingly silver-blue, glittering in the lantern light. “The reports I’ve had say that Farentell has fallen, and under the control of the Usurper’s forces. The Lord High Baron is dead. Farentell is no more.”

  Warna closed her eyes against the pain welling deep within her.

  “The Usurper has crushed any resistance, and seems determined to level every town and village. Slavery is now the law in the areas under his control. There is nothing to return to, Warna.”

  She tried to hold back a sob, but it escaped her. She covered her mouth as the tears started to flow.

  “I’ve upset you.” Verice leaned forward.

  “Not you, m’lord,” Warna choked out. “But the Usurper has much to answer for.”

  “In that, we are in agreement,” Verice responded. He rose to his feet, and offered his hand. “Tomorrow, I’ll take you to see Charrin, a Bard who used to grace my court. He will give an honest assessment of your skills. You will stay with him and some friends of mine, for a time, until you decide what you wish to do.”

  “M’lord?” Warna rose.

  “You are my ward, by virtue of my...taking command.” Verice took up the lantern from the table. “But your life is your own, Warna of Farentell, to make of it what you wish. Once you know what that is, I will see you established.”

  She was having trouble taking it all in, and wanted nothing more than to find her small bed, and crawl within. She reached for the lantern, but Verice shook his head. “I would see you to your chamber, lady.”

  He allowed Warna to lead the way, careful to hold t
he light so that she could see. The sorrow was still thick in her eyes. It wasn’t the way he’d wished to end the evening, but he owed her the truth.

  Not that it was any great distance to her chamber. Up the stairs to the attic of the barracks, down a hall with rooms full of snoring warriors to every side, to the base of a ladder that led to her tiny loft.

  “Give me a moment to light a candle,” she murmured as she reached for the rungs.

  “Take this,” Verice handed her the lantern. “There’s a mage light within. Far safer than a flame in tight quarters. And see,” He flicked the small shutters. “You can control it this way.

  I see well enough without it.”

  “Thank you,” She paused, staring at him.

  He stood there for a long moment, returning her stare, feeling somehow...disappointed. He took a step back, and bowed. “Good night, Warna.” With that he walked off, just far enough that he knew she could not see him.

  He paused then, listened to her climb the ladder, and the rustle of her clothing as she prepared for bed. Waited as she crawled under the blankets.

  Waited as she whispered a soft prayer for the souls of her family and Farentell.

  Closed his eyes as she started crying for her losses, her sobs muffled by her pillow.

  Verice cursed the night then, cursed the Lord of Light and Lady of Laughter, cursed his Ancestors, cursed life itself that caused such pain to one so undeserving.

  Almost, almost he went back, to climb the ladder and catch her eye, and cast a spell of dreamless, sweet sleep. The urge was strong. But she’d not thank him in the morning, he was certain of that. Let her mourn her dead, let her grieve for what was lost.

  He stood guard, bore witness to her pain, listened in the dark as she cried herself to sleep. Once her breathing evened, he turned away, seeking his own bed.

  As he climbed within and pulled up the covers, he knew he’d see her off safe in the morning.

  It was for the best. This was no place for a human woman. He and his men were prepared for attacks; they were warriors who could defend themselves if need be. There was no comfort to be found here, no safety. She could not stay.