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.
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.
