Verice took off running.
“You idiots aregoing to get yourself killed!” Warna called out as she tried to stay calm.
They had waited until she’d emerged from the church and mounted to swarm into the courtyard, trying to separate her from her escort, banging drums and shouting, demanding tribute for the Lady of Laughter. She’d recognized the company of actors from before. Especially their leader, the one with the kitchen pot on his head and some sort of serving dish as a shield.
Verice’s lieutenant had acted quickly. Ustov and his men cut between the mob and her, forcing them back, away from Warna and her horse. The actors re-grouped to the outer gates of the church’s courtyard, blocking the exit.
“Stand and deliver,” Master Zester shouted as the crowd swirled around behind him. “Tribute is owed to the Lady of Laughter!”
More drums, trumpets, and voices sounded. Warna’s horse threw up its head and pranced a bit at the noise, but it seemed more annoyed than frightened. She kept her seat easily enough but one of her guards took the precaution of grabbing the bridle.
“Dismount, Lady,” Ustov urged. “In case—”
“Cease that racket,” Warna called to Zester. “And Ustov, sheath your weapons. There’s no need for bloodshed over something this foolish.”
Ustov had his sword out, his men were lined up with their shields and naked swords. In another moment something incredibly stupid was going to happen to someone…
“What is the meaning of this?”
All movement ceased, all heads turned to the speaker. Verice was standing on the steps to the main church doors, looking every inch the warrior. His blade was out, and Warna knew full well that he’d not sheathe it at her request.
He also looked very, very angry.
“M’lord,” Master Zester, stepped forward, his pot rattling on his head. The noise rose in the air as the drums, rattles and horns were brought into play. Zester raised his voice to be heard. “We hold your lady hostage for—”
Verice started toward him. “You threaten my lady?” his voice cut through the air. The noise and the crowd behind Zester melted away as he advanced.
Zester squeaked, but stood his ground. “M’lord, I can explain—”
Verice ignored him as he moved to Warna’s side. He paused by her knee. “Are you well?” he asked quietly as his warriors moved up beside them.
“I’m fine,” Warna reassured him. “I think they just wanted your attention—”
“They have it,” Verice growled, swiveling to stare at Zester.
“M’lord,” the actor removed his pot and clutched it to his chest as his men clustered around behind him. “We meant no offense,” he said, nervously eyeing Verice’s sword. “We’d only meant to ask permission to perform for the castle at the Festival. A tribute is owed to the Lady of Laughter, after all, and we’ve not been permitted within those walls for almost a year.” Zester straightened. “It was a poor joke on the part of our company, m’lord. I beg the Lady Warna’s forgiveness and your own.”
Verice stared at the man. “Warna?”
“Idiots and fools,” Warna scanned the crowd. “It’s only by Ustov’s good sense that they weren’t cut down or trampled. Still no one is hurt,” she continued. “One can only hope they are better actors then one might think.”
“M’lady,” Zester protested.
Verice sheathed his sword. “Very well,” he said, and gestured for his horse. The warriors all mounted as well, with Ustov giving the actors a very grim look.
“Lord High Baron,” Zester persisted. “About the Festival…”
Verice stiffened in his saddle. Warna glanced over and saw Dorne in the doorway of the church, wiping his hands on his apron. Verice was staring at him, an odd look on his face.
“Very well, Zester,” Verice turned in his saddle. “You may set up your stage for one day and night during the Festival. Contact my seneschal for the details.”
“My thanks, Lord Verice,” Zester said.
“And Master Zester,” Verice paused as Ustov lead the others on. “Present a comedy. We’ve had overmuch tragedy of late.”
Verice forbade Warnato dismount in the markets, and for once his stubborn woman listened.
He knew full well that this was a breach of trade custom. One usually walked through a market, leaving horses on the outskirts. But custom could go hang from the battlements. He wanted her up high, where he and his men could scan any that approached her.
