“It was meant for family,” Verice said shortly.
“I know,” Warna said. She fingered the edges of one of the envelopes. “How did the rest of the castle perform?”
“Well,” Verice said. “I’ve no reports yet, but I am satisfied that everyone knows what to do. Which doesn’t mean I won’t drill them again, if time allows.” He frowned. Warna was staring at the pile of letters in her lap, but she wasn’t really seeing them “Warna?”
She lifted her head, blinked at him then bit her lip. “Verice...this letter was addressed to me,” She handed him the stiff paper, and he scowled at the royal crest at the top of the page. “It’s from Charrin.”
Verice took it from her. Warna leaned her head against his shoulder as he read.
Lady Warna,
I have thought on our last conversation and have considered your words carefully. As hard as they were to hear, I have heard them.
I would request that I be permitted to attend your Festival of Light and Laughter, at least on the First Night, to add my voices to the others.
Bard Charrin
Verice let out a long, slow breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Well,” he said. “This is...unexpected.”
Warna took his hand in hers, but didn’t say anything.
“Charrin has harbored his hate for so long,” Verice continued. “I wouldn’t expect that mael to change.”
“He’s harbored his hate as long as you harbored your grief,” Warna whispered.
Verice nodded absently, lost in thought, studying the words of the letter. “What do you think?” he asked.
“I wish I could spare you this pain,” Warna said. “But we both know that it must be faced. Charrin wants to face his, here with us, in the place that his love died. I do not want to deny him that, but—”
“I don’t want him to lash out at you,” Verice growled.
“He may,” Warna acknowledged. “If we warn Dorne, and Narthing, they can be ready to deal with him gently. With understanding.”
Verice snorted as he folded the letter away. “Fair enough.” He leaned over and nuzzled her ear. “How goes the planning?”
“Three days left,” she said, her voice softening at the touch of his lips. “Really, we are down to tiny details, and sudden crises.”
“And is there anything in that pile of paper that can’t wait a while?”
“Well…” Warna tilted her head. Her skin shivered under his lips. “There’s a lace order for the women of Birch Cove that I want to forward on. From one of the faellas at the Valltera Court.”
“That won’t take long,” Verice said. “I need to check in with Ersal and Narthing to make sure that all went well with the drill, but after that…” he paused, nipping at her neck.
“Why, m’lord,” Warna gasped as he dragged his teeth over her skin. “What did you have in mind?”
“More,” Verice growled.
Warna jerked her head back, her eyes wide, sparks flying in their brown depths. “I’ll meet you back here,” she scrambled up and out of the cubby-hole, gathering her letters as she moved.
Verice was right behind her. He took the steps two at a time, trying to rush with some degree of dignity befitting a Lord High Baron.
Ersal, Narthing, and Ricard were waiting for him, all with pleased looks on their faces. “It went well, then?” Verice asked.
There were nods all around. “Although the cooks ask that you time future drills for a moment when they are not spitting carcasses,” Ersal said. “But they obeyed orders, m’lord.”
“Excellent,” Verice said. “I will be conferring with Lady Warna about the details of the Festival this afternoon.”
Their well-trained faces were professionally blank, although there was a distinct look of approval in Ricard’s eyes.
