Warna watched in silence, standing close to Verice. She knew that the trough had been treated with oil, and given a base that would ensure that it burned through the night.
Dorne took up a torch offered to him by another acolyte. “Let this fire cleanse our hearts and bring us peace.” He tossed the torch into the center of the trough. The flame flickered, and caught.
Charrin started to sing, an elven song this time, of loss and sorrow.
Verice stiffened suddenly. Warna glanced up, gasping at the rage and pain she saw in his eyes. She felt a tremor wrack through his body. His whispered words were in her ear. He was casting a—
The pyre flame roared up, blasting them all with the heat, towering over them.
Charrin faltered, his song lost in the clamor of the flames. Everyone stepped back, taken by surprise. Dorne cast a stern look at Verice, but his expression eased as he took in Verice’s face.
The tower of fire raged, dancing in the night sky, consuming everything within. Verice’s eyes were narrow, filled with malice and hatred.
Warna leaned in to him, not quite daring to break his concentration. Verice glanced over, frowning, and the flame sputtered and collapsed in on itself.
“Lord of Light, Lady of Laughter, we know that our loved ones are at peace.” Dorne’s voice cut through the crowd’s murmurs of surprise. “We ask for the gift of your grace for our grief and pain. Give us strength to bear our sorrow, until the moment we are reunited in your light.”
The fire eased down, the pyre already collapsing into coals.
“Let us go, to our homes and our hearths, and remember our dead this night,” Dorne said, releasing them all.
The crowd started to disperse, moving off towards the garden door slowly. Dorne bowed to Verice and left with his acolytes. Charrin walked with him.
Verice didn’t move, staring at the embers.
Warna waited beside him while the others left. They’d planned to attend the midnight services at the church, but that didn’t feel right somehow. She felt so bone weary, so drained. And Verice…
She moved closer then, tucking herself under his arm, wrapping her arm around his waist. Verice put his arm around her shoulders, still staring at the pyre.
“Come,” Warna said. She gave a tug, and he turned with her, allowing her to lead him away.
She wasn’t certain why, but some instinct guided her to lead him back to the keep, back up those stairs and through the doors.
The Great Hall was silent now, the mage lights dimmed.
But at some point, Verice took control, guiding them to the point on the floor where the high table had been. He wrapped his arms around Warna, buried his face in her hair, and crushed her close.
Warna returned the embrace fiercely, allowing her tears to flow once more.
Verice’s body shook. He was weeping, sobs of pure anguish. His knees gave out and he collapsed to the floor. She followed him down, supporting him until they knelt together, wrapped so tight that not even breath separated them
She sheltered her beloved as he finally allowed himself to grieve.
Chapter Sixty-Three
“Lord and Ladies, on this, the Third Night of the Festival, the Night of Music and Dance, I propose a toast,” Lord Mayor Pernard held his cup high. “I propose a toast to our gracious Lord High Baron Verice and the Lady Warna!”
“Hear, hear,” was the response from those seated in the Great Hall, raising their own glasses in response.
“My thanks,” Verice said, glancing at Warna, seated next to him at the high table. “We thank you for your attendance, and offer you welcome. Enjoy the food and wine, my friends, to fortify ourselves for the dancing to come.”
The servers piled into the Hall, carrying steaming platters, to noisy appreciation.
“It seems to be going well,” Verice whispered to Warna.
“Until one of the servers dumps a platter of sliced beef on the floor,” Warna whispered back. But her eyes were grateful as she turned to Charrin, seated at her side. “Bard Charrin, would you let me pick out some choice slices for you?”
Charrin’s response was lost in the sounds of the hall, but his tone was snappish. He’d been remarkably pleasant when he’d arrived, agreeing to the details of the mourning ceremony, and to otherwise participate in Warna’s plans. But his goodwill hadn’t lasted long, and Verice could not blame him. For this night was the actual anniversary of the attack, and Summer’s death.
