It felt bizarre to be seated here once again, entertaining as if naught had happened. As much as his heart cried against it, the castle and keep were at the heart of Tassinic. Life had to go on, as painful as that was to think on. Warna and the entire staff had put every effort into easing back into the use of the Great Hall.
It still hurt.
Verice glanced at Narthing, seated at his side. His captain caught the look and returned it with a nod. They were both conscious of the hour.
So far, the Festival had been without incident. But if any were to plot against them, this would be the night. They’d taken every precaution, drilled all in attendance, servants, staff and warriors alike. All knew what they had to do.
Even Warna. Verice glanced at her waist, pleased to see that the dagger was still at her side. He’d given her one that he’d sharpened himself, and belted it around her when she’d hesitated. “I’ve no skill,” she’d protested.
“Even so,” Verice had said. “I’d have you armed.”
She’d huffed at him, but she hadn’t removed the blade as she returned to dressing her hair for the night’s celebration.
Verice had made a pretense of sharpening his sword as he watched her.
She’d refused all but the plainest of clothes, but he had to admit that she looked lovely in her dress of brown and gold. She’d taken diamond hair pins from his jewel vault for this night, settling them in her hair in such a way that they had seemed to catch all the light in her golden tresses.
Verice drank his wine, and watched Warna, who was trying very hard not to help Charrin with his plate. Even now, those jewels sparkled in the mage light whenever she moved. She was a simple vision of beauty, and he ached to pull those pins from her hair, and let it fall over his naked skin.
Verice shifted in his seat with a sigh, raised his cup and took another sip.
He’d much to be grateful to Warna for. That first night, after he’d broken down, she’d stayed with him, protected him from any prying eyes. Somehow, she’d gotten him back to their bed with no one seeing them. He’d slept deeply, and in the morning, she’d handed him strong kav and urged him up before the dawn ceremonies had begun. Since that consisted of a choir of small, off-key, shrill children gathering in the courtyard to sing to him, he’d been more than thankful.
Warna and Ersal had planned this Festival with the anniversary in mind. They’d kept things subdued, allowing people to ease into the celebration. In years past, Verice could remember trying to plan events ever bigger and brighter, but this felt right. Maybe in the future—
But there was no future. Warna would leave when the Festival was over.
He stared into the depths of his cup. She’d never said a word about what had happened that First Night, never faulted him for breaking down. She’d wept with him, supported him during those dark moments, and then held him as he’d slept.
Verice started as Warna leaned over. “Best eat, m’lord. You’ll need your strength for the dancing.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You will be dancing as well,” he pointed out.
“Only the rustic ones that I know,” Warna said. “I’ll not risk one of your quadrilles, with those fancy steps and hand gestures.”
“They can be complicated,” Charrin chimed in. “But you could learn with practice.”
Verice glanced at his sightless, scarred eyes, but he could find no hint of sarcasm in the elven bard’s tone or expression.
Warna simply laughed, taking the words for what they were worth. “A great deal of practice,” she smiled. “Can I offer you more bread, Charrin? Or wine?”
“My appetite is not what it should be, m’lady,” Charrin’s voice was cool. “But some wine would not go amiss.”
Warna poured for both of them. “As soon as the tables have been cleared, we can start. Songs and dances alternating, for so long as you wish to sing,” Warna said. “Some of the players have asked to perform for us as well.”
Verice stiffened, hiding his surprise.
“But at midnight?” Charrin’s voice cracked.
“Priest Dorne will lead us in prayer,” Warna said. “And we’ll make an early evening of it here in the keep, but the celebration will continue in the rest of the castle.”
“Aye,” Charrin said, and he slumped in his chair.
Warna glanced at Verice, but he shook his head, and shrugged.
The dancing wasmarvelous.
Warna clapped with joy as she watched the intricate moves of the dancers. They filled the area before the high seat, interweaving a pattern with swirling skirts and flashing feet. They’d link arms one moment, and then barely touch fingers as they twirled away.
