Summer. His beautiful Summer.
Warna sat inthe shelter of Verice’s arms, and winced as he held her hand in both of his, putting pressure on her palm.
He cursed under his breath, his face as pale as she’d ever seen.
She’d not thought much other than to block the blade when she’d slid her hand up as Charrin had pulled the knife over her throat. She shivered, thinking of how close she’d come.
And now the bard lay on the floor, crying.
“Summon healers,” Verice commanded. The cloth he’d wrapped around her hand was red with blood. Warna decided it might be best to avert her eyes. She buried her face in Verice’s shoulder.
“Already called,” said one of the guards. “What should we do with the bard, m’lord?”
“Kill him.”
“Verice, no,” Warna lifted her head from his shoulder.
Verice’s face was cold; his eyes even colder.
“Look at him,” she said softly.
“Look at this,” Verice said, lifting her hand. “And this,” his finger traced a line on her neck and she flinched at the sudden pain. “He almost—” Verice stopped.
“He didn’t,” Warna said. “Please, Verice. Don’t—”
“Why?” Verice growled.
“Because he’s helpless, and hurting. Because he’s lost it all now. He’s failed a king who doesn’t forgive errors and betrayed you. He’s nothing and no one, and less than naught.” Warna shook her head. “Don’t spoil the Festival.”
There were footsteps behind her then, and she suddenly found herself at the mercies of the healers. Verice gave her up reluctantly, letting them take charge. She struggled to her feet with their support.
Verice stood, looking down at Charrin, implacable and stern.
“Verice,” she said, holding her hand to her chest. She took a step in Charrin’s direction. Verice frowned, and put his boot on the man’s neck as she came closer.
“Listen to me, you treacherous bastard,” Warna leaned over the bound mael. “You accepted the hospitality of this house, and you repaid it with perfidy.”
The hallway was still, the guards and healers silent. Verice watched her with hooded eyes.
“I will sing of this, false one,” Warna kept her voice low and hard. “And know this for a truth, while I may not live as long as you, my song will. Our people will sing of your betrayal for a thousand years, and then some.”
She straightened, slowly, her strength starting to wane. “Vengeance is not the answer to your pain.”
Warna stepped away then, sagging into the waiting arms of the healers. She paused to look at Verice, who gave her a simple nod.
Contented, she let them lead her where they would.
Charrin lay onthe floor, awash in his failure, Warna’s words echoing in his mind.
“Take him to a cell,” Verice was speaking to one of the guards. “And keep him under guard.”
“As you wish, m’lord.”
There was a rustle of cloth, and then the vague shape of Verice knelt by Charrin’s head. “My Lady Warna would have me spare your life,” Verice spoke quietly, without rancor. “She is a merciful woman.”
“I pity you,” Charrin kept his voice down, but he didn’t bother to block his hate. “To see you lose your heart to a human. Are you going to start a kennel, like you do for your dogs? Place another one in your life as soon as this one dies off?”
“Warna is kind,” Verice continued calmly. “I am not. I will not spoil the Festival, Charrin, but—” Verice stopped.
