“Well, next year, start ordering more earlier, before the Festival,” Warna said. “It’s not good to have our supplies so low, even if we can see to the daily needs.”
“Yes, m’lady,” Ersal said.
There was a knock at the door, and Ricard poked his head in. “Seneschal, there’s a delivery of hams and the butcher is waving his cleaver at the carter. Will you come?”
“Lord and Lady, now what?” Ersal said, as he hurried off.
Warna chuckled, and turned to the next list of supplies. The festivities had been lovely, but they’d drained the castles supplies down to bare shelves in some cases. Of course, they hadn’t had much on hand, but she wasn’t pleased with the situation. She’d underestimated the food and drink necessary, that was certain. They’d not run out of anything, really, but larger reserves were needed. She’d leave notes for Ersal for next year—
Because she wouldn’t be here.
Warna looked up with a sigh, not really seeing the room or the documents before her. The task of cleaning and restocking after all the celebrations was absorbing, and over-seeing the rebuilding of the window in the Great Hall, and the memorial in the gardens had taken a great deal of time.
They’d restored the practice of dining in the Great Hall every other night. Verice had seated her at the high table beside him. The staff certainly appreciated a return to the normal routine, and it was good to see the tables filled with laughter and talk, no matter how subdued.
The other nights, she and Verice dined privately. They’d talk of their day, the work being done, of the security at the borders, and the news of Edenrich and Valltera. And then—
Warna flushed.
She’d raised the issue of her departure, but Verice so far hadn’t been inclined to discuss it. He’d ask how work was going with the restocking, or tell her a new bit of gossip he’d heard, or he’d lean over and kiss the breath from her body.
Warna frowned, thinking. How many days had it been since the Festival?
She added them up in her head, and her eyes widened. So long?
Warna closed her eyes in pain as she realized the truth.
Verice wouldn’t do it.
For whatever reason, Verice was stalling. Delaying the inevitable. She huffed out a breath. Drat the mael. Putting off what had to be done, leaving it up to her to do it, no doubt. Typical.
Warna closed her eyes. She didn’t want to be the one to do it, either. To say the words, to break the arrangement between them, as they had agreed to do.
To leave his bed.
Her sob caught her off guard, welling up in her chest. Verice deserved so much. As much love as she could give him for the rest of her days. But he also didn’t deserve the pain she’d cause him, growing old, dying before his eyes.
She sank down into a chair, staring at the roses. Even freshly picked, one or two petals had fallen to the table.
She hadn’t heard from her great-uncle yet, and that was a real reason to delay. Except that she could live in Octara, but she shied away from the thought. Of living in town, seeing him from a distance, just another face in the crowd, waving to her Lord High Baron.
Or worse, seeing him with a faella beside him, riding through the streets.
Warna clutched at the rose in her hand, and felt the thorn prick her fingers. No. That wasn’t even to be thought of.
Unbidden, a verse of her song leaped to mind.
Life is bitter, life is grim
What need then to be with friends?
What need then to laugh with glee
when you smile so sweet at me?
What need to kiss, to touch, to take,
or my oath to ne’er foresake?
