“The water here is very good, and there’s kav for after.” Verice placed the bottle to the side. “We’d best eat while it’s hot.”
“M’lord, I wish to apologize to you again,” Warna said. “Except the lamp, I disturbed nothing. I am so very sorry that—”
“Apology accepted.” Verice lifted the lid from a serving dish. “Chicken?”
Warna stared at him for a moment, then accepted that the matter was closed. She raised her plate. “Yes, thank you.”
They dished out the meal to each other. Baked greens and onions with cheese, chicken roasted with rosemary and onions, and a loaf of bread.
Warna tore off a hunk as Verice cleared his throat. “I’m the one who should offer an apology. I fear that I have been...less than courteous in our dealings. This conflict within the kingdom has destroyed much that was graceful and fair, including my manners.”
“You’re used to taking command, issuing orders, and seeing them obeyed,” Warna said softly. “I suspect that aspect of your leadership has saved more lives than either of us knows.”
“I do not deserve your understanding,” Verice said. “But I thank you for it. Pernard’s roses are lovely, don’t you think?”
“Oh yes,” Warna smiled. “I do so love flowers.”
“Well, I must tell you then, that some of his are cuttings from my gardens,” Verice said. “I make a point, when I journey, to see if I can find a new flower or plant to add to my collection. Those roses are from Soccia, if I remember correctly, from a small village—”
Verice lulled herwith talk of roses, all the while drinking in the sight of her. How long had it been since he’d talk of things other than war and troop movements? He could not remember.
She sparkled, brown eyes glowing gold as she talked. He felt her warm to him, relaxing and talking about flowers and their care. She shared stories of her mother’s garden, her bright brown eyes only occasionally dimming with the memories. She took pleasure in the meal, even though the fare was plain.
So, he kept the talk light as they ate, not wanting to see the shadows in her eyes, although he knew the pain was there, under the surface. Time enough for that.
“So, were you trained in music?” he asked finally.
“No,” Warna chuckled. “My family was far too practical for that. My father saw no profit in those skills. No, I was trained to run an estate, with the hopes that my father would arrange a marriage to a minor lord or landed knight, who in turn would aid my brothers to noble wives. My father loved us dearly, and had ambitions for us all.”
Verice nodded, understanding. “But you are not wed? Or pledged?”
“My mother sickened shortly before King Everard’s death,” Warna said. “With the chaos, and her illness, my father delayed a formal betrothal. After she died, the Lord High Baron called every able man to arms. My father, brothers took up arms and…” She trailed off.
“How did you survive?” Verice asked.
“When word came that the Usurper’s forces were upon us, Father and Grandfather hid me,” her voice was filled with pain. “When the flames started, Father stayed to try to protect his warehouses. Grandfather got me away. He died a short time thereafter. I’ve been running ever since.”
“That explains your song,” Verice said quietly.
Warna lifted her head, and he could see the tears gathering in her eyes. “Grandfather always told me, ‘Pain’s part of the agreement, Warna. Part of the price.’” She blinked away her tears. “I didn’t really understand him, because it sounded so cynical, so bitter somehow. I didn’t want to think that life was like that.”
“Now you know it’s just the truth,” Verice said. “Your song expresses it well. How did it go again?
Life is fleeting, life is pain
What need then to dance in the rain?
What need then to sleep in the night
Safe in the arms of my lover held tight?”
Warna listened, her amazement clear as he sang, keeping his voice low. He’d impressed her, and it pleased him that she blinked away tears.
“It sounds so much better when you sing it,” she whispered. “Were you trained in music?”
Verice shook his head. “No, not really. There was a time, before I took the Barony of Tassinic, when I thought to become a bard. But after about ten years or so, I realized that it was not truly my gift.”
“Ten years?” Warna asked.
