I see well enough without it.”
“Thank you,” She paused, staring at him.
He stood there for a long moment, returning her stare, feeling somehow...disappointed. He took a step back, and bowed. “Good night, Warna.” With that he walked off, just far enough that he knew she could not see him.
He paused then, listened to her climb the ladder, and the rustle of her clothing as she prepared for bed. Waited as she crawled under the blankets.
Waited as she whispered a soft prayer for the souls of her family and Farentell.
Closed his eyes as she started crying for her losses, her sobs muffled by her pillow.
Verice cursed the night then, cursed the Lord of Light and Lady of Laughter, cursed his Ancestors, cursed life itself that caused such pain to one so undeserving.
Almost, almost he went back, to climb the ladder and catch her eye, and cast a spell of dreamless, sweet sleep. The urge was strong. But she’d not thank him in the morning, he was certain of that. Let her mourn her dead, let her grieve for what was lost.
He stood guard, bore witness to her pain, listened in the dark as she cried herself to sleep. Once her breathing evened, he turned away, seeking his own bed.
As he climbed within and pulled up the covers, he knew he’d see her off safe in the morning.
It was for the best. This was no place for a human woman. He and his men were prepared for attacks; they were warriors who could defend themselves if need be. There was no comfort to be found here, no safety. She could not stay.
The nightmares claimed him through the night, but the innocents he’d failed to protect all had golden hair, and brown eyes flecked with gold.
Chapter Eight
Warna woke well before dawn, with a raw throat and scratchy eyes.
She rolled to her side, flipped her pillow and burrowed down into its coolness. She’d left the shutters on the small window opened, and moonlight filled the room.
Her heart lay numb and cold, a terrible empty feeling in her chest. It was all gone, and she’d known it before Verice had confirmed her fears. Known it by the dead look in her father’s eyes as he’d kissed her mother’s coffin. When word had come of the deaths of her brothers. When she’d held her grandfather’s hand, and sung him to sleep for the last time.
‘Your life is your own, Warna of Farentell, to make of it what you wish.’
All well and good for him to say so, but the thought filled her with dread. It might be freedom in his eyes, but to her it looked like a great, yawning maw of ‘unknown’. She’d no skills to speak of, and while Lord Verice thought her songs were special, Warna knew full well they were not.
What did she want? She wanted what she’d had. A home, a future planned for her, a family who loved her and were loved in return. She’d looked forward to building a life with a husband of similar mind, and a family of her own.
Exhausted, drained, she closed her eyes, and fell back asleep with just enough consciousness for a simple prayer.“Lord of Light, Lady of Laughter, hear my prayer. Grant me grace and strength, Lord. Grant me wisdom and peace, Lady. Show me the way…”
In the morning, Warna stepped out into a crowd of waiting men and horses. “What’s going on?” she asked Constable Ricard quietly.
“It’s your escort,” Ricard responded just as quietly. He carried the woven lidded basket that held her clothes on his shoulder. “Lord Verice ordered it doubled.”
“Looks more like I’m being escorted to my execution,” Warna said.
“That’s not funny,” Verice ground out from behind her.
Warna jumped, startled. “M’lord,” she started, then paused when she saw his eyes. “If you’ll forgive me, you look like you didn’t sleep.”
“I’ll sleep better when you are safe,” Verice growled. “Constable, you will have command.”
“Aye, m’lord.” Ricard heaved her basket up onto the back of one of the horses, and secured it. He gave Warna a nod. “Be well, miss.” He lowered his voice. “The Lord and the Lady go with you.”
“With you as well,” was all she had time for as Verice took her elbow, and guided her to a horse.
“You can ride?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said shortly. She reached for the saddle and mounted quickly, glad she’d chosen tunic and trous for this day.
