The crowd cheered at that. Verice bowed his head and waved his thanks, still in shock. Had it been a year? He shook his head to clear it. “Narthing,” he called, and let his tone speak for itself.
Narthing took the lead, and set as fast a pace as Verice could wish toward the other end of the square, only to find the path bared by a group of men, bearing banners, and flags. There were jugglers, acrobats, some singing, some playing horns and drums. The activity and the music stopped as they approached, and the leader stepped forward. He wore a cooking pot on his head, and bore a scepter in his hand, adorned with fake gems and false gold. “Stand and deliver, Verice of Tassinic!” the human boomed out in a loud, deep voice.
Verice’s horse snorted, too well-behaved to act up, but not happy with the noise, but Verice knew the man well enough. “Master Zester.” He gave the man his best forbidding look. “What means this?”
“Lord High Baron Verice, stand and deliver,” Master Zester called out. “You owe tribute to our patron, the Lady of Laughter, for your failure to attend our follies and performances.”
There were cheers from the crowd. Verice scowled at the man who’d opened a theater a number of years back.
“We have missed your patronage greatly, m’lord, and I would remind your lordship that all must pay the homage due to the Lady of Laughter, or risk her wrath.” Zester spotted Warna, and removed his cooking pot to execute a low bow. “But now I see why m’lord does not attend us,” he cried out. “He pays homage to another lady, and is lost in her obvious charms.”
“Or mayhap your follies and performances aren’t very good,” Warna called back, startling Verice.
The crowd roared at her comment, and Zester held his pot over his heart, and shook a mocking finger at her even as he grinned. “Oh, ho, now here is one that follows the teachings of the Lady of Laughter well! Bring her to our theater, my lord.” Zester donned his pot once again. “We’ll restore a smile to your face.”
“For now, Master Zester, clear the road,” Verice growled.
With a bow, Zester gestured, and the acting company cleared the road.
With a snort, Verice led his men past, making sure that Warna was not harassed. They were through the town gates quickly, and he broke into a swift gallop as they started up the road to the castle. Warna seemed to have no trouble with the gait, her hair coming lose from its braid.
The grim faces of the gate guards gave Verice a clue that there was a problem even before the constable appeared in the courtyard. Ricard’s face was grave. “Trouble on the border, m’lord.”
Chapter Sixteen
Verice swung down from the saddle. “Where was the attack?”
“Word’s come from Benton’s Warren.”
“When was the attack?” Verice demanded.
“Not long ago, m’lord.” Constable Ricard’s response was calm. “Injuries, no deaths reported. The messenger awaits in your chambers.” The man’s eyes widened as he spotted Warna on her horse. “M’lady, you—?”
“I’m back,” Warna said. “If someone will help me with my basket, I’ll disappear and leave you to your work.”
Verice moved to her side, and held her horse’s bridle. Warna dismounted. She grimaced a little as she landed. She shook her head when Verice gave her a concerned look. “No, it’s nothing. It’s been a while since I’ve ridden that far, is all.”
“I must deal with this,” Verice said quietly. “We can talk later.”
“Yes,” Warna agreed. “Go.”
She meant it, to his relief. Verice gave her a grateful nod and headed toward his chambers.
Warna watched himgo, hoping that the news wasn’t too grim. The constable hovered near her, and caught her eye. “Beg pardon, m’lady, but this is a surprise.”
“A sudden change of plans,” Warna said, trying not to smile at the man’s discomfort. “No way for you to have known.”
“Well, but since you were gone, I shifted the men around a bit, and put two in that loft where you were.”
“Two?” Warna asked.
“The smaller lads,” Constable Ricard explained earnestly, then huffed with frustration. “We need to be in a proper barracks,” he said, glancing at the empty buildings along the walls. “I’ve raised the issue, mind, but, well—” he sighed again.
“I do understand, Constable,” she said with a laugh. “Although I wonder how you managed two in that space. How about I wait in the kitchens for a while to give you a chance to sort it all out? This will just be for one night,” she added confidently. “There’ll be a new plan in the morning.”
With a grateful glance, the constable picked up her basket. “Let’s see you to the kitchens.”
Warna settled on a bench by the hearth, and accepted a mug of hot kav with thanks. Oddly, the cooks were only making kav and setting out the tables. There was no cooking going on. When she asked, one of the men shrugged. “Not enough room to cook here, and M’lord won’t let us use the proper kitchens. So, the food’s cooked in town and carted up for the meals.”
