For an instant as she stood in the clean, small room, however, her heart returned to home. To her old room, scattered about with pillows, the smell of bread baking in the kitchens below, and her brothers’ laughter coming through the window as her father called them to task. Grief caught her unaware, and was all the more powerful because of it. Tears welled, threatening to spill, as she stood in that strange, silent, empty room.
“Warna?” Verice called from below, his footsteps echoing as he mounted the stairs, his voice loud and slightly annoyed.
Verice had thoughtthat Warna would be waiting for him, so that they could eat together. He took the steps two at a time as he called out to her. “Warna?”
He stopped, caught by the look on Warna’s face. She looked so sad, so...bereft. Standing there, her clothes stained and damp, her hair bound up with strips of rag. Suddenly, all he wanted was to ease her sorrow. Replace that pain with a smile.
He glanced around the room. “Settling in?” he asked.
Warna looked away. He could tell she was wiping her eyes. He hesitated, not sure what comfort to offer, then his gaze fell on the bed.
“You know, if you were the Queen of Valltera, it would take thirty handmaidens and half the morning to make your bed.”
Warna turned then, staring at him with reddened eyes. “Really?”
“Oh yes,” Verice said. “Each of the twenty has their own task. It’s considered a high honor to plump the pillows, place them on the bed, and smooth them to perfection.”
Warna sniffled, then laughed weakly. “You’re teasing me.”
“As I stand before my Ancestors,” Verice placed his hand over his heart. “I’ll tell you about it over dinner. There’s chicken and mushroom pie tonight.” He paused. “If you’d join me.”
To his relief, Warna’s face cleared. “Just let me wash up, and I’ll be right there.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Verice stood by his chair, and patiently waited.
The table was set. The food was still covered, but the smell of hot chicken pie filled the air. The dogs were all settled around him, curled in their normal positions. Brindle sat by Verice’s side.
Normally he’d be impatient, waiting like this. But he was feeling something entirely different.
Anticipation.
It struck him that he’d not looked forward to anything in some time. The last few months had all been taken with the care of his lands, the safety of his people…
It felt odd that it felt odd. That he wanted to share the story of the formal rituals of Valltera. That he was going to share a meal with Warna again, someone who wasn’t concerned with troop placements, or scouting reports. He’d not done this with anyone else, and certainly not since...the guilt rose from his gut and kicked him hard, remembering those who had died. Who would never share another meal, another laugh, and all his—
Brindle whined and pushed his head into Verice’s fingers.
A soft knock, and Warna slipped into the room. Her eyes red-rimmed, she gave him a tentative smile, seeing his expression. “I took too long. Forgive me.”
She was hurting; the sorrow was deep in her eyes. Maybe he could help her forget her pain, if only for a moment. It was something they shared, that grief.
“Not at all. They just brought our supper.” Verice gestured her to her chair. “No, I was thinking on the Ceremony of the Bedchamber in Valltera.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Thinking on it, I think it’s more like thirty people required to make the King’s bed.”
“Now I know you are teasing me,” Warna said. “What would they all do?”
“Well, first, the Warder of his Majesty’s bedchamber summons the nobles—”
“Nobles?” Warna asked. “To make a bed?”
“A King’s bed,” Verice pointed out. “And the ritual is the same for the Queen, by the way. At any rate, they are all summoned to the outer room, where they line up in order of precedence.” Verice shook his head at the memory. “They gather up the clean sheets, pillows, and blankets. Two carry in the fresh feather mattress—”
“A fresh mattress?” Warna’s eyes went wide. “Every day?”
Verice offered her the gravy pitcher for her pie. “So, they file into the room in perfect order. The Four Lords of the Curtains each pull back one of the bed curtains, and hold it away from the bed for the entire ceremony.
“The four Lords of the Bed stand at its sides, their hands upon their sword hilts, as the bed is stripped down to the straw mattress. A nobly born esquire then leaps on to the bed and rolls around, checking that the straw has no weapons concealed therein to the King’s harm.”
