“Lord of Light,” Warna exclaimed. “Truly?” She gave a startled laugh as Verice nodded.
“The fresh feather mattress is then laid over the straw one, and fluffed.” Verice poured kav for both of them as Warna cut into her pie. “And then begins the placement of the sheets and the blankets, each sheet then being spread out and smoothed, because they dare not leave a single wrinkle to offend the King’s body.”
Warna shook her head. “They all stand around while this is done?”
“With somber stares, for their presence is an honor, and a right by virtue of their blood,” Verice said. “Woe betide any that hold the wrong curtain or fluff the wrong pillow. So, to finish my tale…”
Warna laughed. “There’s more?”
“Of course,” Verice said. “Once the pillows are in place, the bed curtains are closed and the bed is sprinkled with scented water, and blessed by one in service to the Ancestors, then the entire lot troops back to the outer chamber and are served wine. This happens each and every night, even if the King is not in residence.”
Warna shook her head. “What a waste. Their time could be better spent, I think.”
“So did I, in my youth.” Verice grimaced. “I’m afraid that if I hadn’t left the Court of Valltera, I’d have been banished before long.”
“You were a trouble-maker?” Warna asked.
“Let’s just say I was an impetuous youth, who chafed against every rule, every restriction.” Verice said. “If it weren’t for my weaponsmaster, I’d have certainly been sent away in disgrace.”
Warna tilted her head. “How so?”
“He sat me down after a practice, and told me that being at Court was like fighting a bout. ‘Three basic rules, lad. Speak only in response. Answer, but never ask. And never make the first move.’”
Warna shook her head again, mopping up the last of her gravy with bread. “That worked?”
“Yes,” Verice said wryly. “After that, I knew well exactly why I was in trouble.”
Warna choked on her bread, laughing and sputtering as she reached for ale.
Satisfied, Verice set about finishing his own few bites.
Once she gother throat clear, Warna sat quietly as Verice finished his meal. The silence was a comfortable one. She had so many questions, but each one had the potential to raise the past in a way that might hurt Verice. It made her feel awkward and rude, and suddenly the weaponsmaster’s advice made perfect sense.
The efforts of the day were starting to catch up to her, and she was looking forward to crawling into her new bed. She glanced around at the crowded room, the chests lining the walls, and the weapons hanging there. There was a pile of papers that had been cleared off the table, and next to them, the petitions that Verice had taken in town.
Verice caught her glance and grimaced. “I haven’t gotten to those yet, and I should.
The petitioners will be expecting a response in a day or so.”
“What do people petition for?” Warna asked.
“Various reasons,” Verice said. “To complain of an official without drawing his ire or ask pardon for a loved one. Sometimes they wish for money, or aid.” Verice pushed his plate back. “I normally have a scribe deal with them, but…”
“What would the scribe do with them?” Warna asked.
“Sort through them and investigate.” Verice said.
“You must still have people working in that regard,” Warna said hesitantly. “Just not here.”
“Yes,” Verice said slowly.
“Send them to him, then,” Warna said. “Or send for him.”
Verice went silent, studying the table in front of him. It went on for so long that Warna thought she had offended, but then he nodded. “I will,” he said. “My thanks, Warna.”
Warna gave him a smile, that turned into a yawn.
“You’re tired.” Verice stood, and all the dogs rose with him. “I’ll walk you to your new chambers.”
