He indulged himself by washing his hair, upending a bucket over his head, letting the cold water wash away the sweat, grime, and blood. The water brought a surge of energy for a time, letting him scrub and towel himself dry.
Ricard approached with a cool bottle of ale, and some cheese between two hard crackers. “Enough to take the edge off,” he said.
Verice took a long swig. “You’re sure Narthing’s well tended?”
“Aye,” Ricard said, throwing the towels and soap in one of the buckets. “And they’d not thank you if you tried to wake him or them.” He chuckled. “Priest Dominic stayed once the wounded started pouring in; he’s bedded down in there as well.”
Verice looked over at the Healing Hall and the dark window at the very top. Truth be told, it wasn’t Narthing or Dominic he wanted to talk to. He clapped a hand on the constable’s shoulder. “Well, then I’d best see to my own bed. Make sure you see to yours.”
“Aye,” Ricard said. “Dawn comes quick enough.” He headed off to the gate, presumably to finish his rounds before bed.
Verice set about eating the crackers and cheese between pulls on the bottle. The weariness of his body had more to do with the magical energies he’d expended rather than the fighting. It was an effort to chew, but he did it, watching the crumbs gather on his trous. The ale was cold, and sweet. It replaced the bitter taste of ash in his mouth.
It was dark and quiet here; the only sounds came from the night watch pacing the walls. A sense of isolation washed over him, an ache of loneliness. The aftereffects of battle, he knew.
He stared up at Warna’s window again, trying to will the flaring of a light that showed she was awake. He really wanted to check on her, to see if she was well, maybe talk for a moment. If anything was amiss, he’d have been told. Anything he had to tell her could wait until the morning.
He padded through the barracks bare-footed, silently walking the halls and climbing the stairs. There were soldiers lining the halls, rolled up in bedrolls, asleep. He frowned, thinking about the challenges of relocating the people of Birch Cove. They could rebuild, of course, but he wanted to talk to the village elders before he—
A huge yawn cracked his jaw, and Verice shook his head ruefully as he opened the door to his chambers.
Someone had left a mage-lantern open in his sleeping chamber; its soft glow lit the outer rooms enough to see by.
The dogs were sprawled on the floor around the table, curled in balls. Brindle raised her head and wagged her tail. Verice crooned to her as he crossed the room. Once she saw that he was headed within, she lowered her head, and settled back down.
Verice yawned as he stepped through, just as happy to be seeking his own rest. Tomorrow would be—
Warna was in his bed.
It took a moment for it to sink, for him to understand that the fan of golden hair was hers. She was on her side, facing him, curled around a pillow, covered with one of his blankets. There was a faint frown on her face, as if her sleep was an uneasy one.
Verice hesitated, then leaned against the door frame, taking in the sight. He’d not disturb her. But after a day of death and horror, it felt good to see her so, sleeping safe within his walls.
At least he’d managed that much.
She was lovely, really. Those wide round eyes, and the softness of her face. She’d probably given up her bed in the Healers Hall for one of the healers or patients. Ancestors, he hoped it wasn’t Dominic. A flash of irritation at Ricard was quickly replaced with common sense. He doubted the man even knew she’d ended up here.
There were extra blankets folded and the end of the bed. He’d curl up by the hearth in the kitchens.
He walked over, careful to be quiet, with every intention of taking a blanket and leaving. But he paused for just a moment, listening to her breathing, his eyes on her sweet face as she slept. Something ached in his chest suddenly; a want, a need for her to open her eyes so they could talk. Verice frowned at that, uncertain as to what exactly he was feeling.
Warna sighed, rolled over and opened her eyes, still half-asleep.
Verice suddenly knew exactly what he wanted.
Chapter Thirty
Sleep-filled, Warna’s brown eyes focused on him and her lips curved in a warm, drowsy, welcoming smile. She murmured his name, clearly just on the edge of consciousness as she shifted under the blankets.
Verice sucked in a breath, his pulse quickening as pure desire swept through him. The shock of recognizing that fact would have -should have - made him stop, but he was already moving, bracing a knee on the edge of the bed, leaning over Warna. She blinked at him, her confusion clear.
He kissed her, pressing his lips to her softer ones, no more than that. He waited then, conscious of her every breath.
She pulled in a startled gasp against his mouth. His heart stopped for one long, agonizing breath, then leapt as her lips moved under his, clumsily returning the kiss, as if unsure as to what to do.
He groaned, buried one hand in her silken hair and took control.
Warna gave a contented murmur and opened her mouth to him.
