“Even so,” Narthing said. “That’s between the two of them, and I can promise you that our meddling will not aid that process. There’s nothing to do but wait and see. Something will give, one way or another. M’lord has enough on his shoulders without us raising this issue. Let them be.” Narthing lifted his cup and gave them all a look as he finished his broth.
“Aye,” came the chorus of reluctant agreement.
“But to my way of thinking,” Ricard said. “We owe a debt to Lady Warna for all that she has done for us. If naught comes of this or them, we’ll still see her safe.”
The ‘ayes’ to that statement showed they were all in agreement.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Thwack, Thwack.
Warna woke in the darkness of her room above the bakery, warm under her blankets, and blinked at the dawn just starting to spill through her window. Verice was back at weapons-practice again.
No. She couldn’t call him that anymore.Lord High BaronVerice was back to his normal routine, now that matters had settled down. He’d rise early, eat, then take to the pells and practice grounds until the sun rose. He’d fallen back into his old habits, now that they
weren’t...doing what they had been doing.
Whatever that was.
He’d done the same before she’d arrived, and likely be the same after she left.
But now she could also hear the workers in the bakery below and smell the faint scent of kav in the air. The castle’s Lord may have fallen back into old ways out of frustration, but the castle was returning to its old routine with intent. Warna smiled into her pillow wearily. At least in that aspect she’d done well.
Thwack, Thwack.
She stretched, then curled onto her side, hugged her pillow, and closed her eyes. If she lingered until he was done, he’d be gone before she finished her morning kav.
But the noises continued, and in her mind’s eye she could see him, wielding his sword, face so focused and intent...which was not conducive to sleep.
Warmth flooded through her, and she shifted in the bed, trying to still the ache in her chest. Damn the mael. Damn his kiss, for awakening something in her that she put aside as lost to her. Something she didn’t want to have to think about. For all that she had tried to avoid Verice -Lord High BaronVerice - it was impossible not to be conscious of his every move, every action. Even if she didn’t see him, she heard of him from the people around her.
Thwack, Thwack.
Warna rolled over and buried her head in the pillows. Her emotions churned. Angry, hurt, bewildered, she wasn’t sure what she was feeling.
At least, Verice - Warna gritted her teeth - Lord Verice had named a new Seneschal. Ersal was very nervous, but determined to do well. He’d come to her at once, asking questions and she’d aided him in the organizing of the castle’s needs. They’d been going over the lists of supplies when Mayth had come to ask if she’d wish to settle with the humans of Birch Cove. Ersal’s eyes had gone wide. “But she’s not yet done here,” he’d blurted out. “The keep...the Festival…”
Before Warna could say a word, Mayth had nodded his agreement. “But after,” he said. “Just something to think on. We’d be glad to have you.”
Ersal had opened his mouth, then closed it with a snap.
It was all well and good for everyone to look to her to continue, but no one was much help with the ‘how’. And now that she and...Lord Verice were no longer...well, whatever they had been, they weren’t it now.
Confusingly, that hurt. She flipped her pillow again, and punched it with her fist.
She didn’t have any real idea of how she was to open the keep. Return the castle to working order.
Warna reached out and plucked at a bit of fuzz on the hem of the blanket, seeing again the Great Hall, with its shattered window, the stains on the floor, the spilled tables and broken dishes. Verice’s face, as he stood within, holding out his hand to her. So much pain.
The silence from outside finally cut through her thoughts. Lord Verice would have started to summon his men, and would be opening the portal soon for his regular patrols.
Warna sighed, threw back the covers, and shivered in the cooler air. She’d promised to aid Ersal with his accounts; she’d best be about her day.
But that ache was still in her chest as she washed. An ache that had settled there as soon as she’d left Lord Verice standing at the garden door. An ache for something she’d lost, or something she was in the process of losing, if that made any sense. A wistful dream, a hope, a desire, slipping away like the mist in the full light of the sun.
Warna huffed at herself as she dried her face. Foolish thoughts.
At least this room at the top floor of the bakery had a few of the niceties. A privy of its own, and a large comfortable bed. Even a dressing table, with a mirror. Clouded with age, but still a mirror. And she’d acquired a few more clothes in the past few days. Dresses and tunics and skirts, underthings, and new shoes. All sturdy and well made. Although there’d been bright colors available, she’d stuck with muted grays, and browns. Both her parents had frowned on full formal mourning, but Warna hadn’t the heart to wear the jeweled colors she’d been offered.
