Which was another way of saying ‘show up and wait your turn,’Verice thought, but let no hint of it show on his face. He turned to the guard, and they started the ritual of binding each blade in its scabbard with ribbons and wax seals.
This promised to be a very long afternoon.
Mathonalar set a slow pace through the gardens and halls as he escorted them to the King and Queen. Warna was quiet at his side, but a glance told him that her eyes were wide with delight, drinking in the sights.
He could hardly blame her. Elves moved about them, graceful and serene in their bright robes that shimmered as if woven of moonlight and shadow, their ears decorated with the traditional piercings along the edges, glittering with jewels and precious metals. They walked down corridors of glowing white marble, with thick carpets patterned with leaves and birds in patterns that never seemed to repeat.
And the air was sweet with perfume and soft music floated through every window. Perfect, unblemished, unchanged. As it had been for centuries.
“It’s lovely,” Warna dared whisper.
It’s stifling, was Verice’s thought.
But at last they turned down a short hall, and at Mathonalar’s gesture, the guard drew open the double doors. As they stepped through into the large chamber filled with courtiers, Verice could see King Barathiel on his throne at the other end of the room, with Queen Blesenthala beside him.
Mathonalar led them straight up to the throne at his slow, regal pace to give those present time to study and assess them, Verice was certain of that.
Mathonalar stopped before the throne, and tapped his staff three times upon the floor. “Verice, Bearer of the Blood of Tethnar, and his ward, Warna of Farentell.”
Verice narrowed his eyes at the lack of title for Warna, wondering who had instructed that little detail. But the room had gone silent, and King Barathiel was rising to his feet, a smile on his face.
“Welcome, cousin!”
Chapter Forty-Two
It was all Warna could do not to let her mouth gape open like a dying fish. Cousin?
Verice took a step forward as the King approached them. The courtiers were all bowing, and moving to the side, creating a path for the King.
“Your Majesty,” Verice gave a formal bow. “I offer thee greetings.”
“So formal.” King Barathiel waited until Verice rose, and then grasped Verice in a hug that seemed to catch him by surprise. Before Verice could react, the King released him, and faced Warna directly. “And this is Warna? Your ward, I believe.”
Warna sank down as gracefully as she could and bowed her head.
“So lovely,” King Barathiel murmured. “We’ve heard much of your gifts, Warna.”
That brought her head up, to stare into eyes more cruel, rather than kind. A frisson of fear ran down her spine, but Warna remembered herself enough to lower her gaze. “My thanks, your Majesty,” she whispered.
“So shy,” King Barathiel said. “And so sorrowful. We are saddened to hear of your loss, Warna. The actions of the Usurper of Palins are a threat to us all.”
The waters herewere deeper than Verice had anticipated, and rapidly rising over his head. “Your Majesty?” he asked, careful to leave his question open-ended. He’d forgotten the layers within layers of the simplest of words spoken in the royal court of Valltera.
“Come, cousin,” Barathiel took his arm, and guided him towards the dais. “Charrin has told us much of your ward, and the situation you are facing. We’ve had many long talks with him.”
That came as a shock. Charrin was seated on a stool one step down from the throne. A signal honor. He sat, face turned toward Verice, his harp in his hands.
“We, Your Majesty?” Verice asked.
“Our advisors, the Queen and myself.” The King left his side and mounted the steps to his throne. Verice glanced back to see that Warna had followed him, standing one step behind him, a single black rose in a mass of colorful dresses. “We’ve discussed it for some time, and have reached the only conclusion possible. The Usurper threatens your barony, cousin.”
“There is tension within Palins, Your Majesty,” Verice agreed cautiously. “But to my knowledge it has yet to reach the borders of Valltera.”
“It is only a matter of time.” Barathiel settled back on his throne with a confident air. “Tassinic must come under our protection, Verice. And you must be restored to your rightful place in our society.”
A political pit yawned wide at Verice’s feet. “Your Majesty, I was released from my oaths to yourself and this land many years ago. I have sworn my allegiance to Palins and—”
“To a dead human king, and a lost bloodline,” Barathiel said sharply. “That means little now, wouldn’t you agree?”
