Verice banked his rage, tamping it down, barely maintaining control.
Another commotion at the door, and King Barathiel arrived. “What is this? What has happened?”
Warna groaned, turned away from Verice and retched.
Barathiel stopped a few feet away, his nose wrinkled in disgust. But then his eyes narrowed. “Blesenthala, what have you done?”
“Nothing,” the Queen said quietly, lifting her chin. “Warna has had a bad reaction to the tea, that is all.”
“There’s a chance she is pregnant,” the healer rose to her feet. “It would be best if she is seen to by those who have tended humans and half-elven before.”
“Is this true, Verice?’ Barathiel demanded.
“Would you take that risk?” Verice demanded in return. “For the sake of any potential child, Barathiel, let me take her home.”
Barathiel stood frozen for an instant, then shook his head. “Go. We grant permission—”
“No,” Blesenthala rose from her throne.
Verice didn’t wait another moment. He stood, and cast the spell, summoning a portal to Tassinic.
“Don’t think we are done,” Barathiel called out. “We will speak again, and soon.”
Verice ignored him. As soon as the oval opened, the white curtains flowing in a non-existent breeze, he swept Warna and her sodden skirts into his arms, and stepped through—
Into a bed-chamber covered in dust from months of dis-use.
His bedchamber. The one at the top of the keep.
Verice stood, paralyzed for a moment, as memories rose up before his eyes. But then Warna moaned in his arms, and he moved to place her on the bed.
“No,” she groaned, plucking at his arm. “Privy.”
He got her through the door and propped against the hole just as she started to heave again.
“Warna,” he rubbed her back, pulling the hair away from her face. “How do you fare?”
She cast her eyes up, giving him a look. “Fine, just fine,” she coughed and spat into the hole. “Where are we?”
“Home,” Verice stood. “Just give me a moment,” he strode out into the bedchamber. Warna muttered something after him, but he was intent on his task. With a word and a gesture, he threw open every window in the room. “Constable,” he bellowed, using his powers to amplify his voice so it shook the stones around him.
“M’lord?” came the faint response from somewhere below.
“Warna’s ill,” Verice shouted, trying not to let his fear echo with his voice. With another gesture he slammed open every outer door to the keep. “Come to her aid.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Everyone came running, healers, warriors, dogs, all thundering through the keep, calling for Verice and Warna. “Here,” Verice called from the doorway, and stepped aside to allow the healers through. “She’s—”
But the sound of her retching was clear and the healers disappeared into the privy.
“Constable,” Verice said to the man huffing and puffing by the door. “Keep them back for now. But have runners ready for whatever the healers might need.”
Ricard had a million questions on his face, but all he said was, “Aye, sir.”
Verice caught Brindle trying to squeeze through the door. “And try to keep the dogs back as well.”
Verice returned to the doorway, watching as Warna, supported by the healers, retched helplessly.
