“Hard to say, m’lord,” the constable said as he opened the door. The dogs pushed past him, snuffling the air with anticipation.
“Warna,” Verice gestured to her to go first.
Warna didn’t hesitate as she stepped through the doorway and into the garden beyond.
If this had been a moat, it must have been a wide one, deep and dangerous. The area between the walls was large and spacious and the ramparts towered over her. She could see guards along the outer wall, pacing out their watches.
But the land between the walls was lush and green, and filled with the wildness of over-grown rose bushes, with large pink roses, their blooms as big as cabbages. The plants sagged under their weight, and petals littered the stone walk that angled away from them.
Warna took a deep breath of the flower-scented air, and lifted her face to the sky. She could hear Verice walking up behind her, and the dogs running around through the bushes, stirring up birds in pursuit of a rabbit.
“I should not have neglected it for so long,” Verice said. The sorrow was thick in his eyes. On impulse Warna reached for his hand, taking it in hers. Verice squeezed once, and kept hold as he continued. “It didn’t take long for this place to turn into a wilderness. Watch out for the rantha vines.”
“It’s not that bad,” Warna said. “I like it better than the palace gardens in Valltera. Those plants were groomed to within an inch of their lives.” She tugged once, and they started walking down the paths, Verice reaching to clear the branches out of the way. It wasn’t really practical to remain hand in hand. But he didn’t release hers, and she wasn’t going to pull away.
“Everything perfect, nothing out of its place,” Verice said. “Not so much as a fallen petal.”
“I never got the chance to ask.” Warna laughed. “They told me you’d been invited to make the king’s bedchamber for the ceremony. Did you get to smooth the king’s pillow?”
Verice snorted. “I was just positioning it on the bed when word came you’d taken ill.” He stopped for a moment, lifting his head. “You might want to hold your breath for a moment,” he said wryly. At her puzzled glance, he nodded to a bush off to the side. “Gwenwyth.”
She wrinkled her nose as she got a faint whiff.
He hurried her past, leading the way. “If I remember correctly, off to the side here…”
He released her hand and thrust aside more branches, revealing a bower under a trellis of large purple flowers, with two stone benches opposite each other. He cleared the leaves and twigs from one. “Here,” he gestured. “Sit for a while.”
“Tell me about the ceremony.” Warna sank onto the bench. The stone was warm from the sun that dappled through the leaves. “And what did Barathiel say to you?”
Verice brushed the other bench clear, then sat opposite her, adjusting his sword as he took his seat. Something flashed through his eyes, but he spoke easily, explaining King Barathiel’s position, describing their conversation. There was something he wasn’t telling her, but Warna could imagine enough not to need details.
“What of you?” he asked finally. “What happened while I was apart from you?”
So Warna told him about Charrin, and the Queen’s invitation to a private tea. “I couldn’t think of a way to refuse,” she said. “And once I was there, and the tea was poured, she was so superior, so smug—”
“You drank the entire cup,” Verice finished.
“I wish I could claim that I thought it all through,” she admitted. “That I had this grand plan. But really I just...improvised.”
“I find that at once admirable,” Verice quirked the corner of his mouth. “And terrifying.”
Warna laughed.
“But you need to know what’s happened as a result,” Verice said. He told her the situation, from the Usurper’s notes to the pull-back of Barathiel’s armies.
Warna frowned. “Why would he do that?”
“Warna, elven faella do not conceive easily. Elven children are rare, and as such, are considered precious above all things,” Verice said. “Any threat to a child, or an expectant mother, human or faella is unpardonable.”
“Oh,” Warna thought it through. “So, my lies—”
“I’ve had several unofficial communications,” Verice said. “From elven nobles, from Barathiel, from Blesenthala, even from the Usurper, all delicately inquiring as to the fate of your unborn child.”
“Lord and Lady.” Warna bit her lip. “It never occurred to me—” She stopped. “But you and I, and my healers know the truth.”
“Still, when you don’t give birth in the next year, it will be assumed that you miscarried the non-existent child.” Verice looked away. “On one hand, you’ve provided the perfect diplomatic weapon against Barathiel. But on the other, your reputation has suffered, and for that—”
Warna snorted. “Reputation? What reputation? Verice, I’d been fleeing the Usurper’s army for months, sleeping in ditches, fields, and sheep lofts before you rescued me. Not to mention sleeping in a barracks full of men once I arrived here. No need to be concerned for what is already broken.”
