White Star (34 page)

Dorne
looked up as Evelyn stomped across the town square, her expression as black as thunder. He watched as she went into the inn, slamming the door behind her.

He turned to see Blackhart following, his expression as dark as Evelyn’s. He, too, went into the inn, and slammed the door behind him.

Blackhart’s men slowly entered the square, then came over to stand in front of Dorne, their expressions woebegone. “What’s wrong, lads? Aren’t you enjoying the party?”

“We were,” Archer grumbled.

“The Lady High Priestess is kinda upset with us,”

Reader said.

“Ah.” Dorne nodded, then waited, looking at each man in turn.

“We need to ask ya something,” Archer said. “It’s important,” Reader emphasized. “Kinda private.”

“She wouldn’t really do that, would she?” Mage asked.

Dorne gave them a puzzled look. “She wouldn’t do what?”

Sidian leaned over, and whispered in his ear.

“Ah.” Dorne struggled to keep his face straight. “I can see how that would be important.” He coughed slightly. “But I’m sure, once she’s calmed down a bit, you won’t have anything to fear. A true priestess would not curse you with crotch rot.”

There were sighs of relief all around.

Evelyn
marched through the main room of the inn and up the stairs to their bedroom. She was so angry she almost couldn’t see.

The door to the room slammed with a satisfying sound, and she threw her cloak into the corner, turning to pace before the fire.

She’d finished only one circle when Orrin slid into the room. He looked grim, and started to say something, but she cut him off before he could utter a sound. “You stupid man, what were you thinking?”

“Evie.”

“You walked into that building weaponless, half naked, your hands tied.” Evelyn rounded on him. “Are you insane? He could have killed you.”

“Let me guess.” Orrin crossed his arms over his chest. “You were sitting in the square, and he came up and said, ‘Oh, please, Priestess, my friend Ulfgar was drinking, and now he’s fallen and broken his leg. Help us, help us.’ And off you went.”

“It was an arm,” Evelyn said, trying to keep her voice even and calm. “And that’s not the point.”

“Thrice damned it isn’t,” Orrin growled. “You went off with someone without so much as a by-your-leave, much less a note or a message or—”

“He didn’t hurt me.” Evelyn lost control of her voice. “HE WAS GOING TO KILL YOU, AND YOU WERE GOING TO LET HIM.”

“Yes,” Orrin said. “Better me than you, my love.”

Evelyn stood there, struck silent by those words. She stared at his face, seeing the terrible pain there. “Orrin.”

“If you die, Evie, I die with you.” Orrin lowered his arms, his shoulders slumping. “I’m terrified that another with a grudge will target you to get to me. Better to give myself over than risk—”

“Orrin.” Evelyn moved over then, to wrap her arms around his waist.

He returned the hug with a sigh, and they stood there for a moment, wrapped in each other’s arms. “I am so scared. Better, perhaps, that I leave you . . .”

Evelyn tilted her head back, and looked at him. “Do you regret loving me? Marrying me?”

Orrin studied her face for a moment, then reached to stroke her hair. “Oh, no, Evelyn. My life started when I met you. But the idea that you might suffer for my sins, or that our child might . . . how do I live with that possibility?”

Evelyn took his hands, and tugged him over to the bed to sit beside her. “Orrin, I love you. I promise to take more care in the future.”

“But—”

She reached out, and touched his lips. “I can control my courses, love. A baby is something we can deal with later. But it will be our decision whether or not to have children, and we will make that decision together.”

Orrin nodded. “But Evie, you are still vulnerable . . . still at risk.”

“Orrin, don’t you see?” She took his strong hand in hers. “If I am at risk because of loving you, then so be it. There are no promises in this life. We can only make choices and live our lives, and hope for the best. I chose to love you, and be loved in return, come what may.” Evelyn smiled. “Everyone who loves, takes that risk. You’re just not used to it.”

Orrin frowned. “I cared for my men.”

She nodded. “You did, and you still do. But love is different, Orrin. It leaves us vulnerable, weak. Naked in so many ways, not just naked physically. It exposes us to pain, heartache, and loss.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “But it makes us stronger, too. A gift between two hearts.”

She lifted her head, and kissed him gently. “There are no promises in this life, Orrin. We can only make choices. I choose to love you, come what may.”

Orrin sighed, and lowered them both backward until they were lying on the bed. “I can’t let you go, Evelyn, as much as I’d like to believe it would make you safer.” He sighed, and lifted her hand to kiss her palm. “I’d rather love you, and risk my heart, than refuse to be loved.”

“I should hope so,” Evelyn said, her smile bright. “Since we are married, my lord husband.”

“That’s true.” Orrin turned his head, hazel eyes sparkling. “And we are on the Great Bed of Wareington.”

Evelyn kissed him. “And the door is bolted.”

“That it is, lady wife.” Orrin rolled over, covering her with his body. His eyes danced, the hazel flaring bright. “Now, then, didn’t you just say something about being naked?”

Dear Reader, Well, here we are again, at the end of a story. I’ve worked hard to tell you about Evelyn and Orrin. Now my writing room looks like a disaster. Paper everywhere, cold cups of kavage, cat hair an inch thick. . . Is that a stack of unpaid bills on my desk?

Oops.

Well, as much as I hate cleaning, I’ve no excuse now. I think there’s a vacuum cleaner over here in this closet. Let me shift this box. . . I am going to have to recycle all this paper . . . and open the door—

Mrow
.

What are you doing in there, cat? You don’t belong in there, you’re in the next story. Git.

Mrow
.

Excuse me? You are a fictional cat. You know, in my head, not really existing in reality. Understand? Git.

Mrow.

No, I’m not going to start writing. Have you seen this place? Besides, the story is not about you. It’s about Bethral and Ezren. If they are still alive.

Mrow.

Okay, okay, I concede that point. But that’s— Cat, that is NOT a litterbox.

Mrow.

Okay, okay, this is me, picking up my pencil, getting a legal pad. I’ll start now. But if you think they’re in for an easy time of it, you’ve got another think coming. I mean, they are stranded, in a strange land, and every hand is against them.

Mrow.

Cats. Honestly, what’s a writer to do?

Get to work, I guess.

Elizabeth