20. Vanessa

[moonshadows]

"I don't like it. It could be a trap."

"Varian, I'm being invited to bring fifty guards, Golthak, a priest, a mage, and to sweep the area."

He plucks the letter from my hands and reads it, scowling. "I still don't like it. Anything could happen." He looks at me and glances away quickly, but not quickly enough to keep me from seeing the echo of bone-deep loss in his eyes.

History hangs in the air between us, thick and choking. Tiffin died in a period of social unrest during an attempt to calm things; Varian doesn't want to lose me the same way. Whoever sent this letter seems very eager to reassure me that my safety will not be in danger while I meet with him or her in a conspicuously open location, but is equally adamant about meeting me without my husband present. While the letter holds no identification as to who I will be meeting, it does promise that the sender's identity will not remain a secret once I arrive.

That gives me an idea.

"Pick fifty Royal Guard," I tell my startled husband. "Find a priest, and a mage. Secure one of the royal storehouses that's been emptied, and prepare a closed carriage." While he is distracted, I take the letter back and flip it over, rummaging for quill and ink.

"Oh, very clever, my lady."

I flash him a wolfish grin, only to find that he is flashing me one as well. His admiration doesn't make me feel nearly as uncomfortable when it is related to strategy. "The priest, the mage, and Golthak will accompany our mysterious letter-writer in the carriage. I will be in the storehouse-"

"-surrounded by fifty Royal Guard, waiting. An excellent plan, my lady."

Silence reigns for a few moments as I pen a note to the letter-sender and put the royal seal on it.

"There. Give that back to the courier and send him off?"

"Of course. And then I'll select the Royal Guard and have them prepare the storehouse."

"I will escort Taretha there," my faithful shadow rumbles. "Bring the priest and the mage with me. Once she's secure we'll fetch whoever this is."

Varian nods. "I will see you later tonight, my lady." He does not wait for me to offer my hand, knowing that I will not do so.

I return his nod, and he leaves the room.

 

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The carriage rattles into the secure stone building, and the door swings ponderously shut. Silence echoes in the wake of the heavy boom, broken only by one of the horses snorting and stamping. The Royal Guard surround me in living walls of steel and flesh, and even their breathing is muffled. After a long minute, the door to the carriage opens and my faithful shadow climbs out, eyes roving past helmets until they alight on me, and he nods before stepping forward and out of the way. The mage is next, a slender Quel'dorei male, and he steps to the right while the priest, a tubby human man, climbs out and moves to the left. Golthak turns back to the carriage finally and extends his hand to help our mysterious guest out.

Slim, with black hair held back by a brilliant red cloth. She looks only a few years younger than me. One of the guards inhales sharply, but no one says anything. She walks calmly forward to the center of the open space between guards and carriage, and Golthak gestures for the guards to change formation. Wordlessly, they shift and I walk through the opening towards her. Golthak meets me halfway there and assumes his usual place behind me.

"Queen Taretha." Her voice is smooth, unaccented in a way that speaks of a noble upbringing despite the simple black leather in which she is clad. "I hoped you would meet with me, but didn't actually think you would. Even if this is the prelude to my arrest, I thank you for this courtesy." The gesture she makes would be a curtsy if she were wearing skirts.

"Your letter intrigued me. This kingdom has enough troubles without adding riots to the equation. I appreciate that you chose to reach out to me rather than continuing with your plans. With the network you already have in place and my resources, we can do a lot more good together than either of us could alone."

Relief is almost palpable as she smiles. "I'm so glad you agree, your Majesty. Assaulting the government was never my true goal, only the good of the people. I confess, I would have done so had you not intervened as you did, but only as a means to that end." She pauses, but when I do not order her arrest, she looks at me curiously. "You haven't asked my name, Majesty."

I favor her with one coolly raised eyebrow. "Do I need to know it in order for us to coordinate our efforts?"

"No," she says, hiding her surprise, "but you have treated me honorably thus far and it would be shameful of me to not return the courtesy." She dips that odd curtsy again. "Vanessa VanCleef at your service, your Majesty."

There is a choked-off exclamation from the mass of steel-encased men behind me. Somehow, I am not surprised.

"You were not invited," I say in orcish, directing my words off to the side so that I am neither talking to Vanessa nor actually looking at him. "Hold your tongue. We will discuss this later."

The echoes of my cold displeasure echo ominously, but no one breaks the silence.

"I presumed as much," I continue calmly to my guest. "Your father's ambitions were quite well-known." The signet ring indicating that the wearer is an agent of the Crown is the smallest I could find, but still too large for any of my fingers. I tug it off of my thumb and offer it to her. "I am a firm believer in redemption through action. Vanessa VanCleef, I charge you as an agent of the Crown to use your organization to aid me in distributing supplies to those who need it, and to gather information about whatever spots of trouble may arise so that they can be dealt with - ideally by alleviating whatever is causing them without the use of brute force. You will answer to me, and be accountable to me for your actions, and in turn the Crown will not seek to uproot you from whatever identity you have used to hide yourself. Is this acceptable to you?"

She takes the ring and slides it onto her own thumb. "It is, your Majesty. As you said, this poor kingdom has enough problems without adding civil war. I swear to you, on my father's soul, that I will do my best to keep the populace calm as long as you keep your husband and the House of Nobles in check."

A storm of coughing erupts from the ranks of the Royal Guard.

"Believe it or not, my lord husband is quite devoted to the cause," I say dryly. "He has personal reasons to be invested in this issue. All I did was point him in the right direction."

Elegant black eyebrows raise. "I have under-estimated him, then."

"It happens," Golthak grunts.

"Well, your Majesty, please convey to him that it was nothing personal."

"I will do that. The carriage will take you back to the meeting place, should you wish it, with or without the company of priest and mage. Send your messenger to me again in a week’s time; I want to keep in good contact with you."

"As you command. You are very kind, Majesty. By your leave, then." She dips me another curtsy and I watch as she climbs back into the carriage with the priest and mage.

The door swings ponderously open; the carriage rattles out. I stay where I am until the echoes of the door's closing have faded, debating whether to address my spy here, or in the privacy of the Royal Wing. Then it occurs to me that he could not have pulled off this deception without the Royal Guard knowing. He’s just forfeited the consideration I was going to give him.

"We can discuss this now," I half-snarl in orcish, keeping my back to the Royal Guards, "or we can discuss it later. The choice is yours."

Silence, then a single pair of armored boots striding out of the ranks towards me. A single Royal Guard, indistinguishable from the rest, comes around to salute me crisply, then goes to one knee and removes his helmet. Jaw set, Varian stares into the distance behind me and waits.

No. He will not be a martyr to my anger; not this time. I cross my arms and wait as well. It doesn't take long for him to look slightly panicked around the eyes and glance up at me, only to flinch away from my scathing disdain.

"You have every right to be angry," he says quietly. "My only excuse is that if anything happened and I were not there to do something, I would never forgive myself. I would rather you be alive to verbally flay me than hear the news that I am again a widower." He closes his eyes and swallows, choking back emotion before continuing. "I am well aware that I violated your trust and, if I had been exposed, your honor as well. I will not ask for the forgiveness I do not deserve. I will not dispute your decisions here. I-" Varian looks up, eyes bleeding apology, and pales at my blank expression. "Taretha?"

"You should have said something to me while we were discussing this earlier." My clipped words strike him like flung pebbles, and he closes his eyes and turns his head. "Do not take matters into your own hands like this again without telling me first so that we can discuss it like adults."

Surprise makes him look at me, and my icy glare does not seem to register to him. "Why?" he whispers in orcish, but he is questioning my actions rather than my words.

"You owned up to your transgression," I murmur in the same language, "and while your reason does not entirely excuse your actions, I can't dispute its validity. Don't do it again, Varian."

He salutes me again. "I understand," he says louder, in common again. "I apologize for my actions, my lady."

"I accept your apology, my lord. Now put your helmet back on and get back in line. You took it on yourself to march out here; you can march back."

 

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I am on my way to my favorite couch to curl up and unwind with a book when there is a knock at my sitting-room door. Golthak does not announce my visitor, and thus I know exactly who it is.

"Come in, Varian," I call as I settle on the couch.

He closes the door behind him and moves to the couch opposite, hesitant in the forest-green tunic and brown trews he's taken to relaxing in. So, his pride has still not recovered from tonight's excursion.

"I wanted to thank you for not ravaging me as badly as you wanted to," he says without preamble. "I know you don't care for me the way I care for you, and that is a weapon I have no defense against, but you never use it against me. Even when I do stupid things like violate your trust." Those vulnerable blue eyes bore gently into me. "You could use it to win any argument you wanted, but you don’t. Why, Taretha?"

Because I don't want to hurt you. I open my mouth to say that, but close it again. "As with any other weapon, my lord, the greatest proof of its potency is the restraint with which it is wielded."

He is silent for a long moment, staring pensively in my general direction. "I keep forgetting that the name of your clan should be taken literally," he says at last.

"What do you mean?"

"Your anger is not a fire that rages unchecked, like mine. It is a cold thing, my lady, a blade of ice with which you disarm me and then withhold the killing blow." He takes a deep breath. "And despite how much you dislike me, or how angry I have made you, you do not deliver that final blow because I am part of your pack now, and Stormwind your territory. You defend king and kingdom with all the ferocity that you used to defend the Horde."

I nod once, gravely, and he shakes his head.

"My lady, I worry that you are not being compensated fairly for the excellent work you are doing."

"I didn't do this for money, my lord."

"Freedom," he corrects, smiling faintly in the face of my chilly tone. "I don't want you feeling like you're shackled to me the way you were to Blackmoore." My husband holds up one hand in acknowledgment as I raise mine to display the ring. "I know, you are shackled to me. But I don't want you feeling trapped." Whatever humor may have been in him fades to deathly seriousness.

And what do you get out of it? The memory of Broll's voice asks.

What, indeed? Absently, I touch my wrist, feeling the bruise that is not there.

Don't think he doesn't know.

"The trap is not of your making, your Majesty."

Varian looks startled, alarmed. He tenses on the couch as though ready to launch himself at any attacker, but does not move. Only then do I realize that was uttered aloud. I didn't mean to say that! My defenses snap up, pinning my husband with a fierce glare. Were I the wolf he names me, my hackles would be raised and I would be growling low in my throat, teeth bared.

"So you do feel trapped." The words are curiously emotionless.

"It is not-"

"Not what?" he growls. "Not my concern? My wife, who married me despite overwhelming reasons not to, feels trapped. Am I to just ignore that? Avert my eyes when the woman I love is suffering for my sake? The sake of a man she does not love in return? What kind of a man would I be if I ignored this, Taretha? What kind of king would I be if I turned my back on the queen who has not once turned her back on me or my kingdom?"

The expression he bears is righteous outrage rather than anger, but it burns just as fiercely through my defenses, leaving me vulnerable and a little scared. Not that he will hurt me; no, my fear is the same emotion sparked by Broll's words. The fear of trusting where I have been wounded so grievously. He must see it in my face, or my eyes, because he tempers his own reaction, forcibly lowering his hackles.

"How can I help if you don't tell me what's wrong?" His voice is low and urgent. "How can I make it better if you don't tell me what needs to change?"

No, no, I can't- I'm not ready-! "Please," I whisper, throat tightening so that even if I could think of what to say, I could not utter the words.

"Taretha? I'm not going to forget this. I'm going to drop the subject, walk out of the room, and not pry - but I'm not going to forget this." He holds my gaze, nodding once when the panic gives way to icy calm. "When there is something I can do to help, I trust you will see to it that I do so, whether or not I know at the time what I am doing. Please say you'll at least do that much. I don't mind being your unwitting pawn if I know that by letting you use me, I can repay some small fraction of the debt I owe you."

"When that day comes, my lord," I say coolly, dry-eyed, "I have faith that you will know what you are doing whether or not I tell you."

"Thank you, my lady."

He bows, eyes burning with restrained devotion, and leaves me alone with the book I can no longer concentrate on.