Solace Shattered by Anna Steffl

much.” The captain’s neck, and a triangle up to his cheeks, was crimson.
    It was warm, Arvana thought to say when a familiar voice before her said, “Hera Solace.”
    “Keithan!” She rose. But an awful worry that Prince Lerouge had also returned cast a shadow over her joy.
    As if Keithan saw the shadow fall on her face, he said, “I am arrived today, alone.”
    She smiled gratefully. “Have you been at Lady Martise’s long?”
    “Just moments. My ship put in this afternoon, but I was detained with formalities.”
    When she turned to introduce the captain, he was already a dozen limping steps away, heading toward Miss Gallivere. As much as Arvana loved Keithan, she wished he had come any time other than now. Still, she earnestly said, “I give you joy in being named governor of Orlandia.”
    The music began.
    Wearily, Keithan said, “I bring a list of two thousand casualties that I couldn’t just send in a report. Many noblemen’s sons are among them. Orlandia is one trial upon the next.” He took her hand. “Pray for us, will you?”
    “I do everyday. For you in particular.”
    As he squeezed her hand, his smile fell, and he leaned in close to her ear. “That’s not the only news I bring. Hera, he sent a package for you. I gave it to a maid who promised to put it in your room.” He moved his head from beside hers and looked into her eyes. “He’s somber, thoughtful. There is nothing of the spoiled boy left. In many ways, I think he’ll return from Orlandia better suited to be king.”

    An extraordinarily handsome man was holding Hera Solace’s hand, Degarius noted. His lips nearly touched her veil as he spoke into her ear. “Who’s the gentleman in the decorated coat?” he asked Miss Gallivere.
    The miss followed his line of sight. “Do you mean Keithan? Or I should say Governor General of Orlandia. How well he has done, considering he comes from the provinces. The governor is quite good friends with our princess’s tutor. Quite good , if you know what I mean.”
    The room suddenly was insufferably hot. Too many people were dancing and the windows were closed. His collar scratched, and his feet burned. At the end of the dance, despite Miss Gallivere’s plea to get a bite to eat, Degarius said, “You’ll excuse me,” and escaped to the cooler air outside on the terrace.
    Smoking men lounged on the terrace. Degarius tugged his neckerchief loose, turned a chair to face the oncoming weather, and sat to rest his feet. The high notes of the musician’s horn, reminiscent of the call to battle, wafted from the hall. His fingers went to where his old sword should have hung. His elbow and wrist ached. It was as if he had lost a hand; his blade had for so long been a part of his arm. Damn, he should have brought his pipe and tin of altartish. The sky overhead still hung with stars, but lightning again flashed in the west, illuminating the approaching storm head. Seconds crept by and finally the thunder rumbled.
    “I must speak with you.” The low, soft voice pierced him through like a surprise arrow to the back.
    He twisted. Here was Hera Solace looking expectant. Why the hell was she bothering him? He thrust his hand into his coat pocket. “If you’re collecting donations—”
    “It’s important.” She glanced to the men on the terrace. “And private. Only a minute of your time.”
    “It’s going to rain.”
    “I beg you.”
    She sounded determined. It was probably some damn foolishness. Had the princess told her about getting kissed by Fassal in the woods? Fassal had blurted it to him. Women always worried about the most inconsequential things—and for this one to take a moral high ground on a kiss was ludicrous. The governor’s good friend.
    “Please, in the garden. There’s a seat on the other side of the tea olives. I know it hurts for you to walk—”
    Hurt? Degarius wouldn’t have her know what hurt for all the shields in Acadia. He stood. “As you wish.” He followed her