The Singer's Crown (15 page)

“Only that she was with the stars.”

Teir stood a little closer, and said, “When her son came back from war a hero, she was proud, but she turned sour a few years later. Ranted at him, tore down scaffolds, crazy stuff. Called him a traitor to his face over dinner, but nobody knew why. She lived up there, where the princess sleeps, and started going to chapel real regular. Then one night, the priestess was away, and the earl's lady-mother climbed the altar and jumped from the star-hole. Landed right here.”

Kattanan stepped back from the place, crossing his arms. “Why are you telling me this?”

“It's why he never goes there. Our good earl thinks the Goddess is responsible for his mother's death. He would've torn down the chapel if his brother hadn't stayed his hand. That priestess was the first one to disappear.”

The singer peered at him sidelong. “Perhaps he just sent her away.”

Teir shrugged. “She was only the first. The late earl's sister went away, and two of the town burghers who didn't like him much, and a couple of monks who studied those old books.”

“I am sure there were explanations.”

“I said I'd give you gossip, not evidence. They're too careful for that.”

“They?”

“I've heard him talk about his friends, unnamed, who want things thus and so. He also has a wizard, at least one, an old man. I met him myself one night, walking home from a ball here. He looked suspicious, so I gave him the ritual greeting.”

Kattanan felt a chill beyond the breeze. “What was his answer?”

“Wizard of Nine Stars.” Teir finished with a sly grin. “Didn't ask him anything else, I'll tell you. What's wrong, breakfast disagree with you?”

“I need to send a message to the palace, do you know a way?”

“There's regular riders who go, but what's this all about?”

Kattanan hesitated and shook his head. “It's best if I don't tell you what I know.”

Teir grumbled, “I gave you some good gossip, and you repay me by keeping secrets.”

“Lives may depend on this; I won't have yours be one of them. About that message?”

Teir set his hands on his hips and scowled. “You keep yer fine palace secret, then, and see if I tell you anything else.”

“Please, Teir, someday I'll tell you all the gossip I can think of—I'll make things up, even!”

“Come on, then.” Teir started tramping back toward the road. Before they reached it, though, a small party intercepted them, led by the princess and the earl, arm in arm. Kattanan's heartbeat jumped.

Melisande smiled briefly at him. “Already out, I see.”

“A fine day for walking, Highness.”

“It is indeed,” the earl agreed. “Teir, have you a flute? The princess might like a duet.”

Teir pulled out his ready instrument. “Aye, Your Excellency.”

“We are going to the grove, so you can discuss it until we get there.”

The pair fell in behind the gathering of ladies and guards, though Kattanan glanced uneasily back to the road, suddenly torn between sending his message and remaining at Melisande's side. Teir started naming off songs, and they agreed on a Lochalyn ballad. Tall, silvery trees surrounded the open area of the grove, which held several benches roughly built of old stone and a small pool. Startled frogs leapt from the banks, much to Melisande's delight.

The earl showed her to the longest bench and settled beside her. “This is the original grove, you know, where the man who became Strello Gamel built his hermitage hut. Legend has it that these benches were built of the stones of that same holy hut.”

“I have read some of his work. He spoke of finding the Goddess in all things, and especially in simple labor, like the building of his hut.”

“I did not have much time for study; my brother is the expert.”

Fionvar shrugged. “The volume we have here is not well preserved. It mainly refers to his walks abroad. At one point, it describes him walking over the mountain, and finding the Goddess on the other side, combing Her hair and smiling. She gave him a strand of Her hair, and when he had descended again, it had become a plow, the one thing he had not brought with him. A story of the wishes a simple man would make.” He was looking at his brother when he said it.

“She gave him what he most wanted,” Orie said. “Legend has it that whoever sleeps in this grove will find what he most desires.” Orie looked down at Melisande and said, “I do not believe it, for I already have what I desire.”

She blushed and looked away, toward Kattanan. For a moment, their eyes met, her gaze as open and lovely as the dawn. Kattanan averted his eyes from the unaccustomed brilliance.

Faedre followed the glance with a withering glare.

“Anyhow, you had asked for a song,” Fionvar said quickly. “What have you chosen?”

In answer, Teir played the opening notes, and Kattanan began. The audience applauded afterward, but Melisande seemed lost in thought. When she made no response to the music, Orie touched her shoulder and said, “What ill thought disturbs you this morning?”

“Only the thought of my father. Lying abed under those paintings brought him to mind.”

“You may send messages to him; we have a rider here who goes whenever he is needed.”

“Thank you, yes, I think that would help,” she said, but the distraction did not leave her.

“I had thought to show you the stables and the mews, but those can wait until after lunch. Besides, I ought to deal with the business of the manor, but I'll be free to spend more time with you later.”

“I'll look forward to the rest of the tour.” Melisande rose and took her leave of the earl, with Faedre once again swaying her hips. Orie gestured for the guards to escort the ladies.

Teir bowed to them, and took Kattanan's arm to steer him toward another path. “There's some fine ruins off this way,” he said, a bit too loudly. As soon as they were beyond the trees, the path dipped behind a rise, and Teir pulled him down, gesturing for silence. “When Fion gets that look, he wants a talk with his brother,” he whispered.

Once the ladies had gone, Fionvar said, “That woman should not be here.”

“First, how is that your business; second, how can I help it?”

“It is my business because the princess deserves better.”

“She will be marrying me, isn't that good enough? No, you'd best not answer that. Did you really pull me back here to talk about her?”

“I plan on going to visit our friends.”

At this, Teir nudged Kattanan with smirk.

“Out of the question,” Orie replied. “I can't spare you right now. It would look strange for my own brother not to be present. Why don't you let me relay the message?”

Fionvar's voice fell back a little. “It is a matter of religion, only, and I know you don't like to deal with such things.”

“Oh? Is that what you know?” The earl's voice chilled the air.

“Orie, why must you assume that everyone is against you? You know very well why I like to go there in person, and that kind of message I would not have you hear first.”

“Your lady will wait until I can spare you, no doubt. I'm surprised that you're not already sneaking off with your message.”

“I am honoring our agreement, brother, by telling you.”

“Nonsense. You need my support, or you are nothing. I have said you will not go. Attend me for court, will you; you seem to have an understanding of these peasants that I lack.” The earl strode off, with his brother still breathing angrily behind him.

When they were safely off, Teir sat up. “I'm not the only one who talks more openly outside. I wonder if they fear eavesdroppers.” He smirked again.

“Those references meant little to me, Teir.”

“I've long thought the earl had taken a lady to his bed. Not that I've seen her, he's very discreet, but things like that conversation tip me off. His brother, see, is a straight arrow about these things. None of us have ever seen his lady, but he won't so much as flirt with another. I gather it's a pretty private affair in any case, or he'd be wed himself.”

“I need no more intrigue. Take me to the messenger.”

“Suits me; I'll just get in a spot of practice while you write.”

The pair set out again, back to Kattanan's chamber where he found parchment and ink. He settled at the desk with the door shut, but he could still hear Teir playing his flute out in the courtyard. The message he wrote was brief, and sealed well, addressed to Prince Wolfram. He rejoined the older man, and they set off to the village at a quick pace. Kattanan did not relax until the letter was in the man's hand. Even then, tension cramped his shoulders throughout the day and on into the evening, making it hard to concentrate on eating or singing for the dancers. After saying his good-nights, Kattanan shut his own door and quietly chanted Evening Prayer, praying for rest. The creak of the opening door startled him out of prayer. Earl Orie cast back the hood of his cloak and fixed Kattanan with a cold stare.

“Don't bother to change, Singer, unless you'd care for a long walk in your nightshirt,” the earl said. “And I wouldn't suggest you take that trunk.”

“What do you mean, my lord?” The singer knelt under his window, but his heart raced.

“I have seen the way you look at the princess, and I will not have such perversity under my roof. And another thing—” He pulled a familiar parchment from his belt, and cast it onto the fire. “Go and lie to your beloved prince in person. You spy upon her, then dare accuse me of collusion with wizards. How could you betray the princess for that wretch who would be king?”

“Ask as well how you can betray her.” Finding himself caught, Kattanan met the earl's gaze. “Faedre, isn't it? She told you about this morning, and who knows what else.”

“She didn't need to tell me; I am not blind.”

“But you have not said she didn't.” Kattanan stood up.

“Your life is forfeit, castrate, for your treason to the princess.”

“And for my knowledge of you,” the singer added, with starlight behind him now. “Would you kill me here?”

“I would like to tell her the truth in saying you vanished into the night.”

“I do not need much baggage, then,” Kattanan said, leaning over his trunk. He pulled out a few random tunics, his ceremonial dagger, and a little volume of parables he had copied himself many years before. These went into a bag he slung over his shoulder. The earl stood watching, arms crossed. Kattanan numbly passed under his gaze and out the door. Orie planted a hand on his shoulder, turning him sharply away from the keep and propelling them both out a small door at the near end of the hall. As Kattanan stumbled into the night, Orie said, “Give my regards to the prince, when next you meet.”

The forested path should lead him back to the town, and to refuge. As he started to walk, he heard movement behind him—two men following not too close. His pulse quickened, but he stayed his course. He began to chant under his breath, the high prayer of salvation, reserved for funerals, but he did not suppose they would give him one. “Let them not bury me,” he beseeched the sky in a whisper.

As the path turned a corner, it came out upon a wide road. A single mounted figure rode nearer, cautiously, while a few darker forms flitted among the trees, blades occasionally catching the light. The shaking took over, and the urge to run became a voice whispering at his ears—his mother's voice. His head jerked up at that, and he did run, straight past the man on horseback, flying down the road, but he could hear footsteps thundering up as the men in the woods broke cover. Something heavy struck his head, rolling him—dazed—to the rough ground. The blow came again, blurring his eyes and buzzing in his ears. Before he could scramble up again, a man was on his back, jerking on his hair.

“Unhand him!” The new voice rang with strength, echoing from a hall of distant memory. “I am the Liren-sha, you have no blade which can harm me, nor power to defeat me. While I yet stand he will not be harmed.”

Kattanan's captor laughed. “I don't see that your army is so great as all that.”

The rider drew two swords with a smooth movement. “Then show me your own.”

But footfalls behind told Kattanan that his captors had reinforcements. The man on top of him pinned his arms and dragged him up from the ground, a blade at his throat. “We're the earl's men, and you're trespassing.”

“I am Finistrel's man and the Goddess frowns on you tonight,” declared the voice of the Liren-sha. “A hundred men and fourteen wizards I have sent to meet Her.”

“Do you believe this manure?” shouted one of the men. “We're facin' a myth here, and it thinks to show us our tail.”

“Well,” the Liren-sha drawled, “you haven't any teeth, or you'd have shown me those.”

At this, the others moved forward, but the man who held Kattanan scooped him over a shoulder and ran.

“Free him or die!” cried the voice of his rescuer.

The Liren-sha galloped after, easily catching up. The animal reared, dumping its rider, and the kidnapper skidded, then fell. Kattanan rolled onto his side, trying to master his breathing, and could not get his eyes to focus. Swords whistled and clashed over his head. A terrible groan told him one man had met his death on the road, and the swords rang on. Scrambling out of the way of the fight, Kattanan fought his own battle with the pain in his skull, then a voice cut through it, ragged with effort, “Kattanan, listen!”

Listen? The singer could hardly breathe, but he tried. The clash of swords and ragged breathing were difficult to sort out, but then he heard another sound. Soft behind him, someone was creeping through the wood, breathing very low, raising his arm in a muffled chink of mail. Kattanan pulled one foot under him, then launched himself at the lurker, hitting him full in the chest. Both smashed hard into the tree behind, and lay still.