“So will I.”
Jaan laughed. “You’re that sure.”
“I’ve heard you play, and I have a sense of what we’ll sound like together.”
The man put out his hand, which Cadel took.
“Very well. We’ll give this a try.” He looked back at the others. “Let me go explain it to them. Dunstan will object until he hears that it’s not to cost him anything.”
“Of course. Tell me where you practice and I’ll be on my way.”
“We have three rooms upstairs. We generally practice up there. I’d recommend that you take a room here as well. The food isn’t bad, and the innkeeper doesn’t charge us for the rooms or our meals. I think we can at least convince him to offer the same to you.”
“All right. If he refuses, I can pay my way for a time.”
Jaan walked back to where the others were waiting and spoke with them for a time. Cadel saw Dunstan shaking his head at one point, but their discussion never grew heated, and finally they approached him, all of them but the piper with smiles on their faces.
“It’s agreed,” Jaan said. “We’ll begin rehearsals tomorrow.” Each of them shook his hand in turn, Dunstan last.
“Don’t worry, piper,” Cadel said quietly, gripping the man’s hand. “I’m going to make you more money than you ever thought a musician could have.”
Dunstan grinned at him.
The others retired for the night and Cadel went to speak with the innkeeper. The tavern’s owner was reluctant to give away another free room, so Cadel paid him, after extracting a promise from the man that the room would be free if Cadel remained with the musicians for at least a turn. That night, for the first time since before Jedrek’s death, Cadel lay down to sleep feeling that he actually was where he belonged.
Their first rehearsal the following morning went just as Cadel had hoped it would. They began with the
Paean
, and Cadel sang “Ilias’s Lament.” It had been some time since last he sang the piece, but it came to him as if he had sung it just the day before.
When they finished the third movement, “The Lover’s Round,” a four-part canon in which Anesse and Kalida sang the women’s parts, Cadel sang the first male part, and Dunstan played the second on the
pipes, a stunned silence fell over the room. All the others were watching him as if he had summoned flames like a Qirsi sorcerer.
“I told you he was good,” Anesse said at last.
Jaan shook his head. “I’ve never heard the ‘Lament’ sung that well. I’ve certainly never played with anyone who could sing it like that.”
“Thank you.” Cadel smiled. “I thought it sounded quite good, though I have a suggestion or two as to how we might make it sound even better.”
At this point he could have suggested that they sing it backwards to the tune of “The Elegy for Shanae” and they would have done so willingly, but he had nothing so extreme in mind. He merely wished to have Kalida and Dunstan change the rhythm of their counterpoint slightly, while Anesse slowed the “Devotion” a bit; subtle changes that his new partners accommodated with ease. Working with them throughout the morning, he realized that they were even finer musicians than he had thought the previous night. Jaan especially was a rare talent on the lute. He didn’t use the intricate picking patterns Dario had, though Cadel had no doubt that he could have had he only chosen to. But his rhythms were as steady as the tide, every note he hit as clear as Morna’s stars on a cold night. With Dario, Cadel had struggled to match his cadence to the sound of the instrument. He had no such troubles with Jaan, whose playing seemed to wrap itself around each voice like a blanket, warm and comforting, effortlessly matching the contour of the lyrics and notes being sung. Certainly Anesse had chosen well in a playing partner.
Over the next few days, Cadel began to see that she had chosen well in a husband as well. Clearly he loved her, doting on her at every opportunity. But he was more than just a love-struck old man entranced by his young wife. He had a fine humor and good business sense. He agreed with much of what Cadel suggested by way of changes in the way they performed various pieces, but when he disagreed, he held his ground, and on more than one occasion Cadel relented, seeing the merits of the man’s arguments.
Kalida and Anesse could be strong-willed as well, and their musical instincts were every bit as good as Cadel’s and Jaan’s. Even Dunstan, who said little most of the time, suggested slowing their performance of “Tanith’s Threnody,” which improved the piece immeasurably.
After having heard Cadel sing, the piper began to warm to him. He was a kind man, if rather simple, but there could be no mistaking his
skill with the pipes. There could also be no doubt of his feelings for Kalida. Whenever he wasn’t playing, he watched her, looking unsure of himself, as if hoping that she would declare her love for him and save him the ordeal of speaking first. For her part, Kalida appeared to have no interest in him. He had a kindly face and a quick smile, but beside Jaan, whom he clearly admired, he looked plain and soft, with a round body and slightly stooped shoulders. Add to that the fact that he was so terribly shy around her, and Cadel could see why she didn’t return his affections. This, after all, was a woman who had been drawn to Jedrek, with his lean wiry frame, wild black hair, and jaunty manner.
On only the third day after their first practice together, the five musicians gave their first performance. The tavern was packed, as it had been every night since Cadel’s arrival in Ailwyck, and though he had sung before dukes and thanes, and placed himself in gravest danger to earn gold in his other profession, he could not remember being as nervous as he was this night. Not that he needed to be. They sang and played flawlessly. Their performance of the
Paean
drew cheers and applause so loud that Cadel actually feared that the tavern roof might collapse. Even the innkeeper, a dour man who had shown little interest in their music the previous nights, whistled and smiled.
The following night, the tavern began to fill before the ringing of the prior’s bells, hours before the musicians were to begin their performance. By the time the company stepped onto the small wooden stage, the entire courtyard outside the tavern entrance was full, and many of those both inside and outside were drunk. The innkeeper had to promise a second performance to those beyond the door in order to prevent a riot. Cadel and his friends didn’t mind, for they were paid double their usual wage, and the others agreed without dissent that Cadel should receive an equal share of the extra gold.
It was a late night, which became a sleepless one when Kalida let herself into his room after the others had gone to sleep. Cadel had already climbed into bed, but was still awake. He sat up, lighting the candle beside his bed with a flint. She closed the door behind her, then stood there, as if awaiting an invitation to join him.
She was wearing a simple shift, and her hair hung loose to the small of her back.
“You don’t seem surprised to see me,” she said.
“Actually, I am. Won’t Dunstan be disappointed?”
She shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
She was quite lovely, really. And it had been a long time since he last passed a night with a woman. “All three of them will be.”
“They will?”
“Dunstan is Jaan’s oldest friend,” she said, beginning to wander about the small room. “They’re like brothers. And so when Jaan was joined to Anesse, they all assumed that I’d be a dutiful girl and promise myself to him.”
“A woman could do worse.”
She paused by the wardrobe, regarding him, an eyebrow arched. “She could do better, too.”
“I’m not certain that I’m the joining kind,” Cadel said.
Kalida laughed. “I don’t want to be joined to you, Corbin. To be honest, I don’t think of myself as the joining kind either. If I did, I’d still be with your friend, Honok. As I recall, when we were in Thorald together, I spent Lovers’ Night in his bed. Where Anesse and I come from that’s the same as a betrothal.”
“In other words, you wish to share my bed so as to make it clear to the others that you have no intention of being joined to Dunstan.”
She walked to the bed and sat beside him, running a finger down the center of his chest. “That’s not the only reason.”
He felt a stirring in his groin, saw Kalida glance down at the sheets covering him and grin. Pulling the shift off over her head, she slid under the sheets beside him and kissed the side of his neck.
“Your sister may object,” he said, closing his eyes as her lips began to travel his body.
“How can she? She’s married to Jaan.”
With all of them sleeping under the same roof, it took only a day or two for the others to realize that Cadel and Kalida were sharing a bed. Despite his fears, Cadel saw no evidence that Dunstan was angry with him. The piper was downcast for a short while, but it seemed to Cadel that whatever sadness he felt was tempered by a profound sense of relief. Indeed, the only one of the other three who did show any sign of being angry was Anesse, who said nothing to either Cadel or Kalida for a full day after seeing them emerge together from Cadel’s room. Jaan, on the other hand, seemed genuinely pleased, perhaps seeing in their affair proof that he needn’t be jealous of the singer any longer.
Within six nights of their first performance, the innkeeper more than doubled the musicians’ wages, in part because they were now doing two performances each night, and in part because he was unwilling to
risk having Cadel leave. He also gave Cadel his room for free, though it quickly became a wasted expense. Cadel and Kalida spent nearly every night together, either in her bed or his. She was a skilled lover, far more so than he, and the singer found himself anticipating their lovemaking even more than he did the company’s performances.
His one concern in the midst of all his newfound success was that word of the company’s performances would travel beyond Ailwyck, drawing the attention of the Qirsi conspiracy or Lord Tavis of Curgh. In Mertesse, Cadel had allowed the fame he and Dario enjoyed to lull him into carelessness. As a result, Tavis surprised him in the upstairs corridor of their inn, and nearly succeeded in exacting his revenge for Lady Brienne’s murder. And over the past several years, the conspiracy had managed to find him no matter where he went, giving him gold he could not refuse and demanding that he kill for them yet again. Upon leaving Mertesse, Cadel had decided that his days as an assassin were over, and now, having found a company with which to sing, a city in which their music was appreciated, and a lover with whom he could share his nights, he was ever more determined to embrace this new life.
Midway through the waning of Elhir’s turn, however, it became clear that indeed their fame had started to travel the land. Late in the morning, as they practiced a new piece that Jaan had written, a messenger arrived at the inn from the marquessate of Fanshyre in the Ailwyck countryside. The marquess, it seemed, had heard tales of their extraordinary talent and requested a private concert. He offered to host a feast in their honor two days hence and to pay them ten qinde each for a single performance.
As an assassin Cadel had spent little time in Wethyrn, and so he had little fear of being recognized. Still, he was certain the marquess had at least one Qirsi minister, and there was always the danger that this person might be a traitor who would have heard whisperings of the singer-assassin. More to the point, such a performance would only serve to widen their renown, increasing the danger that he would be found.
Unfortunately, none of the others shared his concerns. Nor could he voice them himself. Invitations like this one were exceedingly rare for all but the most talented performers. Any musician in the Forelands would have been delighted to receive one and deeply envious of others who did. Cadel could no more object to making the journey than he could admit outright that he was a hired blade.
They accepted the invitation immediately, sending the marquess’s messenger back to Fanshyre with word that they would be at his castle on the appointed day. The others were far too excited to continue with their rehearsal and Cadel did his best to make it seem that he shared their enthusiasm. That night, however, as he and Kalida lay in bed, she made it all too clear that he had failed.
“Why are you reluctant to go to Fanshyre?” she asked, staring up at him, her legs still wrapped around his hips.
He forced a smile. “I’m not.”
“Don’t lie to me, Corbin. You tried to seem as pleased as the rest of us, but it took an effort. I could tell.”
He exhaled, leaving the warm comfort between her legs and sitting on the bed beside her. How many lies were too many between lovers?
“It has nothing to do with Fanshyre. I’ve never even been there. I simply don’t like the courts.”
“Why not?”
“My father served in one when I was young. I hated the way he was treated.”
The lie just came to him, and it struck him as a strange twisting of the truth of his childhood. He had grown up in the court of his father, a viscount in southern Caerisse, and what he had hated most about it was the viscount himself.
Kalida seemed to ponder what he had said for several moments, absently playing with his hair. Then she shrugged, and said, “Well, then enjoy taking his money. It’s not like we’re going to live there. It’s one day, and nearly as much gold as we’ll make here during the rest of the waning.”
“You’re right. I should be grateful for the invitation. I’ll try to be.”
“You’re humoring me. There’s more to it than what you’ve said.”
Cadel smiled, looking away. “Yes, there is. But leave it at that, Kalida. Please.”
“Is this about Honok?”
He looked at her again. She hadn’t mentioned Jed since their first night together.
“Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know. He once told me that his father didn’t think much of the courts either. And I know the two of you were good friends before whatever made you part ways.”
He pushed the hair back from her brow. “We’re still good friends, he and I. And no, this has nothing to do with him.”
“I’m sorry. I won’t ask you anything more.”