The Singer's Crown (19 page)

“They already know the road we're on, and they will be on horseback. No one will expect us to take the main road.”

She growled under her breath. “Maybe a friendly blacksmith will think this was a joke and break this iron for us, too. I should have killed you and the prince and been shut of it!”

“Is that what you were sent to do?” He hauled her to a stop. “Is it?”

“Bury you both! My only concern is the king, and you ruined that. You and the prince together aren't worth half a horseshoe to me.”

“How much were you paid for the king?”

Straightening, she grinned. “Not a blessed copper; it was a pleasure. I only wish I could have killed him.”

Jordan snorted. “You aren't the first to say that. There's a narrows here. Can you swim?” Her smile faded as his grew.

“This is insane.” She paused, listening, then stared down at the water. She thrust the sword back into its sheath on his belt. “You can't let me drown, Bane, or Kattanan's secret goes free.”

“Don't remind me.”

“Can you do this with the chain?”

“There's one way to find out.” He whirled her tight against his chest and jumped.

“WHAT SHALL
I play for you?” Fionvar asked. Orie, intent on Melisande, made no answer. He lowered the violin and watched the couple, seated on a spread blanket not far away. The sun was almost down, and the benches cast long shadows across the glade. Melisande rolled her goblet between her hands, staring off into the woods as Orie laid out the picnic without taking his eyes off her. Fionvar shifted on his seat. “Orie, Your Highness, what would you like to hear?”

“I don't know, anything,” the earl said, and Fionvar lifted the instrument and began.

“Where would he go?” Melisande said, sipping absently. “Didn't he say?”

Orie gritted his teeth. “For the last time, no one saw him leave; no one spoke to him, and no one knows where he went. I wish you could just forget him and enjoy the evening.”

“Forget him? I loved his voice, and his company, and he had the gentlest hands.”

“And he left you, Melisande, you'd best accept that. You still have Prince to keep you company.” He forced a smile.

“A puppy cannot replace my singer!”

A strain of “Bernholt Hills” came into the music. Orie jumped up, looking at his brother. He snatched the violin and smashed it against the bench.

Melisande jerked, dropping her goblet, mouth open.

Fionvar turned the bow carefully in his hands and said nothing as his brother stood trembling before him.

“I didn't mean it,” Melisande breathed. “I do love Prince, you know that.”

His back loomed hard before her, shoulders rising and falling as he steadied his breathing. “It's just that I hate to see you so upset when there is nothing I can do.” His eyes dropped to the ruined instrument in his hands. “Perhaps it's best if I took a walk.” He stalked out of the grove, the violin still gripped in his hand.

Melisande stared after him a long moment. “I did not expect him to be so angry.”

“Nor I,” Fionvar echoed, laying aside the bow at last.

“I just don't understand why Kattanan left; can't he see that?”

“Your Highness,” Fionvar began, coming to kneel on the blanket, “having the singer here was a constant reminder that you had chosen another man.”

Frowning, she stared at him. “But that was before I really knew Orie; and the baron—” She glanced up to the sky.

“Orie knows all of that, but he seeks to win you both heart and hand, Highness. As long as he is reminded of another, he doubts himself in that task.”

“Oh.” She narrowed her eyes at Fionvar. “You are saying it's better that Kattanan left.”

“I am saying that your singer may have seen this trouble before the rest of us and left, not to hurt you, but to help you and my brother. Orie needs to know that he can have your full attention, Highness.”

Her face suddenly lightened. “You must be right; Kattanan would never hurt me. Where's Orie? I should tell him I understand now.” She made as if to rise, but Fionvar stayed her.

“He'll be back when he's ready, Your Highness. I've found it best not to disturb him when he's walking something off.”

“Will he get this angry every time?” She looked at her wrist, where a marriage bracelet would lie.

“He gets this way very rarely, but it's hard to tell what might set him off.”

“How will I ever learn what to do, or what not to? I can't be expected not to care about certain things just because he might get mad.”

Fionvar gave her a curious look. “It might be wise to think about that, though. Or rather, to find different ways to tell him how you feel, Highness. Don't discard him for this one moment. Everyone has difficult days.”

She sighed. “I suppose so. How do people ever learn to live with each other? Wolfram and I get along sometimes, then sometimes he is an absolute beast!”

“If you care enough about someone, you will find ways around the arguments. My lady and I have had enough of them, but we know there will be joy ahead as well.”

“You have a lady? Why have I not met her?”

He looked away with a little smile. “She is of high birth, while I am not, so her family does not approve. There are so many reasons we shouldn't be together, yet we can't stay apart.”

“It sounds so mysterious,” Melisande said, breaking off a branch of grapes, “very like a minstrel's tale.” She settled back and popped one in her mouth.

“It feels like that as well, like a love the Goddess Herself has given. We met right here in the grove that grants your heart's desire. I was waiting for a messenger, playing my violin, of course. She came up without speaking, and when I saw her at last, she was crying. She said she had not heard such music since—well, since she was a child. We stayed that whole night here, telling all of our stories. It turned out she was carrying the message to my brother, and it was not the last time she did so. Some months passed before she told me they had a husband in mind for her already, a man of the highest blood, and a duty she was raised to.”

“Certainly we must consider our position, and our family's, but it is still her choice.”

“You must know by now that nothing is ever so easy as that, Your Highness. Especially if even I must agree that the match would give her more than I could ever offer. The essence of love, Highness, is to want to give your lady all the world, if she asks it.”

“Well said, brother,” Orie responded, emerging from shadows to rejoin them. He took Melisande's hand and gently kissed it. “When would you like the world, Melisande? I'll have it brought here one stone at a time.”

Melisande giggled and glanced down as the earl turned to his brother. “And for you, I apologize about the violin. I will have the finest instrument ever made brought to you.”

Fionvar shook his head. “You could not buy an instrument like that.”

“It didn't seem so special to me,” the earl said, frowning.

“That was the one I made,” Fionvar replied quietly.

Orie let out a long breath. “I said I was sorry.”

Fionvar looked away. “This will give me an excuse to make another.”

Melisande smiled encouragingly at them both. “Well, let's eat, anyhow.”

“Certainly; we must be well fed when we meet our heart's desire.” Orie gave her a steamy glance as he offered her a honeyed pastry. “I just wish we did not have need of a chaperone.”

She blushed. “I would not want to face my brother if he knew you said such things.”

Fionvar gathered himself some bread and meat and retreated to one of the benches, studiously watching the sky or the trees. Before long, the pair spoke as if he were not there, and soon after, Melisande yawned broadly. Orie shook out another blanket and slipped a silk pillow under her head with a smile. When the princess had drifted off to sleep, the earl inched away, and came to stand by his brother's bench. “She is even more beautiful in sleep.”

Tilting his head to gaze at her through the moonlight, Fionvar sighed. “I know she is of age, but she is still so much a child.”

“She will grow up before very long.” Orie watched her a little longer, then fixed his brother with a hard stare. “They found their king, but I believe you already knew that.”

“I suspected, nothing more.” Fionvar met his eyes.

“Next time you suspect something like that, perhaps you should tell me first instead of telling them. I felt like an idiot when my men were killed.” He smiled just a little then. “Nine Stars told me that the duchess was frantic trying to figure out how they would apologize to me. A castrate king.” He snorted and shook his head. “You will not tell Melisande.”

“My silence is legendary,” Fionvar said, unsmiling.

“Go out to the compound tomorrow, I'll make your excuses here.”

Fionvar did smile then. “I thought you wanted me here.”

“The wizard is going off someplace, and I think it will be valuable to have someone there who will tell me everything. I do wish you would let us make an oath-bond, then we could communicate anytime, across any distance.” The earl's eyes sparkled in the darkness.

“Spare me the glories of your magic, Orie, we have had this conversation before.”

“When you wed, you'll take a blood oath with your wife; this is not much different.” He stared at his brother.

“My lady and I have already shared more than that.”

“What more—” Orie bent suddenly to search his brother's gaze. “She yielded to you?”

Fionvar nodded. “We are wed in all but name. She even carries my child.”

“Why have you waited so long to tell me?”

“Her family still won't have it.” Fionvar rose suddenly and looked to the stars. “You advised, no, you urged me to lie with her, saying they would be forced to give in, but she won't allow me to reveal it for fear of what they'd do to me!”

Orie turned away to look at Melisande, his grin flaring briefly into the night. When he spoke, his voice was schooled to concern. “That's too bad. I thought they'd come around.”

“I am sure of nothing but her love, and now, with the king there—” Fionvar clenched his fists but bit his tongue.

Treading softly, Orie came to stand behind his brother. “Don't you wish I
had
killed him?”

“Go keep your princess company,” said Fionvar, crossing his arms against the cold.

The earl lay down by the princess, stroking her hair until he dozed off, with a strange little smile on his face.

Late afternoon the next day found Fionvar dismounting in front of a large gate and making certain signs to the gatekeeper. He was admitted without delay and sent to the throne room within the great house. Inside, he could hear the drone of court, so he let himself in quietly and took a place in the back of the room. Kattanan, clad in rich robes, sat the throne. The crown of state lay on a velvet pillow set between the throne and the duchess's equally tall chair. Fionvar sought among the small gathering, but his lady was not there. Resigned, he settled back against the wall. Kattanan glanced at him, immediately straightening, and Fionvar wished once more that he had not presented such a forbidding air when first they met.

“…and we can muster some two hundred men from the border provinces on the far side, as well,” a captain was saying, gesturing over a map held by two servants.

The duchess nodded, glancing at her grandson. “We are well prepared for the war, Your Majesty, lacking only the king. Very soon now you may reclaim your birthright.”

Kattanan, eyes rimmed with darkness, gave what might have been a grave nod of assent or the gesture of a man in despairing surrender. “But does my uncle not know of these preparations? Surely he must have found out by now.”

Heads turned to Fionvar as he choked on a swallow of ale, staring at the singer.

Smiling a little more, the duchess replied, “We were to cover this aspect of the plan in conference today, Sire, but, if it is your will, I shall explain now.”

“Please do.” Kattanan himself and Fionvar both cringed at the new voice, small though the king tried to make it.

“Your uncle has been distracted on several fronts by false information we have allowed him, by the unseasonable weather in the mountains and by his daughter's rather embarrassing condition on the eve of her intended wedding. He is himself plagued by nightmares, some of which are not even of our doing.” The duchess allowed herself a chuckle. “There are many small players in this game, Your Majesty. We have been planning for many years, and we are not alone in our quest to restore our House to the throne.”

Shouts of approval rippled through the crowd. Kattanan paled and cast her a swift glance, gripping the arms of the throne.

“In any event,” she went on, “most of those present are well aware of these plans, so perhaps we should move on to new business, and I shall answer all of your questions in conference. You may go.” The captain bowed out of court, taking the map along. “This next is a bit of old business arranged long ago, but left to today to be fulfilled.”

Kattanan leaned toward her. “You promised me no surprises.”

Unperturbed, the duchess patted his hand. “I know you are tired yet, from your ordeal of a few days past, but this business is not so burdensome as the last.” Her eyes locked on his with a fixed smile.

Fionvar carefully set down his mug.

The duchess rose grandly. “Allow me to introduce Lady Brianna yfRhiannon duMarcelle of the House of Rinvien, your cousin, and your betrothed.”

Kattanan whirled to her. “My what?”

A maid brought the lady forward to curtsy before the duchess. A pale gown hung loose from her shoulders, swathing her form, and blond hair drooped around her shoulders. She stared blankly, her face a mask with shadowed eyes.

The duchess's face fell, but she quickly regained her composure, turning to Kattanan with a fierce little grin. “The lady Brianna.”

Looking from one to the other, Kattanan opened his mouth, but nothing came. Brianna, a couple of years older than he, stared somewhere beyond him.

“A marriage within the House of Rinvien will strengthen the bloodlines of the family and show the people your commitment to the kingdom,” the duchess said, each word perfectly formed and offered with an icy gaze.

The singer blanched, knotted his fingers together, and flicked his eyes away. “I can't.”

She leaned to his ear and whispered, “I will not allow your confusion to stand in the way of what is right for this kingdom. You agreed not to defy me in public when it comes to that.”

“But I,” he began, glancing at Brianna, “I can't do that.”

“Your cousin is with child. Marry her, and the succession is assured.”

“What of the father?” he whispered back.

“We can discuss that later; the lady is waiting, as is your audience.”

He shut his eyes, taking a deep breath. Silks rustled around him, whispers and coughs rose into his silence, and he opened his eyes again. Turning to face the lady, Kattanan made a small bow. “This is…unexpected for me, my lady. I'm sorry if my confusion has offended.” His glance slipped to the hand that held up her skirts, letting the folds pool around her abdomen. Something peeked from her sleeve, a narrow bracelet of braided hair, pale and slightly shiny, as if waxed. His eyes widened. “I cannot ask you to accept me before we have come to know each other. If you are willing, I would meet with you at some later time.”