The Singer's Crown (3 page)

“Yes, Highness.” He took his leave with relief, his heart pounding in his throat.

“Wolfie,” the princess said as she retired to her seat, “this is the first time I have left a dance unfinished. A singer he is, and such he shall remain.” She took the offered goblet.

Her brother sighed with her. “It is a shame Father couldn't be here to listen. He'd have told you to marry the man on the spot.”

“It is true that the baron is less false than the others.” She toyed with the necklace. “He is also one of your favorites, so I would not seem so distant from Father.”

“Can I take it he is one of your favorites also?” the prince asked lightly.

“He is near twice my age, but gentle also, unlike that minister's son. That one leers at me and makes it quite clear what he is looking for. What did he give me?”

“A length of fine cloth, as I recall.”

Melisande shook her head. “You know how I hate sewing.”

“The baron does care for you, Your Highness,” Kattanan offered. “'Tis not my place to speak, but he has often returned to the keep with talk of your goodness.”

“Do speak. I should like to know all about him.”

“He is a strong man, since he was given the seat at his father's death when he was no older than you. He has had to be a statesman, but prefers an honest battle to quiet counsel. His lady would often chatelaine the keep, as he still rides the borderlands to hold off the Woodfolk.” Seeing her hesitation at the mention of Woodfolk, Kattanan went on, “Not that they have attacked since last autumn, and even then, they were soundly defeated. Now, it seems—” He broke off as Earl Orie came before them.

“Your Highness will dance?” He held out an imperative hand.

“Yes, certainly.” Melisande looked for someplace to put her goblet and left it in the singer's hands. Kattanan frowned after them. The earl's mention of wizards had made him uneasy. The baron, at least, he knew to be a good man; Earl Orie had the look of a thief.

The earl brought her to the floor with long strides, his large hand enshrouding hers. “It is not fit the hostess should not dance at her own ball.”

“I appreciate your concern.”

“Forgive me for overhearing some of your talk, but has the baron so overshadowed the rest of us that there is no need for me to make my suit?”

“No, assuredly not. I shall be delighted to hear your suit.”

“My house is not so large a one as his, nor so old.” He emphasized the last word. “But its strength is unmatched. For myself, my interests lie in dancing”—he offered a grin—“and in the realm of magic, hence the necklace.”

“Are you, then, a wizard?” Her eyes narrowed.

He shook his head. “I know they are out of favor, what with the king's illness; however, I have hired a wizard who is willing to tutor me in such arts, but the magic is not strong in my blood, so it takes much time and patience. Fortunately, I have both.”

“Have you time for a wife?”

“A man would be a fool not to make time for such as you.”

When they finished the dance, Wolfram had gone off and was being fawned over by a cluster of young ladies. “They must know his betrothed is on the way,” Melisande remarked to her singer. “That would not be such a bad fate. He doesn't need to decide, but only learn to live with the one who has been chosen for him. Such is the luck of the heir.”

A servant dashed up to her throne and knelt quickly. “Would you come to your father, Your Highness? His fever rises, and he is asking for you.”

“I am on the way; fetch my brother.” Melisande gathered her skirts. “With me, Singer.” The pair bounded up the stairs toward the king's chambers, where they were beckoned inside. The princess knelt by her father's bed while Kattanan hung back.

“It's wizardry,” the old man mumbled to his doctor. “This pain is of no earthly means.”

“A fever, my liege,” the healer said, “brought on by that hunting in the rain.”

“Argue not with me! Am I not still king?” He raised his voice to a quavering shout.

“Of course, Father. You shall be king for a good while yet,” Melisande said.

He sank back into his pillows, coughing. “Ah, Melisande, I so long to see you wed.” He felt for one of her hands and held it to his chest. “Are these suitors to your liking?”

“Some, Father. I don't know how to choose.”

“What have they given you? What have they told you to sway your heart?”

“Sire, you should be still,” the healer urged. “I've not taken off all the leeches yet.”

“Begone, knave! I wanted my daughter here with me, and I mean”—he gasped another breath—“I mean to talk with her.”

“This necklace, Father, was from an earl.”

“Orie, was it? He seems a rascal at times, but a good man to have on your side.”

Melisande waved Kattanan forward. “This is from the baron of Umberlundt.”

“He looks young to be a baron,” the king said, squinting up at him.

“No, this is the baron's present to me. He is a singer. Would you sing for the king?”

“A country lay, Your Majesty,” Kattanan said, and took a moment to collect himself. From this stillness, the song began. In this dark room, his few listeners were rapt as he summoned the song into being. The king moaned softly from his bed. His eyes were red, but not until the voice had died back to a whisper was he sure the king was weeping. Kattanan's pulse quickened. Another mistake, and he might well find out more about foreign dungeons than he ever wanted to know. “I'm sorry, Your Majesty. Please, I did not mean for it to hurt you.”

The king caught his wrist in a startlingly strong grip as the singer would have slipped back to his corner. “You have touched my heart, do not apologize for that. Where is this baron?”

The door burst open, and Wolfram ran in. “Father, I came as soon as I could.” He dropped to his knees by the old man's bed. “Is it much worse?”

The king did not look at him. “Don't interrupt. Where's the baron?” he prompted.

“I suppose he dances below,” Melisande answered

“Tell one of the guards to bring him here, healer.”

The man bowed and left the room.

“Melisande, I feel myself leaving, and that boy sent to call me to the stars. Call the healer back in, and the chamberlain, if he is about.”

Wolfram did so as the baron arrived, breathing rapidly.

“Closer, I have not the voice I once had.” The gathering obeyed, huddled around the king's bed like so many pilgrims around a campfire. “Seeing as my older daughters saw fit to leave the kingdom, and the younger will shortly do so, I name my son, Wolfram, to serve you as your king, until my recovery, or lack of it.” With pale and trembling hands, he lifted the crown from his own head. The chamberlain took it reverently and placed it on Wolfram. The king shook his head vaguely toward the princess. “Do not protest, for I know better than you where my soul is. Melisande, have you any curse for this baron?”

“No, Father, I have none.”

“And I trust he has no curse for my daughter?”

“How could I, Your Majesty?” said the baron.

“Then take her hand, and keep her for me.” The ailing man wrapped his hand around theirs. “Your worry is lifted, Melisande. Find a priestess and finish the deed.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I shall hold her always in honor and love.” Baron Eadmund lifted the king's hand to his forehead. He glanced to Kattanan, acknowledging the performance with a grin, and Kattanan bowed his head slightly, some of the flush returning to his face.

“I charge you both…beware of magic.” The old man's voice quavered, and he scowled. “The wizard kills me,” he mumbled. “The wizard…of Nine Stars. Wizard, I defy you. I will be king a while longer,” the king was whispering.

“Please, Father, what wizard? How do I find this man?”

“No. Do not look for wizards. Daughter, do not ask for wizards.” The old man patted her hand and lifted his fingers to her cheek. His smile was faint, and his hand sank down again to his breast, his eyes shut.

“He is not strong. You should leave him to rest,” the healer admonished.

The baron drew Melisande to her feet, and both paid homage to the king. Wolfram, the crown heavy over his clouded eyes, still waited at his father's side. “I will not leave him, but I will not wake him either. You two go to your own affairs.”

They left the room in silence, closely followed by Kattanan, who shut the door behind them. “Do you care to dance this night, Princess?” the baron inquired.

Melisande shook her head. “No more, I think, but someone must be with our guests. Come, you shall tell me of this keep where I am to live.”

“At your desire, Princess.”

“I had not expected that this should be my bridal ball.”

“Nor had I. To be sure, I much doubted that I should ever take your hand. The others seemed all so young, so handsome and jovial. I am just an old warrior.”

“'Twas your dancing that won me over. That, and the song.” She glanced back to Kattanan with a smile. “It's so fast, I don't know what to feel yet.”

They had arrived at the ballroom again, still overflowing with colorful gowns and laughter. Once she set foot on the rushes that covered the floor, all eyes turned to Melisande, and three of the hovering suitors shared whispers. Baron Eadmund held her hand low so as not to crimp the fine silk of her sleeves, but the meaning was clear. Across the hall, Earl Orie stared hard, then whirled abruptly and pushed through the crowd to the outside doors. Melisande ordered a servant to bring wine, and a chair for the baron to sit by her throne.

“What made you seek my hand? Now that you are to have it, it can do no harm to tell.”

The baron shifted awkwardly. “I have visited here before, on business, and seen you often, though no doubt I escaped your notice.”

“Many of my brother's friends have.”

“One afternoon, I saw you in the courtyard with your hounds. The big one knocked you over, and licked your face with such enthusiasm that I knew you must be kindhearted to put up with him. Such a generous lady would surely be patient with an old baron.”

“I will be, only if you are as patient with me.”

“I am the luckiest man alive, and not wont to ruin my luck once I have found it. My keep is made more for battle than for festivals, but a lady's hand may temper even that. Now that I shall have someone to come home to, I will ride patrols only when the situation demands.”

The baron kept talking, but Kattanan noticed that the princess's eyes were no longer upon him. A slight breeze rippled through as the great doors were opened, and a man entered. The princess straightened instantly, her face turned into the wind, and Kattanan listened, too. From outside came a soft scratch of claws upon the stones of the courtyard. He recalled having seen a pack of hounds there on their way into the hall. Melisande smiled at the sound, then frowned a little. Earl Orie nodded to her across the distance, and seemed to be smiling.

“Melisande, are you well? Forgive me, here I sit speaking of brighter days, with your father so ill. You must think me utterly thoughtless. Let me take you to your chambers.”

She looked at him then, momentarily confused. “Yes. I think that—yes.”

“Is there a lady who may stay with you? I would not wish to leave you alone.”

“My singer will do—my ladies are all dancing, and I'd hate to bother them for this. It's simply the excitement, on top of my father's illness.”

“As you wish, Highness.” The baron led her around the dancers toward the courtyard.

They walked around the cloister to the heavy door that opened on the princess's chambers, a series of rooms swathed in tapestries and velvet curtains. The first was occupied by an excitable mass of dogs who wriggled their pleasure at having their mistress home again. The hounds huddled close against her and shoved inquiring noses against the baron's finery. She brushed a hand along their backs and muzzles as the baron brought her to her sitting room. Here he released her to sit on a leather-backed chair as he laid a fire. “Would you like me to stay?”

“No, you must make my apologies and let my brother know. I'm sure I'll be fine.”

“I can bring the healer.”

Melisande managed a small laugh. “I need a few moments peace, Eadmund, that's all.”

He kissed her hand, then bowed as he left her with her singer and her dogs.

The room was silent a long moment. Kattanan poked at the growing fire, then took a stool opposite the princess. They watched each other in the flickering light. “What happened to me?” The princess finally asked. “I felt so strange for a moment, as if I were hearing things.”

She looked so young, suddenly, and vulnerable. “Perhaps you have asked for wizards.”

“I have no fondness or need for them. Especially if one of them made my father ill. Until recently, I rarely even wondered about them. They seem to me to be a nuisance, and quite powerless, for they can do nothing against an enemy who has not asked anything of them. What an absurd notion. Why does anyone bother?”

“Do not think them powerless, Highness. They can send visions by night or influence things of lesser will. Has Your Highness had any congress with a wizard?”

“No, of course not,” she answered firmly, then stopped. Her eyes caught his again, and one hand fingered her necklace. “The earl is no wizard. Besides, what would he want of me?”

“I cannot answer except to say that Your Highness's love would be quite a prize.”

“But I am now betrothed. Whatever anyone may try, I am already bound to the baron.” A few of the dogs began scratching at the door and whining loudly. “Let them out, would you?”

Kattanan did as she asked. “It is raining, Highness, but they went anyhow.”

“The silly beasts don't know what is best for them,” she said, with an indulgent smile. She had removed the combs that held up her hair. “Would you brush my hair?” Kattanan found an ivory-backed brush on her table and began his gentle task. “What is it like for you?”