The Singer's Crown (7 page)

THE NEXT
morning, Kattanan discovered that his window also faced the rising sun. Prince awoke once Kattanan started moving, slapping him with his tail and dancing around his feet. Kattanan dressed and let the puppy follow him into the sitting room. All was still and dark there; heavy draperies hung over the windows. A pitcher of water stood by from which he filled his basin to wash his face and hands. He rubbed away the stain where the circle had been drawn on his forehead. Prince dashed between the singer and the door, so Kattanan was forced to take the pup out again, barely holding back its headlong flight down the steep stair. A few servants poured basins out the windows and shook out mats. A pinkish light hung over all, dazzling him from the ornate brickwork of the towers. The outer wall cast a long shadow pierced by the glow of arrow slits.

“Hey, hello!” The guard above waved. “Come on up. Not much company this hour.”

Kattanan found a little door by the cliff and followed Prince up the stairs until the pup burst into sunlight again. The guard laughed. He seemed half again as tall as Kattanan and his voice was deep with overtones of the mountain folk, which suited his thick, ruddy beard. He leaned his pike against the wall and knelt to tug the puppy's ears. “Not your'n, I'll wager.”

“Please tell no one. He was a gift to the princess, and she fears her brother will be angry.”

“She needn't fear him, but I'll be close with her secret if ye bring him to visit.” Prince grabbed his huge thumb and pulled fiercely. “We kept dogs on the farm. None so little, though.”

“His name is Prince.”

The guard laughed even more. “I'm called Rolf.” He held out a hand to the singer.

“Kattanan duRhys.” Rolf's grip swallowed his hand. “Are you up here every morning?”

“Every morning since the captain said I snored.” Another laugh. “Suits me fine. The barracks'll be near empty when I get in, and the others miss this grand show.” He waved an arm to take in the sunrise over the canyon and hills. When he turned to the castle, Kattanan saw a large company departing on the near bridge, led by the banner of Umberlundt. He let out a long breath and noticed a sidelong glance from Rolf. “Not sorry ye're stayin' behind?”

Kattanan shook his head. “I did not have many friends there.”

“Countrified. They're not used to seeing folk of other breedin' out that way and don't much like to, far's I can see.” The big man snorted. “I was paraded for a giant there once.”

“Paraded?”

“Aye. The robbers who caught me took me for some kind of idiot, on account of my size. They made the mistake o' bringin' me here, among others from my home, who made them take their punishment and more, in the city street, no less. After some of the guard died, the king was brought in and Prince Wolfram with him. His Majesty was for death for all our lot, but I reckon the prince stayed his hand. He spoke to me and looked at me as a man, though he was not much more than a lad. I'd not understood what he said, but he was clearly decidin' my fate, so I offered him my sword on my knees. He looked just at me, took that sword, and wore it at his side. He took me to his service, so here I stay. It was ten years ago, or more.” Kattanan said nothing as Prince leapt between them, yapping. Rolf regarded him silently, dark eyes slightly narrowed. “Ye have somewhat to think on. Will ye not talk instead?”

The singer shook himself. “I should return to chambers, the princess will be rising soon.”

“'Twas a question, not a threat.” Rolf knelt to tussle with the puppy. “Ye know where I'm found, little man. I've just not found an ear of late, and the men've all heard my tales.”

Kattanan felt himself relax. “I would like to hear them. Songs, too, if you have any.”

“Haven't I?” Rolf laughed again. “Ye know not what ye're asking, Kattanan duRhys, but I'll more than willingly give it. Bring yer friend again tomorrow if ye can.”

“I will come.” The singer caught himself bowing to this huge man and smiled briefly instead, dragging the pup back down the winding stair and across to their own steps.

The princess, in fact, had not risen, although several maids were fussing over her chambers already. Among them, Laura flashed a smile. Dark hair, going a little gray, hung braided over her shoulder. Catching his regard, she crossed to the singer. “The priestess was asking if she need come today. I figured not. Was I right?”

“I would gladly sing the Prayers. It keeps me in tune, and Her Highness has a fine voice.”

Laura laughed lightly. “'Twas the only lesson of hers she paid heed to. You should see her in court, kicking her throne like a child. She makes faces at the prince when she thinks he's not looking. It's a good thing she's not eldest, or the kingdom would be hers to rule someday.”

“I thought they had two elder sisters.”

“Well, both of them married foreign princes and are queens now, so it falls to Prince Wolfram. I think the king wanted that anyhow. He has not thought much of the ruling queens he has known. Helped to bring one down in fact, not far from here.”

Kattanan looked sharply away. “I've heard. Should I get this puppy out of the way?”

Laura was frowning at him. “That would be best. The fewer that know about him, the better.”

With the pup in tow, Kattanan went back to his own room. He left Prince there, whining and scratching against the door. The maids worked around him, drawing back drapes and refilling the basins, resisting his attempts to help, so he was left with little to occupy himself. He picked a book off the shelf and settled into a chair in the corner. The book turned out to be a Strelledor text, a testament of Sofiya, one of the early priestesses, and quite a rare volume. Soon the singer was lost to the world in words both ancient and holy.

“How can you read that stuff?” Melisande demanded as she flounced out of her room.

“Are we feeling petulant this morning, Your Highness?” Laura asked, following with a green gown over her arm.

“I can feel however I like; I'm the princess! Today I do not feel like green.” She eyed the gown and flicked it away. “What is my schedule?”

“You are to sit in court in the morning—”

“Ugh!” Melisande shivered. “Tell Wolfie I'm sick.”

“You are not sick, and you ought to go to court, Your Highness,” Laura advised.

“It is time for prayers, Your Highness,” Kattanan pointed out.

“Begin,” she said, sitting down regally and offering him a brush.

As before when he sang the prayer, Melisande joined in smoothly, then Laura. The sound drifted slowly down when they finished, but they held still a long moment, the singer, and the princess glowing before him. Kattanan lifted the brush then and brushed out Melisande's soft hair.

Laura started to go back to the wardrobe, but the princess's voice stopped her, “I think green will be fine, Laura. And my suede slippers; I am going to court, after all.” She followed her maid to the bedroom to dress. Another servant came in shortly after with a tray of bread and honey butter and a pitcher of fresh milk for the princess's breakfast. The handful of servants left for their other duties, and Kattanan noticed the lady who had slipped in earlier. She waited calmly on the far side of the fireplace.

“Would my lady care to sit?” he asked.

She turned to look at him with a rustle of her long veil, a deep purple with threads of gold. Her skin was dark, but her face was lit by a lovely smile. The lady herself was neither so tall nor fair as the others of Melisande's service, but with rounded hips and full chest accentuated by a neckline a touch too low. When she spoke, her voice hinted of laughter, and a foreign air. “I will sit at court for many hours, no doubt, so I would stand now. You are the singer. I was not there to hear you at the ball, but I did enjoy your prayer. I am Faedre, late of the east.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady.” He remained standing, twitching the brush.

“You have been brushing her hair.” Lady Faedre took a step toward him, hands gently clasped at her waist. “The hair is very important here, is it not?”

Kattanan asked uneasily, “Do you not know the Goddess?”

“I was raised in the arms of a joined god and goddess, so if you mean do I worship your Finistrel, I must say I do not. What is this taboo about the hair?”

“We are taught that women grew from Her hair and Her tears. It is why monks and priestesses shave their heads, to show that they are not part of the cycle of creation.”

“Then should not you also be bald?” Her smile shone as sweet, but there was a twitch of her brow like the flick of a bowstring.

“That has been said before.” Kattanan drew away a little.

“But you do not do this. Are you not so enamored of your Goddess as to make that gesture?” She advanced toward him. Her eyes were as dark as a snake's but as warm as a snake's eyes are cold. “I only ask because I wish to understand.”

“I am”—he hesitated—“I would not be the same.”

“Without your hair, you might be a monk, rather than a singer. Your hair determines your worth.” She turned back toward the door from which Melisande would emerge.

Kattanan pulled a chair out and sat down, trembling slightly, glad to escape those eyes. When the door opened, he rose but kept his head bowed.

“Faedre! I am so glad you're here. Are you to escort me to court?” Melisande took the lady's hands in hers and led her toward the breakfast tray.

“I am, and you do not want to be late.” She took a post by the princess's chair as Melisande set into her bread. Laura trailed out soon after, polishing a coronet.

“Done, Your Highness.” Laura held out the coronet, and Faedre accepted it.

Melisande devoured most of her food, quickly wiped her mouth, and stood.

“Shall we be going, Highness?” Faedre asked, placing the coronet on the princess's head.

“Oh, yes. I'm sure Wolfram will have some words for me before court anyhow.”

“He always does.”

“With me, Kattanan,” the princess called over her shoulder as the lady led her away. The singer flicked a glance at Laura, who was cleaning the butter bowl with a finger. She smirked at him and tossed him a slice of leftover bread. He munched on this as he followed after the women. Faedre walked with a gentle sway, her gown clinging at the waist. The veil ended just above in a row of tassels. Occasionally, a tassel would catch upon her hip and quiver there. Beside her, Melisande lifted her skirt a little higher than propriety would wish. Had she not worn the coronet, the princess might be taken for a lady-in-waiting and her companion for a queen.

Wolfram stood to welcome them when they arrived, and led his sister to her throne. “I am glad you have joined me today, Melisande.”

She nodded vague acknowledgment as she sat down. The room, a chamber off the Great Hall, was bedecked with proud banners and a huge portrait of the king, a young, dashing figure with one hand on his sword hilt. His eyes were harsh and brilliant, watching every move his son made. Aside from a small honor guard, they were the only ones present.

“I would speak with you before we hear court this morning,” Wolfram said, barely glancing at Kattanan. The lady Faedre had dropped to a deep curtsy, head bowed. She rose slowly, looking up at just the moment to catch the prince's gaze; but she quickly turned and took a seat at the princess's side. “I was visited by one of your ladies this morning.”

“The Countess DuLamoor? She visited me yesterday,” Melisande remarked.

Wolfram sighed. “She does not approve of your new arrangement.” He glanced to Kattanan, who had settled on the dais between them.

“It's not for her to approve me. She's been imperious ever since Mother died.”

“Our mother asked her to watch over you. She takes that request very seriously.”

“Well, I am not a child anymore! She tries to rule me; and I don't appreciate your taking her side.” Melisande shook her hair down her back. “Can I not decide who will serve me?”

“I'm not asking you to take back your decision, only to be more courteous about it. You might begin by apologizing to her.” Wolfram held his hands low and beseeching.

“I will not. She insulted my singer and told me I was not acting like royalty. She shall apologize to me if she ever wants to be in my presence again.”

“Her husband is quite powerful among the other lords, and we need their support. I know she does not treat you as you would like, but—”

“As I would like? As she ought, don't you mean!” She swished out of the chair and whirled on him. “I can't wait until I am married and out of this place! Faedre!” she snapped, then grabbed handfuls of her gown and ran from the room. The lady rose smoothly, not neglecting to curtsy to the prince, and followed, still swaying. Kattanan rose also, but looked at the prince.

“She will want you there,” Wolfram said. His head sank to his hands. “Wine, Thomas.”

The page came out of the shadows with a jug and goblet. He grinned briefly at Kattanan, then concentrated on the pouring. The singer set out at a trot after the princess. He found them in a wide sunny room well appointed with cushions and window seats not far away.

“—and I am about to be married! By any measure, I am a woman, but he just won't see that!” Melisande was shouting, arms wide and beating at the air.

Faedre sat watching her, nodding sagely. “It is plain to all save the countess. Your brother has had much to think about and may prefer not to be aware of your problems.”

“What? What does he have on his mind? There is no war; Father is sick, but has been for a month. Yes, he lost his friend the baron, but the only event is to be my wedding, if I find a groom who lives! Even if I do, he will still think of me as his little sister. If I were firstborn, I should have married a minor lord and stayed here to be queen, then he would see.”