The Singer's Crown (9 page)

“How could I know all this, Wolfram? Maybe if I had known, I would have held my tongue in court.” Realizing the opening she had left him, Melisande plunged ahead. “If you have so many suspicions, why ask to talk to the messenger? He won't tell the truth beyond what he has already said. What is the purpose?”

“If I ask enough questions of him, I may begin to see what he leaves out of the answers.”

Melisande said nothing. Wolfram finally looked away from her. “I do want you to be at court, Melisande, but please trust that I know what I am about.”

She snorted at this, but then smiled a little. “Only if you will trust that I know what I am about. I will deal with my household and my ladies as I see fit.”

“Fine.”

There was a tentative knock, and Thomas, who'd been leaning on his arm through the conversation, slid from his chair to investigate. He came back and whispered to the prince.

“The messenger has arrived. I think it were best if I spoke with him alone.” Wolfram raised an eyebrow at Melisande, who grumbled, but rose to go.

Faedre stood and made a brief curtsy, flashing her smile at him and making sure his eyes were on her as she turned to follow.

Thomas looked after Kattanan and sighed, offering a small wave with one hand.

“I shall not have need of you until this evening, Thomas. Perhaps you would like the afternoon with your friend?” Wolfram said, stooping to look the boy in the eye.

“Thank you, Your Highness!” He bobbed into a half bow, but the prince caught him before he could go too far and whispered in his ear. The boy nodded and slipped out the door.

“Kat!” he called out, dashing up behind them. “The prince says I can come with you.”

“Wonderful!” The singer took his hand. “I want to hear all about your duties.”

Faedre slowed a little. “Thomas, is it? You must be a very good boy to work for the prince.”

“He says so.” Thomas pulled closer to Kattanan, looking up at her. “You're dark.”

Faedre laughed lightly. “I am. I come from a country far from here, but my husband brought me to live in his home.”

“Where is he?”

“He went to be with the Goddess in the stars.”

“Oh,” Thomas said, eyes wide. “But you didn't go home.”

“No, Thomas. I have too many friends here. Would you like to be my friend?”

He thought a moment, glancing at Kattanan.

“Here, I'll lift you up so you can see better.” They were turning into the garden, and Faedre crouched beside the boy, but he hung back. “You know it isn't nice to refuse a lady.” He reluctantly released Kattanan's hand and went to her. “That's better. I can see we're going to be good friends.” She took him in her arms and moved away from the singer, talking to Thomas in a low voice.

“I did not know she was so good with children,” Melisande commented. “Where shall we walk? I have to go feed Prince soon, but we have a little time. Have you seen the garden house?”

“I don't think so, Your Highness.”

“This way, then.” She gathered up her skirt and headed toward the far corner of the gardens, with Kattanan trailing after, still watching the way Faedre had taken Thomas.

They passed the spire of the little chapel when a quavering voice called out, “Hail, Sire!”

The pair turned, already half bowing, and exchanged a startled glance, but no one was there except an old woman. It took a moment before Kattanan recognized her as the priestess from that morning's court; she had been bathed and dressed in a clean robe, but the wrinkles of her face and arms seemed lined with a grime that could not come clean. Melisande straightened immediately, lips pinched.

“Hail, King,” the woman said, “and to you also, Royal Highness.” Her eyes rolled, one the green of algae, the other a muddy brown.

“Are you blind? I am not the heir to the throne, and this is my singer,” Melisande scoffed. “Get you back to the chapel and stop speaking nonsense.”

“I speak not sense, but truth,” she returned, suddenly focusing both eyes on the princess. “One eye sees the present”—she shut the green eye for a moment—“the other sees what will be.” Now, only the green eye was visible. “You know not truth from sense, nor then from now, nor beauty from your own face.”

She drew back, her face pale. “You may get pity from my brother, but you'll have none of me.”

“No, none of thee, nor would I want aught of thee.” She turned on Kattanan and bowed again. “But of thee, Sire, a boon indeed.”

“I am no king, nor shall be,” Kattanan protested, but his hands trembled, and he could not keep the tremor from his voice.

Melisande's troubled face turned toward him as if to speak, but the old woman swept a hand through the air. “Were the Goddess walking, would you turn her away with no ear?”

“No, Granny, if she chose to speak to me.”

“And how shall ye know her, if she walked?” Her eye narrowed on him.

“You are close to sacrilege, Priestess,” the princess interrupted, stepping between the madwoman and her singer.

“She walks when She wants, and does not always tell Her people, Royal Highness. Would that your future were not clear, and I could shut my eyes upon it and so sever you from glory.”

Melisande's eyes flew wide. “Enough, you old witch! Get out of my garden, or I shall have you thrown out as you deserve. If Wolfram knew you would insult me, he would have cast you in the dungeon where dark things belong.”

The old woman let out a screech of laughter. “Know you only sense? Even your brother you do not recognize, nor this one in guise of a servant. Not long now, and you will see all I say. Hail, King!” So saying, she turned and vanished into the chapel.

Melisande relaxed and smiled at Kattanan. “Remind me not to walk this way until that hag is out of the palace.”

“Nor I, Your Highness. I have no wish to be accosted by a madwoman.” Even as he said it, he shivered, and the sun could not warm him.
“Hail, King!”
still echoed through his thoughts.

“I wonder what she thought to ask of you.” Melisande studied him. “Maybe we should have heard her out. She deserves my ridicule more than my anger.”

“She is still a priestess, and under your brother's protection, Highness.”

There was a pattering of feet behind them, and Thomas ran for Kattanan, clinging to his legs. Close behind, Faedre walked. “He just started crying and ran. What was I to do?”

Kattanan knelt with the page and touched his cheek. “Are you okay, Tom?”

“Is she my friend?” Thomas whispered.

“I don't know. What happened?”

“She said the prince is her friend and he would want her to know what he says to me.”

“What did you say?”

“I didn't tell her. The prince said never tell without asking him first.”

“You did well, Thomas.” But he saw that the tale was not all done. “What is it?”

“She said I shouldn't refuse a lady; she asked if the Lady were here, would I say no to Her?” The boy hesitated again, glancing over where Faedre and Melisande had gone. “If the Lady needed to know what he said, wouldn't she already?”

Kattanan smiled. “You're right.”

Thomas sniffled, but smiled back a little. “Then I did right?”

“Yes, you did. When the prince tells you something, you should tell it only if he lets you. He would be very proud of you, and so am I.”

Thomas grinned at this. “Do I have to be friends with her?”

“No, you don't. But you should still be nice to her because she is a lady.”

“Okay—oh! The prince told me to ask you if you thought about it. What does he mean?”

“You tell the prince I haven't decided yet.” They came up to walk behind Faedre and Melisande as they went farther into the garden. Thomas was polite to Faedre, but spoke with her little, so intent was he to tell Kattanan everything he had done in the past two days. They passed the afternoon there, until Melisande's etiquette teacher took her off to study, with Faedre following. Kattanan and Thomas wandered the castle's dark passages and grand halls until evening, when they parted to their respective suppers. The next few days fell into a routine of courts and meals, public and private. Each morning, Kattanan and Prince walked to the watchtower to visit Rolf, where they heard the stories of his land. The guardsman did not ask many questions of his new companion, but ended most days with the offer of his own ear, if the singer had some private story to tell. Kattanan was able to spend his afternoons when he was not attending the princess reading from her library. As for Melisande, she sang with Kattanan in the mornings, sometimes joined by Faedre and Laura, and after supper, she argued the allegories with him while they walked the garden, or watched the rain fall from some covered balcony. The prince took many meals with them to defend his decisions, but did not seek another meeting with the singer, and Kattanan was content to leave it that way until the letter came.

They were sitting at court, very much as the first time Kattanan had gone, except that a small chair had been provided for him beside the princess. Melisande frequently used him to whisper her comments to the prince; Faedre had begun in this role, but all the men of the court watched her as she knelt beside the prince and as she walked back to Melisande. There had been no such messages today, and Kattanan hoped the princess had become more frugal with her opinions, but the day was still young. After a rather tedious matter involving disputed cattle, a richly dressed messenger approached and bowed deeply, first to the princess, then to her brother. “My lord Earl Orie of Gamel's Grove bids me bear his greetings to Your Highnesses, and a letter to the beauteous Princess Melisande.”

Melisande straightened immediately. “Pray continue, I am eager for news.”

He drew out a folded parchment and held it before him. “‘Unto Her Highness, the most gracious and fair Princess Melisande, does Earl Orie of Gamel's Grove send most humble greetings. A week has passed since last I looked upon you, and no week was ever so hard on any man. Often I think on your graceful dance and on your kind voice. Please think me not heartless to press my suit so soon after your intended was sent to the stars. Rather, I would hope you see me for the weak flesh that I am, unable to pass a moment without thought of you. If Your Highness would permit me again the joy of your company, I have need to travel to the city three days hence and would come before you. As before, I cannot stay more than a few days, but little would please me more than to spend them with you. Please send word by this man. I await your reply in loving impatience, your servant, Earl Orie.” The man passed it to Melisande unfolded, and she took it lightly. Beneath the signature as read, there was a small postscript: “I hope that my parting gift has given you all the affection due you in my absence.”

Melisande laughed at this, despite the queer look Wolfram shot her. “Tell the good earl that I would be most willing to share my company with him, and look forward to his arrival with a joyous heart. May the Goddess walk with him until then.”

The messenger bowed again and took his leave, finding a place among the nobles who watched all of these proceedings with smiles and nods.

Wolfram, too, smiled, but the expression seemed at war with the darkness of his eyes. “I see you are well pleased by this, sister. It gladdens me that the death of the baron has not caused you to lose faith or interest in marriage.”

“Oh, I should hope not, Wolfram. Rather I hope that we shall both be happily wed afore long and fulfilling the gift of the Goddess to bring new life into this world.” She looked upon him with a delicate smile and a tiny sigh, unnoticed by most viewers, but the prince turned away from her and spoke little to her through the rest of court. When he did glance at her, she waved the folded letter before her like a fan and gave that same smile.

At last court was over, and the prince stiffly gave Melisande his arm. The door had just shut behind them when she said with a grin, “Jealousy does not become you, Wolfie.”

“Nor does gloating become you.”

“I am merely pleased that one of my suitors broke with propriety to send his love, and his wish for a meeting. It is a shame your Asenith can't be with us.”

“Are you still on about that? I thought you understood why I have taken no action.”

“I do understand.” Melisande patted his arm, still smiling. “I simply begin to wonder if I won't be married before you even meet your betrothed.” She dropped his arm then and walked ahead, chin held high. She had not gone far, though, when she looked back. “Where is Faedre? Kattanan, go and find her.”

When he opened the door to the audience chamber, Faedre practically walked into him, then breezed by, but not before he saw what had kept her: the messenger from Gamel's Grove just slipping out the opposite door. Kattanan shut the door and caught up with the small party, though he could hear them before he saw them.

“Perhaps it were best if I ate alone today!” the prince was saying.

“You can't even be happy for me because I have a caring suitor. Instead you stand there cautioning me and mooning over this Lochalyn girl, but can't even bestir yourself to help her!”

“Don't you think I want to do something?”

“I don't know anything of the kind! I hope Father gets well soon, because he would do something about this. And about you! Have you even told him about the message?”

“He doesn't need my worries on top of his own, and his concern about the wizard—”

“That's another thing! Who is this wizard? Have you done anything to find out? Someone may be trying to kill our father, and you're not doing anything about it. You should have been with him on that hunting trip. Instead, you were settling some petty wheatfield squabble when your father needed you! If he dies, it will be on your head. I hate you!” She ran down the hall, pushing through the honor guard. “Don't follow me, I want to be alone!”