The Singer's Crown (13 page)

The litany swelled in Kattanan's head, carried him around the fire, and some time after moonset followed him to his own little bed, where he dreamed himself a king.

“YOU CAN
ride, I trust,” the earl said, passing off the reins of a tall bay horse without waiting for the answer. Kattanan held the reins gingerly. The earl's men, the princess's entourage, and three large wagons laden with tapestries and trunks cluttered the courtyard. Melisande, Faedre, and Laura would be traveling by coach, along with Prince, who currently dashed from horse to horse yipping. Kattanan passed his horse off to a groom and chased the puppy, managing to catch his dangling leash and haul him from the path of the first wagon as it started to roll. Walking back toward the carriage, he was hailed by a familiar voice.

“Ho, singer! I just got off and wanted t' wish ye well.” Rolf planted a huge hand on the puppy and gave it a fierce rubbing. “Sorry t' see ye go.”

“I'm sorry to leave you, Rolf. I'll miss those mornings.”

“You remember now, if ye need to, my gate's always open for ye.” The guard shot a look toward the earl. “Watch yerself, and don't sing dangerous songs.”

“Which ones are those?” Kattanan said lightly. “Yes, I'll be careful. You do the same.”

“O' course! 'Tis my job, after all.” Rolf flashed one of his huge grins. He swept the singer off the ground in a one-armed embrace and set him back again gently.

“And take care of the prince,” the singer urged.

“He'll not come to harm while I stand,” Rolf promised. “Fetch yer horse, I think they're mounting!” He drew himself out of traffic, and waved as Kattanan weaved back into the crowd.

Melisande leaned out of the carriage to gather the pup into her arms. “Oh, I was so worried about you,” she scolded, then looked up. “Ride beside us if you can, we may want some songs. I wish I could be riding. Carriages are so bumpy, and of course, no jumping.”

A cry rang out over the crowd, and Kattanan ran to find his horse. Mounted on a fine black charger, the prince rode with them into the city. There, the prince and his escort reined in to watch the caravan roll by. Wolfram was once more master of his emotions, smiling and waving to his sister and her lord. He caught Kattanan's gaze, made the sign of the Goddess, and shut his eyes—the farewell of an honored companion, “I see only your safe return.” Some new and burning thing rose up in Kattanan as he returned the salute.

Once free of the city, they turned along the canyon and passed through farmland and small towns, following the river that flowed in the same direction. On the opposite bank, trees marched down the rough ground to cast great roots into the water. A trail there led to Rolf's gate, narrow and often steep. Melisande grew more interested in Kattanan's songs the farther they got from the castle. He and the earl alternated riding at her side, but it was to him she rolled her eyes and whispered the new gossip the ladies were making.

They arrived at the keep of Gamel's Grove not long after sunset. Orie had ridden ahead some distance but had returned, looking mysterious in the dancing light of the torches, or so Melisande said. He gave Kattanan a commanding glance that sent him back to the wagons for the remainder of the trip. It was not far from the wooden palisade to the stone tower at its midst. They had veered away from the mountains enough that the tower would command a full view of the open lands to one side and thick forest to the other. All manner of lords and ladies lined the steps to the keep, giving a great cry when their master came into view, especially when they saw he had swept Melisande from the carriage and bore her across his lap, the princess clinging and laughing until she was set down on a rich carpet laid out on the ground. The earl dismounted beside her and gave her his hand to climb the steps. Kattanan slipped gratefully from his mount, rubbing his thighs with a grimace. Despite gripping the reins for so long, his hands did not ache and in fact seemed to feel better. He trailed after the crowd into the keep.

As Orie had said, it was not large, but scaffolds were erected in many areas, and walls razed to expand the place. Purple cloths and hanging lanterns garlanded the lot. The Great Hall was rather low, with a thick, beamed ceiling and no gallery. A reddish stone made up most of the structure, augmented by marble columns so recent that stone dust still fluttered from them. All guards snapped crisply to attention, none smiling. Melisande glowed even more now, when he could see her, nodding to the residents as they were introduced and gasping at the grand plans evidenced by the construction. The procession reached a huge door deeply carved, where the earl halted, and held up his hand.

“Your Highness, my pride and joy.” He flung open the door, and her eyes flew wide.

The hexagonal room was three stories tall, stone cut by thin alabaster windows at least half that height. Wooden galleries climbed the inner walls reached by narrow stairs. At the center, a platform rose, supported by slender columns, on which a consort played a merry tune. When the ladder was pulled up, dancers could pass beneath it and still enjoy the quality of the sound.

“My lord, it is magnificent!” Melisande began. “Kattanan, come see.” She beckoned him up through the crowd. “My good earl, could we dance?”

He laughed and said, “I should have expected as much.”

“Kattanan can sing from the platform.”

The earl nodded, and the couple swirled onto the intricate mosaic floor.

Kattanan crossed to the ladder and climbed up, ignoring his protesting muscles. The musicians gave him a nod, and he placed himself as near to the center as possible, then sang. The sound of dancing fell away, leaving him on an island of perfect music. He lost track of rounds by the time his throat could take it no longer, and he let loose one great finish and turned to search for water. Setting down his instrument at last, a flute player held out a brimming mug.

“Greetings and welcome. We are well met.”

“Leave it, Teir,” the harper snapped, focusing scornful, pitch-colored eyes on the singer. “I'll take a man among us, not such at that.”

A bright gale of laughter rippled from a lady at the far side from the harper. She set down the hammers by her dulcimer and smiled. “Cassius has a love for music, but mainly for his own. It is a source of constant amazement to me that he can even suffer to play with us.” She shook back long silver hair and held out a long hand to Kattanan. “I am Strelana.” He took her hand lightly and bowed his head over it.

“Kattanan duRhys, my lady, it is a pleasure.”

She laughed again. “Oh, I am but a common woman. Be not fooled by my gown—the earl sought the finest musicians of the county, and dressed us in a manner befitting the music.”

The singer took a deep draught from Teir's mug and found it to be a sweet wine.

“Made that myself, Singer. Whets my whistle, you might say.” He waved the flute at Kattanan. “Methinks I have heard your name somewhere.”

Kattanan shrugged. “I have traveled much, and of course the earl has heard me sing.”

“Hmmm.” Teir looked doubtful, and Strelana shot him a look.

“Are we forgetting all our manners?” She pointed to the fiddler, who watched with quiet interest. “That's Fionvar duNormand, the earl's brother, and the harper is Cassius Nyle. On the drum, his daughter, Caitlin.”

Orie poked his head through the trapdoor and smiled. “Greetings, brother. What else have you for our dance?”

Fionvar's smile was as wide as Orie's. “Welcome home, Orie. We can play whatever your pleasure, or hers, more like. She's more beautiful than you said.”

“She is more lovely every day. And don't you be getting ideas,” Orie warned, but the smile had not left his voice.

“I have a lady of my own who'd stand for none of that.”

“Good for her. Find a new dance, we don't want to keep the princess waiting.”

Fionvar thought a moment, with a glance at Kattanan. “Make it ‘Bernholt Hills.'”

The singer allowed himself a little smile. The dance, and the song that accompanied it, mixed fast, rollicking verses with a long, low chorus, a test of any musician's prowess, and more for a voice.

Strelana struck the first notes on her dulcimer. Caitlin took up her drum and beat out the complicated rhythm. As one, the others joined in, and after one verse so did Kattanan, in flawless Strelledor. Fionvar fixed him with a stare and began to speed up, leading the others faster on every verse, accentuating the break between verse and chorus, and Kattanan sprang with him, eyes closed, not watching the cues, but hearing every movement. Below, the dancers spun and frolicked, laughing and shouting when the tempo pulled them ever faster. Fionvar struck an abrupt note and pulled back his bow, hissing to the others, who followed his lead. Finding himself suddenly unaccompanied, Kattanan finished out the chorus and leapt into the verse at the same remarkable speed the earl's brother had dropped. The dancers shouted louder as many slipped or stumbled into each other and clung like survivors of a drunken revel. The last note climbed away and sighed into the distance. Applause filled the space, and cheers for the consort and for the singer.

After a long swallow of wine, when he could trust his voice again, Kattanan opened his eyes to Fionvar. “Thank you for the challenge, my lord. I shall look forward to our concerts.”

The earl's brother gave a slight nod, but his face seemed deadly still.

Strelana suggested, “Perhaps just a tune so our singer can catch his breath; our dancers, too, for that matter.”

Fionvar set his fiddle to his chin and picked out a melody. The group caught on and played in minor key. Kattanan sat at the edge of the platform and looked down on the dancers. When the music began, Melisande had pulled back from where she was leaning against the earl. Her face turned upward a moment, with a toss of her hair in the light of the candle-chandeliers. And she smiled. He could not make out her eyes across this distance, but the smile lit his mind and heart. He leaned his head against the slim brass rail and followed her with his eyes.

The ball lasted only a few songs more, then they began to pack up the instruments with the care of new parents.

Teir slipped his arm around Strelana's waist and squeezed her tight to his side for a moment. “A good party, and not least because of you.” He raised his mug to Kattanan. “I hope we have many more chances.”

“You shall, I'm sure,” Melisande said, coming under the shadow with the earl at her elbow. “Marvelous, all of you.”

“Allow me to introduce my brother, Fionvar,” the earl said.

“The honor is all mine, Your Highness.” His lips brushed the back of her hand.

“Are the two of you alone of your family?”

“Oh, no,” Fionvar said, “our parents had eight children to help with all the chores.”

“Eight? The Goddess smiled on your mother.”

Fionvar looked at Orie, slightly shorter than he, and said, “She might have smiled more. Orie here is the only one of us who amounted to anything.”

“Having heard you play, I must disagree.”

“As yet, it has gotten me nowhere, Your Highness.”

“As yet,” his brother agreed, but they shared a smile over the princess's head.

“It is a meager skill compared with heroism in battle.”

Melisande eyed him. “Did you not fight also?”

“I was the eldest of us, and Father just in his grave. We lost two brothers to the battle, and a sister to the famine that followed. It was I who bound the branches for their funerals and went back to the plow the next morning.”

“A difficult life.”

Fionvar looked away as his brother said, “Were it not for Fionvar, I should have had no family to return to, no one to share my good fortune. Two siblings are married and live away, but Fionvar and Lyssa, the youngest, live here with me. They are invaluable and talented. Lyssa carved some of the more beautiful figures in this hall.”

Melisande smiled at one of the columns. “I'll look forward to meeting her.”

“Right now, she is a journeyman of the Guild at Lochdale, working on a temple and flirting with a younger prince. But we are all tired after our journey, and the dancing. Strelana, perhaps you can show the singer to his quarters.”

“Oh,” Melisande began with a start. “I was hoping he would be able to stay near me. He sings the Morning Prayer with me.”

“We've prepared only one of the nearer rooms, but I am sure an arrangement can be made tomorrow. For tonight, this will do.” His good humor had faded.

“It's too late at night for these concerns,” Fionvar said, a shade too quickly.

Melisande watched them both, and sighed. “I suppose. Sleep well, Singer.” Orie slipped an arm around her and led her off in the wake of his guests.

“Well, this way then, by your leave, my lord,” Strelana said, with a little curtsy.

Fionvar nodded distractedly. “They are a handsome couple.”

“Aye, they are that,” Teir agreed heartily. “And bloody quick dancers as well.” They shared a grin. “Give us some practice, and we'll have them on the floor.”

“That we will, Teir.” He paused to study Kattanan a moment longer, then turned smartly and left by the great door.

“Not a bad man, Kattanan, just not overfriendly. He'll warm to you.”

Strelana murmured her assent. “This way, we're in the lower hall.”

“Will my trunk have made it so far?”

“No doubt. The earl's men are nothing if not efficient.” The trio passed through a smaller door into a hall that ran perpendicular to the main tower. Many arches looked onto a small courtyard. “The rooms are on the outside wall, so we hope there's no invasion. There's also just arrow slits for windows, though, and those are high up.” She came to a door that stood open and ushered them in. Kattanan's trunk shared space with a small bed, square table and chair, and a basin stand. The bed was fitted with a straw mattress, down pillow, and linen sheets. Atop those spread a gray wool blanket, embroidered with the device of the princess.