The Singer's Crown (27 page)

“Indeed.” He made the sign of the Goddess and knelt beside her. “Have I not said the Lady provides for those who love Her?”

They pried up the stone, revealing a cloth-wrapped bundle. Wolfram carefully removed the wrappings to find a sword, long and plain, but well made, in a leather scabbard. When they held it to the light, they found the letters of the Morning Prayer inked into the leather and shared a smile. Wolfram looked to the sky. “She who offered this blade, let her be blessed.”

“Wolfram.” Kattanan's voice trembled.

The other went to him immediately. “What is it?”

“I think I may have misinterpreted this passage. Do you know this word?”

“It refers to one of the Virgins of the Lady, but this suffix implies more reverence than that.”

Fionvar leaned over them, reading aloud. “‘Now comes the bless-ed eunuch's son, of him who sings with the stars. Let his heart be joyous, let his reign be long, let his voice reach from the mountains to the sea.' That's why you fainted, isn't it?”

“I hadn't eaten in two days, that's all.”

“This is why you came back here, for those words,” Lyssa said. “You are touched by the Goddess.”

MONTGOMERY SNEERED
down at his victim. “Just tell us what we want to know, and all of this can be over.” He gestured with the bloody chisel in his hand.

Jordan stared at his hand, bound flat upon the wooden block. “I cannot do that,” he said thickly. “Do what you will.”

The torturer set the blunt metal against the next digit of Jordan's middle finger. A sharp blow with the hammer, a sickening crunch, and another bone was broken. Jordan sobbed. All strength for screaming had fled him.

“It's pointless,” Thorgir burst out. “You'll have to break every bone in his body.”

“I can do that,” the other offered.

“I don't doubt it.” The king turned away. “Bury it—I'm late.” He started for the door, but it was pushed open as he approached, and he stopped with a sigh.

“Good husband, it's time for prayer,” said a small woman, clad in rich garb.

“Aye, Evaine,” the king growled. “Let us to the temple.”

“We will pray here.” She moved into the room, oblivious to the stench of blood and the soiled straw beneath her feet. “The Hours of the Lady wait for no man,” said the queen gently, “and the people here have even more need than we of soothing prayer.”

Montgomery straightened from his bow. “As you say, Your Majesty.”

Overhead, the evening bells rang. The queen began to chant the prayer. After a moment's hesitation, Thorgir's rough voice joined hers and Montgomery's.

Jordan swallowed hard. He moistened his lips, and began to sing, hoarsely, softly. As if the sound brought solace, his breath returned, and his voice grew, deep and beautiful. His eyes were shut, tears flowing freely. Montgomery glared, and a low snarl entered Thorgir's voice, though he did not stop chanting. The voices blended, Jordan's weaving round them, now leaping above, now falling back.

Evaine broke off abruptly, dabbing at the corner of one eye. “A shame that such a voice belongs to an enemy. I have heard him sing before, I think.”

“He was from that monastery in the mountains, the one that burned,” Thorgir supplied, narrowing his gaze at both of them.

“Yes,” said the queen. “I recall the nest of traitors there. And they would have had us believe them pious men. It is a good thing I do not rule, for I was quite taken in.”

“Indeed you were, dearest. No doubt you will be taken in by this one if you stay much longer.” He took her by the elbow, but she resisted, and his hand dropped back.

Evaine took a few steps closer to Jordan, and her round face pinched into a frown. “You are no longer a monk, though, nor have been for some time. In fact, you are a murderer, defiling the Goddess's name by your very use of it.”

“No, Majesty,” he replied gently, “I have lost Her blessing, but I would never defile Her. If my voice has offended you, then I am sorry to have hurt one so diligent in the keeping of Her ways.”

“I am not offended. Even a man outcast may pray for forgiveness.”

“This is no place for you, Evaine.” Thorgir tugged her toward the door.

“Majesty, if you find such pity in you, pray for me,” Jordan called after her. He did not hear her reply as Sir slapped his hand across the broken fingers.

“Be quiet in the presence of the queen!” The man whirled away from him to follow the king, taking the torch with him.

Once again, darkness fell.

 

KATTANAN QUICKLY
decided that riding to battle was not for him. He ached everywhere, and no concoction from the healers seemed to last more than a moment. He groaned as he dismounted, though not too loudly.

Still, Wolfram heard, and offered a rueful smile. “I have not ridden so much in years, Majesty. I should be grateful not to do so again.” He, too, swung down from his horse, passing off the reins to a squire. He rubbed absently at his shoulder.

“There's no use complaining.” Fionvar joined them on the ground, dark-eyed and unsmiling. “At least our allies have prepared the way.” He gestured toward the waiting wagons that bore their dinner. “We'd take weeks if we had to haul supplies with us.”

Kattanan glanced at the men unloading the casks and loaves. “Surely they are alerted to our coming by now,” he muttered.

“Be not so fearful, Majesty,” the duchess said, dismounting gracefully. “The guards here, even those in royal livery, are all provided by the duke of Dalycour, one of your greatest admirers. They've laid a tent for you here, Majesty.” She guided him off to one side, whispering, “I am sending Brianna to you tonight, alone. She will stay the night and be seen leaving, understood?”

He nodded. “I have not seen much of her. I trust she fares well?”

Her look told him more than her words as she replied, “She does, Majesty, though somewhat heartsore at being separated from you.”

Kattanan frowned, but kept his peace as they reached the tent. Lamps had been lit already, and thick rugs covered the dirt, though they barely concealed the knots of tree roots below. His camp stool and the ever-present crown chest awaited. Following his gaze, the duchess said, “Please try that on this evening and see that it fits.”

“I'm not ready.”

“You must be wearing it five days hence when we reach Lochdale. Our armies must see a king before them, Rhys. Can you still not understand that?”

He sighed. “I will try it on.”

“Very well. Someone shall bring you your dinner.” Outside, a strange whistle sounded. The duchess glared in the direction of the sound as she left the tent.

Kattanan slumped into the chair, thankful for a seat that did not move. After a moment's rest, he gripped the heel of one boot and began the nightly struggle. The bird whistled again, and a very excited Wolfram popped into the tent, closely followed by Fionvar, who immediately began to apologize for their entry.

Wolfram took no notice and crossed to help Kattanan off with his boots. “Have you heard that sound, Kattanan? It's a Woodman. That's how they communicate on the hunt. I'm going out to meet him.”

“Is that safe?”

“They are men, just as we are, and they can be spoken to,” said Wolfram.

“If you break the perimeter, the guards will see you,” Fionvar pointed out.

Wolfram turned to him. “Are you not to stay with me, Captain?”

“On midnight walks to meet barbarians?” He let out the exasperated sigh that was becoming so familiar. “I will be there.”

“Are ye there? May I enter?” asked a voice from the darkness.

“We're here, Rolf,” Kattanan answered with a tired smile as the huge man stuck his head into the tent.

“Yer Majesty, yer Highness.” He bobbed his head to the two of them, sharing a brief glower with Fionvar. “Sorry to be intruding. Glorious to be on the road, is it not?” The others stared at him. His grin broadened. “Soft nobility, meaning no disrespect. By the mount, this is beautiful country! Ye're from here, then, Kat? Sorry, Yer Majesty?”

“My name is fine, Rolf, in here. My birthplace is more in the lowlands. The monastery was not far from here, though. We used to go walking in these mountains.”

“‘Soft nobility,'” Fionvar echoed, looking at his callused hands. “I am a farmer. I was meant to be a farmer, and I should be farming now.”

The other three stared at him, Rolf with an incredulous expression. “You, a farmer? Helping things to grow?” He let out a deep chuckle.

“I tended my father's farm after he died, helped my sisters and brothers to grow. Now even I find it hard to believe.”

“Yet ye can believe my prince a traitor and Kattanan but a weak child!”

“Rolf, please,” Kattanan began, but Fionvar was already on his feet again.

“You have no idea what I believe! Mayhap if you listened rather than opening your mouth, you'd hear something closer to the truth.” Fionvar turned to Kattanan and bowed briefly. “Your Majesty, I am not well.” He turned on his heel and left.

“Struck a sore spot, eh?” Rolf murmured, eyes darting from Wolfram to Kattanan and back. “Sorry I'm not so forgiving as yerselves.”

Wolfram did not answer this, but instead asked, “Whom would he go to?”

“What do you mean?” Kattanan asked in return.

“That is a man carrying too many burdens. To whom would he go to lift them?”

“Brianna will not speak to him, now.” Kattanan frowned. “Lyssa, perhaps.”

Wolfram studied the cuffs of his borrowed shirt, thinking; then he shook his head. “I am going after him, by your leave.”

“I don't like yer being alone with him, Highness,” Rolf protested. “He's more dangerous now than before. The man's liable t' do anything!”

“He is an honest man, Rolf,” Kattanan said. “For reasons of his own, he is on my side, and I'd like him to stay.”

“Stay here, guard the king,” Wolfram ordered before ducking out of the tent.

Rolf growled, pulling his sword partway out of the sheath and sliding it back. “Why's he got to be so patient with men like that? Begging yer pardon, Kat.”

“It's what he does.” The wizard slipped into the tent with a heaping tray of food.

“I wish you wouldn't do that,” Kattanan said.

“Sorry,” the wizard replied, losing her tiny smile. “I am unused to formal entrances. I brought your dinner, and I'll go.” She set down the tray. “Sorry again.”

Rolf glared at her, hand again on his sword.

“Perhaps you could eat with me,” Kattanan suggested.

She shook her head, stifling a yawn. “My work is not yet done. There are more of us than I thought.”

“I don't understand you.”

“Nobody does. I am relaying our intentions to other wizards helping your allies. This way, the armies will be ready to strike as one. I still have much to do, and it is a job no one can help with, except my apprentice, I suppose. Hmm.”

“You aren't telling Orie our plans!”

“Unless I cut him off as my apprentice, I have no choice. And I will not cut him off. He's too talented. If he gets cut off now, who knows what he might do.”

“Talent's got nothing to do with it,” Rolf snapped. “He's a murdering swine! Ye cannot mean to let her continue with this. Goddess's Tears, Kattanan, ye are surrounded by snakes. Are ye blind? I came t' protect ye and the prince, but how can I when ye both cast yerselves in the mouth o' darkness?”

The wizard fixed him with a cold stare. “You are an ignorant fool, but I have respected your loyalty—until now. I wish you'd ask me a question just so I could shut you up.”

“I'd not give ye the pleasure, Wizard. Were ye a man, by the mount, I'd show ye!” The sword flashed in his hand.

“That can be arranged!”

The transformation raced over her, only to be arrested by Kattanan's cry. “Get out, both of you!” He was on his feet, hands balled into trembling fists. The wizard vanished instantly. Rolf stood a moment longer, mouth open, then snarled as he stormed out of the tent.

At last alone, Kattanan hovered a moment, then fell back into the chair with a groan, burying his face in his hands.

 

WOLFRAM CAUGHT
up with Fionvar at the far end of camp, sidling between the tethered horses. “Captain, wait,” he called softly.

“Leave me be.”

“No,” the pursuer answered firmly. “You've been let be a little too long now.”

“What do you know about it? Oh, I forgot, you are a student of humanity.” Still, he stopped in the trees just beyond the horses.

“Yes, I am.” Wolfram came to stand beside him. “We are all here to fight the same battle, yet you are at war with yourself.”

“So should I spill my war stories because you are untouched by such trifling battles? As you say, we are here to fight a common enemy, and I cannot allow my personal ‘war' to interfere with that.”

“It already has. Ask your sister, ask Gwythym, or the duchess, for that matter. I understand you were once praised for always speaking your mind.”

“You are the one who told me that I cannot afford the luxury of distrust anymore. Neither can I afford the luxury of anger, especially not when—” He broke off and scanned the tree limbs above.

“Not when you are angry at the man you have sworn to serve,” Wolfram provided. “How would that look, the king's staunchest defender raging against his king.”

“No. He is the last person alive I can be angry with.”

“But you are.”

“Goddess's Tears, she can't help but love him! He's so quiet, handsome, young—he needs her so much. If she heard him sing, she'd forget she ever knew another man. Great Goddess, Orie was right, I should be happy to see him dead!” Fionvar whirled to Wolfram desperately. “I didn't mean that! I would never—”

“I know,” said Wolfram. “I love him, too.”

“Something happened when he sang. I wasn't just a farmer with a fiddle in his hands. But when I spoke to him in the halls, it was as if that singer had never existed. I hate the way he lets the duchess haul him about like a half-wit. If he were strong enough on his own, he wouldn't need a wife to win over his people. Bury it all, he could be so much more, even without her!” Fionvar threw up his hands. “But he won't. Jordan thought he would prevent the marriage, he claims he can protect me—he has no such power.”

Wolfram listened, nodded. “If he had that power, the power he has when he sings, the power to defy the duchess yet still lead a victorious army, he would not need any of us to defend him. He would be free to marry or not, as he wills it, rather than as his grandmother wills.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“How can we best serve this king who would not be king?”

“I thought I served him well to protect him. Was I wrong?”

Wolfram shook his head. “He needed to know he was not alone. But now he needs to know himself as we have known him. I don't know how to do that.”