The Singer's Crown (4 page)

“What, brushing your hair?”

Melisande played with the lacing at her wrists. “I mean, well, being as you are.”

“An eunuch, Your Highness?” His voice leapt in the firelight above her head. “What can I answer? If not for that, my voice would be ordinary. I would be as any slave, unremarkable.”

“You certainly are remarkable. I read about the Virgins of the Lady when I studied music, but I thought there were none left.”

“I was raised at the monastery where a few of the tutors were older Virgins. Their voices were fading, but they remembered how they had learned.”

“Can you sing as you brush?”

In answer, he began a song in an unfamiliar language, sung her ears alone. After the first strange moment she relaxed. His hands upon her hair became an intimate rhythm, and the song tingled along her scalp as the brush stroked her skull. Melisande shut her eyes and lay back into his touch as the long melody went on. Her breathing slowed, her hands slid along the velvet into her lap. When at last the song was done, the princess slept soundly. Kattanan laid the brush down and stoked the fire. He watched red and golden light dance across the princess's features. Why had that song come to mind, “The Song of the Lonely Steersman”? With one hand, he wiped the tears from his cheeks and turned away.

 

THE SCREAMING
and snarling woke them both. Jumping up from the floor, Kattanan shared a wild look with Melisande before she ran toward the door. He caught her in the entry chamber. “Princess, no! Listen. That is no friendly beast. You must not open the door.”

“Someone screamed, and my dogs are out there.” She struggled against his grip.

“The baron would not forgive me if any harm came to you.”

The screaming ceased abruptly, replaced by a more horrible snuffling and ripping. Then voices rose with fear, too many to be distinguished. The princess stopped fighting and pulled closer to him. “What is happening?”

“Can I say any more than you?”

“I must open the door.” Gasping whines cut through her insistence, and something heavy fell against the door. They stared as dark liquid began to seep underneath and into the rushes. Melisande trembled, then sank against Kattanan, and none too soon, for the door burst open, and a guard stared at him, sword drawn and bloody. “Is the princess injured?”

Beyond the guard, the singer could see what was left of Melisande's dogs littering the courtyard, surrounding a sodden body. As another guard dragged a hound from the man's throat, the singer turned abruptly away. “Help me take the princess to her bed.” The guard dropped his sword and gathered Melisande's skirts in his bloody hands.

Between the two of them, they got the princess to her thick bed and pulled a few blankets over her. The guard waited while Kattanan lit a taper at her bedside, then motioned the singer out with him. “You're the castrate the baron gave her?”

He crossed his arms tight. “He asked me to wait with her as she was not feeling well.”

“Come on to the hall.”

Kattanan shook his head firmly. “She still should not be alone.”

“I'll fetch one of her ladies.” The man stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly. A few heads came up, and one of the servants approached. “Stay with Her Highness.” The woman moved past to the bedchamber. “Happy?” Kattanan nodded. The man had smeared blood across his own mouth. “You don't look well yerself. Come on.”

They picked their way across the courtyard, passing very near the dead man, though someone had covered him with a cloak. Kattanan balked a moment, his eyes drawn by the palm gaping up at him from beneath. For an instant, he saw it tenderly enfolding the princess's to lead her into the hall. He shook himself and stepped around a hound's bedraggled tail. They reached the doors, where other guards were herding the shocked guests back inside. Through this crowd, Wolfram struggled, his father's crown awkward upon his head. “Where's Eadmund? What happened?” He walked out to raise an edge of the cloak, then bowed his head. “Oh my friend, this should have been your finest day.”

“The hounds, Highness,” the captain of the guard pointed out. “They had him down already. It was all we could do to kill the curs. They paid us no mind. Funny thing.” He frowned, then realized what he had said. “I don't mean funny, Highness, but strange that they did not attack us, as if they were so intent upon the baron that they couldn't be bothered.”

“No one saw it?” Heads shook. Wolfram searched the crowd. “Where's my sister?”

“Within, Highness,” Kattanan said with a shaky bow. “It was I who let the dogs out, at her request. How could I know?” Tears had sprung to his eyes again.

“No one could have, you only did as she asked.” Wolfram gently touched his shoulder.

“She wanted to open the door when we heard them outside, but I didn't let her. They sounded wild, Your Highness. When blood came under the door, she fainted.”

“It's well you kept her in. I do not look forward to telling her this.”

“I will tell her, carefully, Highness. If you think that is best.”

“Yes, you were his gift, perhaps you should be the one, although I do not envy you the task. Let me know when she awakens. She may have need of family, then.”

Kattanan bowed to Wolfram and started across the bloody stones, but hesitated at the center. There, he stared at the covered corpse of his former master. He flung back his head and sang the death chant. Under the roof peaks, the settling doves burst into the air at the sound and vanished into the night. The rain had begun in earnest, washing the blood of man and dogs into the gutters, glazing Kattanan's hair and shoulders as he stood alone. Those who still hovered near the doors bowed their heads, some murmuring the words. He sang it through but once, his hands pressed together as if in prayer, then turned back to Melisande's door before the echoes had even died away. Many of the gathering made the circle-sign of the Goddess as a bolt of lightning smote the sky and struck down the last of the terrible song.

MELISANDE AWOKE
long after dawn. She could hear the rain still falling and the soft breathing of her dogs, but as she opened her eyes, she discovered her mistake. Only a young man lay sprawled upon the sheepskin by her bed, his clothes bedraggled and stained: her new singer. Melisande pushed back the blankets and pulled on a heavy robe over her chemise, then set her pale feet on the warm rugs. She crept around the sleeping Kattanan, and quietly pushed open the door to the next room. Melisande looked forward to letting the hounds burst in with their usual enthusiasm, and stood well out of the way as she opened the door, but nothing came. The princess craned her neck to see into the next room and found it empty. Pulling her robe around her, she crossed that room as well, to open the outside door. A gust of wind and rain blew her back a few steps and brought the maid running.

“Highness, you mustn't!” said Kattanan

“Where are my hounds? They've not been let out of the courtyard, I trust.”

“Come away, Highness, and shut the door.”

The princess set one hand on her hip, frowning, but his bleak expression made her pause. She closed the door, and leaned back against it. “What is it?”

“Princess, I would rather you sat down before I begin,” the singer said. “Please.”

“All right, I'll humor you.” Melisande thrust her chin up and strode past to flop into her favorite chair. “What is it? Where are my dogs?”

Kattanan knelt before her. “They are dead, Highness.”

She jumped up. “Dead? That was their blood, wasn't it—last night?”

“That is not the complete tale, Highness.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “They attacked the baron, and killed him.” This said, he released her and looked toward the fire.

“But…the screams, the barking, the blood—that was him. That poor man.” She finished on a breath, which quickly became a sob. “But I don't understand—they would never hurt anyone!” Tears seeped between the fingers covering her face.

Kattanan jerked upright. “The baron is dead! Your betrothed has been killed, and you weep for hounds!”

Melisande looked up at him through her tears. “I am sorry for him, but I didn't know him, not as I knew those dogs. I raised them from puppies. He was a man I met only a day ago. How can that compare?”

“Because he loved you!”

“Loved me? He gave me presents, he flattered me, he wanted me to bear his children, but that's hardly the same as love. I liked him well enough; he was at least more civil than the rest, but love? Don't fool yourself, eunuch.”

Kattanan caught himself on a chair and sank into it.

A maidservant appeared with the drowsy prince in tow. “Good sister, how do you fare?” he asked her, with a curious glance at the singer.

“As well as can be expected, I suppose.” She sat back down.

“I am so sorry,” Wolfram said, coming forward to embrace her. “To lose your husband, before the wedding is even made proper, is a hard thing to bear, but there are still others who care for you.” The prince smoothed her hair as he spoke over her head. “Wait as long as you need before we invite the suitors back again. There is no hurry.”

Melisande pulled away from her brother. “I would like it to be done as soon as possible, and put all of this behind me.”

Wolfram stared at her tear-streaked face. “Of course. Whatever you say, Sandy.”

“Don't patronize me, Wolfram. It's important for me to be wed. I don't mean to be callous, but with Father ill, and now this—”

“Hush, I meant nothing by it. I am simply tired and stunned by Eadmund's death.”

Melisande put out a hand to him. “You were very close. I should be apologizing to you. We've both had an awful night.”

“What happened—” He broke off and looked to the fire. “I can't explain it. Aside from a dislike of peacocks, those dogs wouldn't hurt anyone.”

“Perhaps they thought he meant me harm, coming across the court so late at night.”

Wolfram watched her through shadowed eyes. “He was no more a danger to you than I. If I had been there, I'd have slaughtered them myself.”

“I raised them from pups, and I tell you they would not attack without provocation. Maybe there was a wolf got in, and the hounds were defending, not attacking.”

“I am not saying this was your fault. Maybe it was the moon, maybe the weather.”

“Maybe the wizard,” Kattanan murmured, but a knock came at the door.

“Good morrow, boy, is the princess yet abed?” Earl Orie inquired.

“She keeps counsel with her brother, Your Excellency.”

“Bid him enter, Singer,” the prince called out. “If you are up to visitors, that is, Melisande.”

Melisande shook back her hair and thrust up her chin. “I am.”

The singer moved forward as if to announce the visitor, but Earl Orie strode past him before he had the chance. He executed a low bow to the prince, then turned his attention to the princess. Only one of his hands was visible, holding shut his cloak over some unseen burden.

“I hope you will forgive my intrusion, Your Highness, but I must return to my estate and did not wish to do so without taking my leave.”

Wolfram cleared his throat. “I shall leave you, sister. You might join me for supper. Good day.” He inclined his head toward his sister and left the room.

“Do not think me discourteous, Highness, but I'm glad the prince has left us, for I bear a gift he'd not approve of, no doubt.” The earl flung back his cloak and held out to her his gift. The tiny puppy shook its ears as it awakened and let out a small bark. “I myself raise hounds, and I know the pain of losing just one. For all of yours to be lost, and in such a brutal manner, must have been quite a shock for you. This one is of a special breed that shall never grow so large that you cannot hide him. After last night, your brother will not want to think of dogs.”

Melisande gathered the pup in both hands and pulled it close. She grinned as it licked her chin and cheeks. “Oh, my lord, he is wonderful! Thank you for your kindness.”

“I hope you might give me leave to return, and renew my suit.”

“I will entertain your suit, good earl. Do return, and promptly.”

“You are the most gracious of ladies, Highness.” He bowed again and let himself out.

“Oh, Highness,” the maidservant began, “your brother will be so angry.”

“And let him be, though I trust he shall not hear of it from you.” She cuddled the pup.

“As you wish, Highness. What gown shall I lay out for your supper?”

“The black: it makes me look pale, and Wolfram will be sorry for acting so abominably.”

“Very well, Highness.” She turned and went about the business of the morning.

Melisande slid down onto her knees and released the warm bundle to wag around the pool of her gown. “What shall I name you, little one?” The puppy stumbled over itself in its eagerness to slurp her hands, and the princess laughed lightly. “I wonder if anyone thought to keep Thor's collar,” she mused, then frowned. “No, I shall have to commission another.”

“Highness?”

Melisande looked up into the face of the singer, his eyes red and lips pale. “What?”

“I should like to return to the quarters I shared with the baron, Highness. At least for a change of clothes.”

She wrinkled her nose as she inspected the blood-and-rain-stained tunic. “Yes, do. Bring your things here. I should like to have you sing in the evenings.” She gathered the puppy into her arms and stood. “There is a chamber off by the fireplace for you. It is small, but you may use my sitting room when I am not entertaining.”

“Thank you, Your Highness. I shall return promptly.” Kattanan bowed and left the room, which was promptly shut behind him. The stained area around the outside door made him shudder as he passed into the courtyard. The diligent rain swept away all trace of the night's disturbance. Kattanan kept to the cloister rather than cross the place where his master had died. The sun outlined the crooked tiles of the roof, but the yard remained close with shadows and puddles. Kattanan made for the archway that would take him swiftly to the guests' quarters.

In the baron's chambers, a half-dozen servants with tear-streaked faces clustered in the solar.

“Hello, Kat,” one of the young pages whispered.

“How fare you, Thomas?” The singer knelt before the boy.

Thomas looked at him with wide brown eyes. “You weren't here. Sir didn't like that.”

At the title, Kattanan's throat felt dry, and he ached from a dozen secret bruises. “He knew the baron's plans, even that I might not be back.”

“Are you leaving?”

“Yes, Tom. I belong to someone else now.”

“Take me with you.”

“I can't,” Kattanan said, as gently as he could. “I'm sorry. Now that the baron is gone, though, your parents could take you. They could send you somewhere else.”

“I can't tell them,” the boy replied, his voice elevating. “Sir said never tell.”

“Are they here? In the castle, I mean.”

A nod.

“I will tell them something else. Another reason to send you away.” He touched the boy's cheek with a delicate finger, then pulled Thomas into a fierce embrace.

Someone nudged his arm, and he looked up to the dark-featured head maid. “Sir will be calling soon.”

Thomas trotted into the other room without another word.

“Sulin, can't you watch him?”

She did not change her tight-lipped glower. “You are leaving.” He nodded once as he rose to his feet. She shrugged. “Once the funeral is over, I am a free woman. I do not intend to stay on here. Until then, I will mind the chambers, and the others will do my bidding, and his.”

“Thomas is a child, and noble-born—”

“In the service of the baron or his heir. Has Sir done anything improper in your sight?”

“Not to Thomas, but the boy knows to fear him. I don't know what he may have seen.”

“So perhaps he never will. As to what the child may have seen”—she looked him hard in the eye—“he will learn soon enough the ways and places of men, and of those who must bow to them. Thomas will be a man one day, a man who can keep these places separate.”

Kattanan flinched, but held his ground. For himself, it didn't matter—another blow, another ache, but for Thomas—“Doesn't it disturb you to know what he is being taught?”

Sulin shook off the hand that grasped her arm. “He is not old enough to understand what you are. He thinks you're his friend, and that disturbs me. Take your things and leave us be.”

“I'm sorry,” he offered as she turned from him. All eyes were studiously on their work, polishing things that already shone. The closed door to the left-hand chamber loomed before him, and he pulled it open with a strength he did not feel.

“So you've come,” the baron's squire observed. Montgomery stood in formal attire, having a red sash bound around his arm by a maid whose hands shook. He was of average height, somewhat stocky, but with an intensity of expression not unlike a cat hunting mice.

“The princess desires that I stay in her hall. I came to fetch my things.”

“Sir.” Montgomery intoned with a warning glance.

“Forgive me, sir, I am not altogether well.”

“Nor are any of us, after last night's doings.” He sniffed, and eyed the armband. “Still, the baron would not want us forgetting our manners, would he?”

“No, sir.” The singer stared at the squire's feet, at his tall boots with rests for the spurs he had not yet earned.

Following the path of Kattanan's eyes, Montgomery's smirk twisted into a snarl. He snaked out a hand to catch the singer's chin. “But perhaps you need another lesson.”

Kattanan's eyes were clamped shut, already tensing in anticipation of the blow that did not come, this time. The squire released him, wiping his palm against his leg. “Thomas! My cloak!” The page fetched it and stumbled after the squire as he strode off down the hall.

Kattanan shivered and sighed. How could the baron have taken this brute into his house? A servant girl clutching a chamber pot focused a withering glare on him. One of her eyes was patched by angry red and rimmed with a painful darkness.

“You didn't come back,” she hissed. “You might have warned us.”

“I'm sorry. I could not leave the princess.”

“You're just relieved it wasn't your precious Thomas he hit.”

“We all knew what was coming—that I'd be leaving.”

“Oh, I knew? So now I'm to blame? I'll remember that when you are gone for good.” She, too, turned away.

Kattanan walked across to grab one handle of his trunk and drag it into a curtained alcove. He found a dark tunic and the hose to match and laid them out on the little bench before peeling off his ruined garb. The skin beneath was as pale as a lady's, except for the darkened patches of fading bruises, bruises the baron had never known were there. It was easy to assume that the singer's sleepless nights and frequent illness were brought on by some lingering trouble he had picked up in his travels. The baron had a singer in fine voice and a squire who could keep the staff in line, and had gone to his death in the happy ignorance of a good man raised more to trust than to question. Kattanan's hands shook. He thanked the Lady not to spend another night in this household—only to feel the instant stab of guilt, knowing that Sir would only choose a new victim and that the chambermaid was right.

He pulled the dark brocade over his golden head and straightened its pleats. He wore his tunics rather longer than the fashion, and tied his sashes loosely so as not to interfere with his breathing. Studying the effect in the mirror, he might almost pass for a nobleman's son, soon to be landed in his own right. So long as he did not open his mouth, the illusion held its power. He dimly recalled a time when men called him “prince.” If he were, he could take on Thomas as his own page, maybe even challenge Montgomery to a duel and avenge them all for every beating. His daydream broke against his own reflection: a delicate boy of eighteen, his face framed by the curls that were the envy of many a lady, the face of one abandoned time and again. And if the tunic were slipped away, they would all see the truth, the horrible absence that made him everything he was. He pulled on his hose with small, quick gestures, and did not look that at the mirror again.