The Singer's Crown (5 page)

Hauling the leather trunk behind him, Kattanan crossed back into the sitting room. Most of the servants had gone, and those that remained did not bid him farewell. He left the baron's place behind him, bearing his own trunk into yet another new life. A mental count brought the tally to fourteen new places in the six years since Jordan had broken his vow and left him. He could no longer count the number of songs he had learned, the number of languages he knew just enough to get by. The thought made him weary beyond his years. Where would he land when this princess cast him aside? But the uproar in the princess's rooms swept away his melancholy.

“You're hurting! I won't have you near me!” The princess shouted, brandishing a hairbrush as she chased a maid out the door. She stopped short when she saw Kattanan staring at her—anger brought out the green of her eyes. He quickly recalled himself, and bowed. “Oh, good,” said Melisande. “Maybe you can do a decent job with my hair.”

One of the maids rolled her eyes with a good-natured shrug. “If he can serve you as you like, let him try, Highness.” As she passed Kattanan, she whispered, “Good luck!”

The singer hauled his trunk to the little room beside the chimney and emerged again. “Would you like me to try, Your Highness?”

“Please.” She pushed the brush into his hand and dropped into her seat. “They have me wrapped in this gown, and then want to tie my hair in knots.”

He paused in his brushing, trying to read the reason for the mood. “In some places, Highness, maids can be killed for having angered their ladies.”

“Oh, I shouldn't go that far.” She smiled slightly. “Is that true?”

“I stayed there only a little while,” Kattanan responded, “else I should probably have struck a wrong note as well, Your Highness.”

“I don't believe it of you. Have you traveled many places then?”

“I have lived in twenty-three, and performed in many more.” He paused to work out a tangle.

“Where were you born, then? I don't hear an accent when you speak.”

“Not far from here. Over the mountains to the east.”

“Lochalyn? Then you must know about the revolution! My father helped to put the proper king on the throne, about fourteen years ago, I guess. Did you know that the queen had taken a lover?” She spoke with delight at the scandal of it all. “She had three sons by this other man while the king was away, then denied it when he had died. She was so ashamed in the end that she went mad and killed them all.”

Chilled, Kattanan fumbled the brush.

“I guess you didn't know that.” She watched with bright, gentle eyes. “You must have been quite young when you left there.”

“Eight, I think, when we left the monastery.” He was looking at his hands, and had not resumed brushing.

“We?” she prompted.

“I had…” Kattanan's voice trembled, and he started over. “I had a tutor who traveled with me, but he left.”

“Why did he do that? I should think he would stay with you just to visit all those places, even if you didn't need him any longer.”

“I don't know, Highness.” His voice bit so that she glanced at him again.

Her brow furrowed, then she blinked and turned away. “I'm sorry.”

“Forgive me,” he mumbled. “It must be the lack of sleep.”

Melisande tipped back her head, gazing up at him. “Perhaps if you sang?”

He faltered at first, then the song grew steadier—“Morning Prayer to the Goddess.” She joined her voice to his after a moment, an unexpected delight for one used to singing alone. She lacked his years of training, but made up for it in spirit. The prayer felt almost like a love song, and Kattanan ended rather abruptly.

“Thank you,” said Melisande softly. “I missed prayer this morning. There's a priestess who usually comes, but she always looks so stern and asks me if I have been living a holy life. You've had some dealings with the clergy. Are they all so stuffy?”

“No, not all.” He avoided her gaze, trying to master the sudden hitch in his breath.

“Oh.” She swallowed, then asked, “Can you do my hair in plaits at the side?”

In silence, Kattanan separated her hair, and braided it with deft fingers. “All done, Highness.” He picked up the looking glass and held it before her. She touched his hand lightly, her fingers steadying his. Their faces reflected side by side, and their eyes met.

“It's beautiful,” she said, smiling. Outside a bell struck. Melisande's eyes flew wide as she jumped up. “Afternoon bells! Wolfram is waiting supper for me. Where are my maids?” She looked around.

“You sent them off, Highness,” Kattanan pointed out.

“Well, I can't go with no escort at all. Attend me.”

“But, Highness…” Kattanan began to protest, but she had already gathered her skirts and gone for the door.

THE BLACK
gown did make Melisande look pale indeed, and the braids hanging against her shoulders gave her the air of a wayward child, one certainly not of marrying age. Kattanan hurried to keep up with her as she trotted down familiar halls and arrived breathless outside an oaken door. A liveried servant bowed her in immediately, giving Kattanan a strange look as he trailed after. Within was a large table dominated by a great empty chair at one end. Though he wore his father's crown, Wolfram was not willing to sit at his place. A dozen other courtiers rose to bow to Melisande at her abrupt entrance. Some were wearing scarlet garb, and the rest had bound bands of mourning around their arms. Crown Prince Wolfram shone in his red satin, his auburn hair just brushing the shoulder. His face was tired, and his glance at her attendant dubious, but still he took her hand to lead her to her place. When he sat, the others did likewise. Diagonally across from the princess, Montgomery gave Kattanan a hard stare. A stool sat behind each noble's chair for his or her attendant, and Kattanan's stool provided him a clear view of the squire, who sneered at him when the others weren't looking.

“Now that my sister has arrived, we may begin,” Wolfram announced. The servers moved forward, laden with trays that smelled of exotic spices. As the nobles began their meal, several of the attending ladies brought out needlework to stitch at while whispering to one another. Many glances were cast his way, by both servants and nobility.

After a time, Kattanan relaxed. The duty, it seemed, was simply to sit unless called for by one's master. The courtiers fawned over the princess, offering their condolences. She smiled faintly and paid many compliments to the dead baron.

“You are so gracious to my lord,” Sir put in. “Were I highborn, I should press his suit as my own.” The smile seemed nearly genuine, and he became, for a moment, the loyal man the baron had always seen.

“Thank you, good squire,” Melisande murmured.

“It would gladden my heart to have you call me Montgomery,” he said earnestly.

“Very well, Montgomery. I can well see why Eadmund took you to his service.”

Sir contrived a sad expression. “I have tried to serve him well, Your Highness, but I fear my service, even to his realm, is at an end. His brother, the new baron, has many good men already. And the keep would hold too many memories for me.”

On behalf of all the baron's servants, especially Thomas, Kattanan's heart soared, but his hopes were quickly crushed as the princess responded, “I am sure my brother would be glad to have you join our household, Montgomery. We are ever in need of brave and true men.”

Sir smiled widely, looking not at the princess, but at Kattanan. “If you would put in a word for me, Princess, no doubt he would be favorable.”

The singer shrank back against the wall, tucking his hands against his sides.

“Kattanan.” Melisande narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you quite well? Good. Would you take a message to my brother regarding this good squire?”

He nodded numbly. “What would you have me say, Highness?”

“Tell him his friend the baron would have wished the best for all of us, and especially his loyal man, so I think we should bring him into our service.”

Kattanan nodded again, and walked behind the chairs to approach the prince. Wolfram listened, looking down the table to his sister and Sir, who gravely acknowledged his glance.

“The baron has spoken of this Montgomery,” the prince whispered, doubt playing across his features as he looked into Kattanan's face. “You knew them both, what do you think? Would he have the man brought to our household, or prefer him to remain there?”

Kattanan was taken off guard. From the way Sir was eyeing the princess, he had some other plan than service. “The baron trusted this squire above all others, it is true, Your Highness. While I am sure he would wish you the finest of men, I think he would wanted a firm hand to govern his household.” His heart raced within his chest.

The prince pursed his lips, searching Kattanan's face. “You don't speak all your mind, but say well what you do. I would talk more with you, but not here. Tell my sister that I will think on it and ask that she send you to me after the meal, when she has retired to the garden.”

“As you wish, Highness.” He bowed slightly as he backed away and returned to his place. Sir's gaze followed him the whole way, beating at him like the sun on the desert.

When the princess had relayed his message, a shadow passed over the squire's face. “I appreciate your intervention, Princess, more than you know. Even more fervently do I desire to serve such an honorable House as yours.”

Melisande giggled. “Well, it is all in my brother's hands, now, but I wouldn't mind your reassignment if you always give out such compliments.”

The conversation now turned to other things, but Kattanan frequently felt Sir's blazing scrutiny. At last the meal was done, and Melisande gave him leave to go to the prince, after Sir had gently kissed her hand in farewell. Kattanan wanted to cry out in warning but only bowed and stayed behind. He took several wrong turns before he found the prince's chambers at last.

The prince greeted him from a deep window bay that looked out on the garden and dismissed his squire with a negligent wave. “Join me, Singer.”

Kattanan bowed to him and approached hesitantly. “I am not sure it is fitting, Highness. I am somewhat less than a servant and unused to conversing with princes.”

Wolfram laughed. “Yet you must have spoken with as many as I, in all your travels. Eadmund told me somewhat of your history, what he knew, which was not much. He had a good deal of confidence in you.”

Kattanan had no answer to this unexpected turn.

“Please, sit.” The prince waved him to the window seat opposite himself. “There is much I would ask you, but we should deal with the business at hand. Eadmund spoke to me of Squire Montgomery as a man who tended his keep well while he was away. I once asked him why he did not bring this man with him on patrol, and he told me of the interrogation of a Woodman they had captured. The squire grew angry at the man and beat him. Eadmund was loath to speak of it, but I gather that the man died. He spoke in terms of his squire's eagerness for truth, yet Montgomery never accompanied him again.”

“I had not thought he knew even so much.” Kattanan gasped. “Highness, I do not mean to speak so carelessly. I should not be here.” He stood up again as if he meant to go.

“Peace.” Wolfram looked on him with troubled eyes. “I did not bring you here to test your loyalty. When you spoke to me at supper, you were trembling, and I do not think it was nervousness at speaking to me. At least, I try not to be fearsome, and Montgomery never took his eyes from you. If you speak plainly to me, I will not raise a hand against you, nor allow another to do so.” Kattanan wavered uncertainly. “No matter what you claim, you are not just a singer, but also the sort of person who sees and hears many things. I would have you trust me with such things.” The prince watched him silently now, leaning forward in his seat.

“Your Highness, I know not how to reply. I fear you misplace your attention in me.” Kattanan stared at his shoes a little longer, then sat down quickly. “Squire Montgomery is a cruel man, Your Highness. I don't know his intention today, but in all else he is bent on his own power.” The words left him breathless, waiting for the prince to take offense.

The prince quietly regarded his lowered head and put out a hand to him. The touch brought the singer's head up with a jolt. “Do not fear me,” Wolfram said. “I have watched my father, thinking of how I should be different in his place. My father has been a good king, and strong, but he was not always kind, when that might have gained him more than strength.”

Kattanan gazed at him in wonder. He was power's toy, freely passed from one prince to the next for some advantage; kindness was not a word he associated with such men. The fear died away as he heard sincerity in the prince's voice and saw the hand ready to comfort him.

Wolfram smiled a little. “I will not take this man into my household and have any live in fear of him, and thus of me as his lord.” He leaned back into the wall. “I can't say I look forward to ruling anyone. You have no idea how hard it is for a prince to make friends. Sooner or later, he finds their parents all have cases before court, or have daughters of the same age.”

Kattanan gave a sharp laugh. “Forgive me, Highness, I had thought princes lead lives of luxury, given all they could ask.”

“Princesses, maybe. There's my sister for an instance. What do you think of her?”

“It is not my place to speak of that, Highness.”

The prince made calming motions with his hands. “I shall tell you, then. When the court is watching, she is the image of propriety and grace; but let them look away, and she is still a little girl: demanding, moody, selfish, inconsiderate. I hope marriage will bring her a little more wisdom. We have two elder sisters, both well married, though neither was so full of youth as Melisande. There was a time I was her most trusted friend, now she seems to think me a royal pest, meddling in her affairs.” He contemplated the singer. “Already she places trust in you.”

“If you mean bringing me to supper to attend her, it was all quite by accident, Your Highness. She had chased her maids away.”

“It is not that, but that she gave you a room adjoining her own; and the priestess came there this morning and did not enter, for she heard the prayers already being sung.”

Kattanan blushed, and did not meet the prince's suddenly stern gaze.

“I am still unsure about these suitors. Eadmund was a man I had faith in, these others”—he spread his hands wide—“may be as loyal as their titles, or they may want to increase their attachment to me. I do not believe Melisande will be guided by me in this.” Something in his face let the singer know that he had not spoken his true concern, and would not, but a hint of urgency appeared as he continued, “You are in a place to know her mind, and she may speak freely before you as she would not before me.”

“You want me to spy on her, Your Highness.”

“I'm not asking you to tell me her deepest secrets, nor do I mistrust her, but there are things I may need to know of which she will not speak. Do not answer today, but think on it,” the prince urged him, then repeated softly, “Do not fear me.”

Kattanan rose, and Wolfram gave him leave to go, but he turned partway to the door, “Your Highness, might I ask a boon of you?” His voice, so drained, felt very small now.

“What would you have of me?”

“There is a page in the baron's household named Thomas. If you could bring him to your service, Your Highness; he is young yet, but loyal. I know I have no claim on your goodwill—”

“You have a claim equal to any other, more so because you have my sister's trust.”

Kattanan bowed again and left, but his heart was troubled. Though he had but come into the princess's service, he already shared the castle's concern for her, and the prince asked him to betray that. The singer found himself returned to the Great Hall, empty of dancers and musicians, before the thrones. The largest throne drew his eyes upward in a shaft of sunlight colored by stained glass. Though it had been kept dusted, there was no depression on the cushion, nor wineglass set out for its occupant. The absence dominated the room. As he stood staring, he heard the trot of small feet into the space, in a familiar stride, then Thomas hurried toward him.

“Kat!” The boy's livery was disheveled, and he was quite out of breath.

“Slow down, Tom. I had not hoped to see you, but am I glad anyway.”

“I came from the chapel for you.” The boy looked behind him as if expecting pursuit. “They are preparing the baron, and Sir isn't there. I thought you might want to come.”

Kattanan stroked his hair. “I will come to see him off. Go back before you are missed, and I'll follow as if I hadn't seen you. Thank you!” As Thomas trotted back the way he had come, Kattanan set out for the princess's chambers. As he hoped, he found several maids there and pulled one of them aside. “May I borrow your badge?” He pointed to the embroidered ribbon she wore that marked her as the princess's staff. “I need to run an errand.”

“Don't forget to give it back.” She untied the ribbon from her belt and passed it over.

“Thank you. You shall have it for Evening Prayer. Which way to the chapel?” He followed the direction she pointed at a run, until he was within sight of the doors, where he paused to catch his breath before entering. The royal chapel had the traditional peaked roof, with an opening above the altar to allow in both sunlight and rain. The room was round, with pews rippling out from the altar, and smaller niches at the cardinal directions. In the easternmost of these, the Cave of Death, the baron's corpse had been laid, covered with a red cloth and his sword. Several of his servants worked there, twining ritual cords about bundles of sanctified branches for the cremation at dusk. Kattanan made the sign of the Goddess as he entered and crossed quietly to the Cave. A carved band running along the wall told the times of Her Walking in elegant Strelledor. No one looked up until he picked up a cord and bundle and knelt on the floor beside the others. Then Sulin gave him a sharp glance, especially glaring at the princess's badge he wore. He mouthed the appropriate prayer as he tied the cord and placed the bundle aside before picking up another. Thomas was at the far end of the bunch, learning the prayer from a maid. Sulin finished her bundles and left for the funeral ground. Several others soon followed, each bearing seven bundles. Thomas went along with them, casting a regretful glance at Kattanan, who found himself alone with the body.

He had just picked up his sixth cord when he heard footsteps approaching and jumped up as Sir pounded into the chapel and stopped short. “What are you doing here? I would have you gone from my sight!”