“But, but, can’t something be done to stop him?”
Cariad’s face was grave. “I’m only one man, my lady. If I believed that I, alone, could stop Diago, believe me, I would’ve tried to do so, a long time ago. But there’re too many deaf ears and blind eyes…” His voice trailed off and he shook his head as his shoulders heaved in a sigh. “I do what I can. You, at least, will be safe here, my lady. Lady Lona is in the next room. I can watch over both of you this way.”
“But—” She dropped her pack and her harp on the bed and ran to grab the doorknob. “You—you don’t understand—I can’t stay here unless—”
“Unless what?” he asked gently.
“Unless I pay,” she said miserably.
He was silent for what seemed like a long time. “You paid with your songs, my lady. I require no other coin.”
Juilene shook her head violently. “No, you don’t understand. Unless I pay, something will happen—something terrible.”
He hesitated once more, looked right and left down the corridor and slipped inside the room. “That story you told tonight—that’s your story, isn’t it?”
She bent her head and nodded, plucking fretfully at the skirt of her gown. “You have to let me—let me earn my place here—or—”
“Or the thurge’s curse will affect me the way it affected your nurse.”
She nodded again, biting her lip as her eyes flooded with tears.
“My lady—”
“Why do you call me that,” she whispered. “I am no one’s lady.”
“I was taught to respect women, no matter their rank or social standing. In my country, my mother is—greatly respected by all, and I would accord that respect to every woman.”
She could not look at him, for the tears were threatening to spill down her cheeks. Not only was he offering her shelter for the night, but protection as well. There were not enough songs in Sylyria to pay for that. She shook her head. “I can’t let you do this—you must—”
“Make you pay?” he said. “With your body?” He shifted on his feet uncomfortably. “No. I would rather risk the curse than make you do something which you would rather not do.”
“I don’t want anything to happen to you,” she managed.
“I told you my uncle gave me a charm,” he said. “It’s very effective. And I think you’ve earned a good night’s sleep—a safe night’s sleep. No more now—the hour grows late.”
She looked up into his eyes and saw they were blue—blue with flecks of gold. He bent down and kissed her forehead, so gently she scarcely felt the pressure of his lips,
“Sleep well, little sister.” He was gone before she could answer, the door firmly shut behind him.
She stared at the door a long time, debating whether or not to open it and protest. But there had been such a finality about the way he had spoken that she doubted she could change his mind, without embarrassing both of them.
Finally she undressed. Goddess protect him, she prayed as she slipped between the clean linen sheets. Whatever pain his past concealed, he did not deserve to suffer more for her sake.
Chapter Nine
The sun slanted across Juilene’s face, bothersome as an insect. She stirred and opened her eyes, and for a moment could not remember where she was. The ceiling above her was white, the window with its diamond panes of glass sparkled in the sun. She stretched her arms above her head. The last night she had slept in a bed like this had been at the castle of the thurge Deatrice, and then she had to share it with Nuala and Mathy. It had been so long since she had had anything like this to herself.
What a spoiled darling she had been, she thought. Had she ever truly appreciated the life she had led? She thought of her childhood fantasies of the life of a songsayer. No wonder her parents had been so horrified. She thought of Arimond. She had allowed him to lead her into utter danger—what a naive fool she had been. She should have heeded all those inner warnings.
She rolled over on her stomach. Arimond had paid with his life. She snuggled deeper into the pillows. And she—she had paid with her innocence.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” she said, drawing the covers up to her chin as she rose up on one elbow.
Allia, the maid who had shown her to the bath yesterday, peered into the room. “My, uh, sister, the day is half over. There is breakfast waiting for you. And the master wishes a word.”
“With me?” Juilene blinked and sat up, her mind racing. Were there to be repercussions from the incident with Diago last night? At least she’d had the best night’s sleep she could remember. “Very well, Allia. Thank you. Tell your master I will be there directly.”
The maid curtsied, and Juilene raised her eyebrow. What had happened in the hours since she had slept? “There’s a can of hot water out here for you, sister. And a clean towel.”
“Thank you,” Juilene managed. When the girl had gone, she clambered out of bed. This was entirely unexpected. Songsayers could expect certain courtesies of course, certain decencies, in any noble house, but this hardly qualified as the house of a noble. She expected Elizondo to boot her out for refusing Diago. But she was being treated more like an honored guest than an unwelcome itinerant.
She washed and dressed as quickly as she could. The doors all along the corridor were open, and Juilene could see that the rooms were empty of any signs of occupation. Everyone had moved on. She thought of Cariad with a pang, of his silent, uncomfortable vigil through the night, and wondered if she would ever see him again. Had anything happened to him? she wondered. And if not, was there a possibility that the curse could be lifted, dispelled, in some way? His uncle must be a powerful thurge indeed. Was it even possible to think of finding him?
She stepped over the threshold of the silent common room, and found Elizondo seated at one of the tables, a long ledger book before him.
“Ah, you’re awake at last, I see.”
“Allia said you wished a word with me.”
He gestured to a chair. “Sit.” For a long moment he gnawed at the end of his pen. Finally he made a notation in the ledger and looked up. “I don’t know what magic you wove last night, but you certainly cast a spell over that young knight in Diago’s service. He’s paid for a month’s lodging for you. I agreed to let you sing here of the evenings, and earn your bread. He said if that didn’t meet with your approval, I was to give you the money. Well? What shall it be?”
Juilene stared at the innkeeper in disbelief. She shook her head slightly as if to clear it and lean forward. “Lodging? For a month?”
He nodded. “That’s right. There was some—” He glanced over his shoulder and then turned back to Juilene. “Some unpleasantness last night, with Lucca. She took a turn for the worse.”
“A permanent turn for the worse,” said the young barkeep, lounging in the doorway. “Tell her the truth, Elizondo. Diago got a little carried away last night.”
Juilene gazed in horror from one man to the other. How could they take the death of another human being so lightly? She knotted her fingers together, thoughts racing through her head. Did she dare to stay here, where her life was obviously counted so cheaply. And yet, she wanted to see Cariad again, more than she cared to admit even to herself. “Where has he gone?”
“Diago? Back to his estate today—message came early this morning that the keep was ready. He hightailed it out of here faster than you can blink and left me to deal with his mess.” Elizondo grunted. “So I’ve a need for a ’sayer, and you, if you don’t mind my saying, look as if you’ve a need for a roof over your head. You look too soft for the road.”
Juilene hardly heard his offer. “Where is his keep?”
“Right over the rise, practically. You can see the towers from the top of the inn. Less than a turn of the glass away.” Elizondo leaned forward, his jowls quivering. “But don’t worry. That young knight of his is likely to be back sooner than the master, and there’s something about that one that even Diago is wary of.
So what do you say, sister? You want the job, or you want the money?”
Juilene blinked. “I’ll take the job on one condition. I want nothing to do with Diago. If he’s killed someone, something must be done.”
Both men laughed and Elizondo shook his head. “Who would miss a ’sayer or two? Now, you, missy, you’re different. That knight told me the very same thing—”
“Indeed,” interrupted the barkeep, laughing, “but he had a keener edge to his request.”
Elizondo glared at the barkeep. “Enough, Lem.”
With a snicker, Lem turned away. “Don’t worry, little sister,” he said over his shoulder. “Even Elizondo has the sense to fear a knight in love.”
Juilene glanced at the men. In love. If only such a thing could be true. But a man like Cariad would have no interest in someone like her. His nobility was as tangible as a cloak. She knew what he was—the son of some noble house, sent away to learn the arts of war, or to cement an alliance with a distant faction. If he were not betrothed since childhood, likely his parents were hard at work finding him a suitable bride. He was not for her. She drew a deep breath as Elizondo drummed his fingers impatiently on the tabletop. “Very well,” she said. “I’ll take the job.”
Elizondo snorted. “Good. Though in the name of the goddess, I am not sure what use you’ll be. I’ve never had a songsayer with a champion before.” He waved his hand dismissively. “I’ll expect you down here by sunset. Understand? And you’ll play ’til closing, do you hear?”
Juilene nodded.
“Then go practice or whatever else it is you do. The room you slept in is yours.”
Juilene rose. “Thank you.”
“And I won’t be sending anyone to remind you. Sunset. Oh—there’s breakfast in the kitchen.” He picked up his pen again and scratched his temple with the end. Juilene thought she saw Lem wink as she left the room.
The fire snapped and crackled as Cariad leaned against the hearth, staring into the flames. The day wasn’t really chilly at all, but the keep had been vacant for so many months, the rooms were damp and musty. He toyed with the hilt of the dagger in his belt. His muscles ached from the afternoon’s drills. He had fought like a madman, until even the sergeant at arms paused to watch, and a circle gathered around his sparring partner, the son of Lady Lona from her first marriage. Finally young Darmon threw down his sword and raised his hands in mock surrender. “Kill me quick, if you will, Cariad,” he said, breathing hard, his face flushed.
“Kill you?” Puzzled, Cariad lowered his own weapon.
“Better a quick, clean death than the slow one you’re leading me to,” Darmon replied with a grin. “Why not get my stepfather out here, if you’re in a murdering mood?”
The grins and good-natured catcalls ended immediately. Cariad handed his sword to someone in the crowd and stalked away. It was all well and fine for Darmon to voice his hatred of his stepfather privately, but speaking so openly, especially beneath his stepfather’s roof, before men sworn to serve him, was more than foolish. It was dangerous.
He sighed heavily as a woman’s voice broke through his reverie: “What troubles you, Cariad?”
He turned to see Lady Lona standing on the threshold and automatically straightened. “My lady. Is there anything you require?”
She shook her head and sighed. “Nothing but an explanation for your long face, Cariad. I heard about the display in the practice yard this afternoon. You seem troubled. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You must be tired.”
He shook his head and turned back to the flames. “No.”
“Cariad, please talk to me. I don’t like it when you brood—you know I would do all in my power for you. I could not ask for a better friend than you.” Her skirts made a heavy whisper on the floor as she shut the door and walked across the room.
“Your husband troubles me, lady. And short of murder, I know not how to deal with him.”
“You must do as we all do, Cariad. Tread softly. Say little. Hope always.”
He stifled the urge to snort. Nothing would be served by challenging Diago. He was too powerful, a thurge and a thane all at once, theoretically bound by two sets of restrictions and in reality bound by none. “I am not sure I did the right thing, Lona.”
“Are you talking about the little songsayer?”
He smelled the essence of lilies as she came closer. At times her perceptions amazed him. When she had opened her door that morning, to find him stretched out in the hall, his head pillowed on his cloak like a soldier in the field, she had known at once what had happened. Neither of them had been surprised to learn of Diago’s rage that had resulted in the death of the songsayer. He was not used to being thwarted. Cariad nodded. “Was it wrong of me to try and find her a place at the inn?”
“The innkeeper needed a ’sayer.” Lona sighed. “She will be warm there—off the roads—she looked so delicately made, it was hard to believe she’s known that sort of life.”
Cariad looked at Lona pityingly. For all her perceptiveness when it came to some things, she could be amazingly blind about others. It had been clear as glass to him that the girl was speaking of herself as soon as she had begun her tale. What a life she had found herself in—and for a girl, gently born and raised from the looks of her, a shock. He was amazed she had survived at all. And he had been touched by her unspoken expectation that he would take her—and touched, too, by her desire that he not come to any harm. But better for all if she had taken the money instead of the job. “I should have given her the money, and left it at that,” he muttered.
“But then, she would have been out on the road, and it could have been stolen from her. And then where would the poor child be? I would have her here, but…” Lona’s voice trailed off into silence.
Cariad stared at the fire. He knew as well as Lona why the songsayer was better off at the inn, better off anywhere than under Diago’s roof. But what was he doing, worrying about the fate of some nameless songsayer? Keeping Lona and Darmon safe and out of harm’s way was charge enough. Did he have to add a half-grown girl to whom he owed nothing to the list?
“Cariad.” Lona’s voice was soft. “Why don’t you go to the inn?”
He jerked his head up. “What?”
“Go see her. If she’s there. Maybe she’s taken the money. I can see she—she affected you.” Lona smiled.
Cariad shook his head as though to clear it. “You must think me a fool, Lona.”
“No,” she answered. “Not at all. A man whose eye’s been caught, perhaps. But not a fool.”
He felt his face grow warm. Surely he was too old to blush? She laughed. “Go on. We can manage without you. I promise.” She hesitated just a moment, and then went on. “And while you are there, see if Elizondo knows anything about that poor woman. The other one. We should—we must offer her headprice to her family.”
Cariad hesitated a moment, then bowed. “I will go now, then, if you allow it, lady.”
“Allow it? I insist.”
Cariad bowed once more. “As you will it, I obey.” He found himself hoping against hope that the songsayer—whatever her name was—would be at the inn when he got there.
All evening, Juilene found herself looking up whenever the door opened. She plucked the harp strings by rote, scarcely sure of what she was playing. But something must be pleasing, she thought, for the patrons turned and smiled and nodded whenever she paused, and more than once, she caught snatches of murmured appreciation. A few even approached her and pressed small coins in her hand, whispering “Goddess blessing, little sister.” It made her realize just what a boon Cariad had given her. She would be able to pay for her own lodgings soon, if this kept up. Tonight there were even more people in the inn than usual, and the talk was all of Thane Diago’s return. She was growing used to the more liquid vowels of Khardroon, the sibilant sounds of their speech, and she could almost understand them as well as she could her own people. She had known at once that Car
iad and Lona were not of Khardroon, but she was uncertain where they were from.
She paused for a moment, and caught Lem’s eye behind the bar. He nodded, filling a goblet for her, of cool watered wine. The mixture soothed her throat. She set her harp carefully on a stand that just that evening had suddenly appeared before the hearth, and walked to the bar. Lem set the goblet before her and winked again. He leaned across the bar. “Doing well, sister. Keep it up, and Elizondo will hold Diago back himself.”
Juilene blushed. She remembered her first awful performance, if it could be called that, in that wretched sickroom in Sylyria. She had changed so much from the shy girl who was too terrified even to manage a few chords. She took the goblet and smiled at Lem. He was such a marked contrast to Elizondo, for he was thin to the point of skeletal, and his clothes hung so loosely off his shoulders it gave the impression there was no body beneath them.
She raised the goblet to her lips, and as she drank, the door opened and shut. By habit, she glanced at the door. Cariad stood just inside the threshold, shaking off his cloak. A few of the patrons seemed to recognize him, for they greeted him and called to him to join them. He glanced at her, nodded a greeting, and went to sit with three or four men grouped around a table in a corner by the window.
Juilene tightened her fingers on the stem of the goblet. “My thanks, Lem—I’d best go back to playing.”
He nodded and smiled, and she made her way back to her seat by the hearth. A sudden downdraft made the fire leap up and she kept her face down. Her cheeks felt hot. What had she expected? That he would come in and fall down at her feet? She berated herself for being a silly girl even after all that had happened to her. She picked up the harp and played a jig, skipping over the strings and the intricate notes with all the skill she had. The music rose above the general buzz of conversation and more than a few of the people turned to look at her as she played. She kept her head down and concentrated upon her music. She didn’t want to know if Cariad watched her or not.
The song ended and the inn rang loud with applause. Men pounded the tables and stamped their feet. Elizondo burst into the room from the kitchens, wearing a grease-spattered smock. He was greeted with louder clapping, and more than a few comments to improve all the staff, not just the songsayer. His moon face beamed, and he kissed several of the men on both cheeks, before waving and disappearing back into the kitchens.
The Knight, the Harp, and the Maiden Page 17
