A Necklace of Fallen Stars

by Beth Hilgartner

  The tray in Kippen's hands dropped to the floor with a loud clatter as he put both arms around Kaela, as if to reassure himself she was unharmed. He found she was trembling, weeping, and he smoothed her hair and tried to comfort her. At the far end of the hall, someone had found his wits and was relighting the candles. As the light returned, so did people's courage, and their tongues. Everyone spoke at once. The King of Cymyl rose to his feet, holding up his hands for quiet, and spoke.

  "The messenger tells me," he began, "that the King of Visin is dead—killed by a fall from a horse. With his dying breath, he pardoned his daughter, Kaela, and asked her to forgive him. Lord Talmot went on to ask for our aid in finding the princess—which it seems he has—and in bringing the wizard, Stafgrym, to justice—which all of us here have witnessed. It would seem, Lord Talmot, that the only aid I can offer you is our hospitality and an escort back to Relsa. I trust you will accept the invitation and stay at least until you are rested and the princess is recovered from her ordeal." The king smiled at Kaela. "It must have been terrible for you, Princess Kaela."

  Kaela smiled wanly at him, from the safety of Kippen's arms. "Well," she said, half ruefully, "there were a couple of close scrapes. But on the whole, Your Majesty, I like what I've seen of your country. I would like very much to see more of it."

  Lord Talmot frowned at Kaela, for he knew what she really meant, despite the demureness of the words. But before he could chide her, the queen rose and smiled. She too looked as if she had guessed what lay unspoken in Kaela's words, but she seemed at the same time sympathetic.

  "Well, then," she said kindly, "you shall have to come to stay with us once you're out of mourning. We shall have a grand time! Sailing and riding and hunting; and it will be so nice for Amana to have a guest of her own age, for a change. We could do a great deal of traveling; it's high time Amana saw more of Cymyl. You mustn't say no, Princess Kaela. It's such an opportunity for both of you, and Amana tells me you're a marvelous storyteller! You will come, won't you?"

  The queen's words sent Kaela spinning. She had not thought of returning to Relsa, though now she saw that her attendance would be expected at the funeral. And she wanted to see Melina, but at the same time, she was afraid. She had come to love the freedom of the road, and she did not want to lose it. And there was Kippen...

  Suddenly she became aware that an answer was required of her. She managed a smile at the queen and replied, "I could never be such a churl as to refuse so kind an invitation."

  The queen clapped her hands. "Oh, I am so pleased! But you must be exhausted. I'm certain you'd rather have your supper in the quiet of your own room, so you can rest. It's all been so horrifying for you."

  She descended from the high table and went over to the girl. She smiled and nodded at the minstrel as she led Kaela away. Kippen looked confused when Kaela looked back over her shoulder, but she couldn't very well explain there, so she smiled and willed him to understand.

  Once the two were alone in the corridor, Kaela faced the queen and interrupted her chatter bluntly.

  "I don't want to go back to Relsa."

  "But you must." The queen did not sound surprised or shocked, only quietly firm. "There's been talk enough about this affair. Your presence is necessary. Your father repented with his dying breath; can't you find it in your heart to forgive him?"

  "It isn't that," Kaela said, finding tears suddenly choking her. "It isn't that. It's— I've—"

  The queen nodded and laid a gentle hand on Kaela's shoulder. "Is it Kippen?"

  "Yes."

  "Why should going back to Relsa make any difference? If he cares for you, he'll follow you."

  "But—" Kaela tried, but the queen interrupted.

  "No, listen, Princess Kaela. No doubt you were thinking the two of you would just continue your journey together, or some such; but it won't do. I'm not going to preach propriety or morality, or anything of that ilk; you've heard it before, and it would make no difference. And be sure that if your minstrel wants to marry you, I'd never be such an ogre as to stand in your way; but he'll have to ask. You see, I've known Kippen since he was just a little boy. He's a dreadfully conscientious sort. If you ran off with him, he'd feel obligated to marry you, love or no. That isn't fair to either of you, don't you see? If you run away with him, you'll never know whether he married you because he loves you, or simply because he felt he must."

  Kaela felt cold throughout. "But couldn't I run away by myself?"

  "You must answer that for yourself, Lady Kaela. Would you really be happy, out in the wilds by yourself, without Kippen?"

  Kaela was silent for an instant. "But I don't want to be a princess," she said weakly. "I want to be a storyteller, not a young lady."

  She nodded. "None of us really wants to grow older. But do think, Lady Kaela: you'll be a storyteller no matter what. It's a part of you. You've told tales to the rich and poor; good people and not so good ones; humble and powerful ones. Do you really believe that what you wear can make any kind of difference? Does it really matter, do you think, whether your audience comes to you, here, or you go to them?"

  Kaela was silent.

  "Well, here you are," said the queen at last, opening a door and ushering Kaela through. "I'll send the servants up with your dinner soon, and the seamstress will be along sometime after. You must have blacks."

  Kaela nodded but didn't speak; she couldn't trust her voice and she didn't want to cry in front of the queen.

  It wasn't until late afternoon of the next day that Kaela was finally free to wander about; but she found walking difficult in the tight shoes and hampering skirts. The whalebone corset she was laced into made her gasp for breath and the black lace at her collar and cuffs itched. Even her hair felt unnatural, pulled back tightly and pinned beneath her veil. She looked tiny and pale and miserable, and that caused the men-at-arms to double their expressions of sympathy at her father's death; her polite smile wore thin.

  She did not find Kippen in any of the obvious places she knew of, and she did not know the palace or the grounds well enough to begin a more thorough search. She asked one or two of the sentinels, always being careful that none of the queen's ladies were about to scold her for her forwardness, but no one could help. At last she found herself quite by accident on the highest of the towers.

  There was a lovely view of the ocean, blue and lazy, touching the sandy coast with an idle wave; so different from the wild, gray, treacherous sea she had known. This ocean seemed so much more companionable; you could walk beside it, find shells on the soft beaches, perhaps even swim in it. She felt her eyes water and she knew it was not the wind that caused two tears to drop onto the stone wall.

  "Kaela?" It was Kippen's voice. She dashed her hand across her eyes and turned.

  "Hello."

  "I scarcely recognized you, Kaela," he said softly.

  "Small wonder, that," she said with a small bitter laugh. "I barely recognize myself. They are making me into quite the proper little princess."

  Kippen studied her for a moment, sadly it seemed, then he smiled and said heartily, "No doubt it's all for the best, that you're going home. Things won't be a bit awful at home now that your sister is queen. And after all..."

  "After all—what?" she prompted, her voice small and tight.

  "Well, it has been great fun and all," he began, "but it really isn't proper for an unmarried girl of any station, much less a princess, to wander about with only a rogue like myself for company."

  "You're no rogue."

  "You know what I mean, lady," he said gently, smiling down at her. "Think of your reputation."

  "I don't care a fig for my reputation, Minstrel Kippen, as well you know," she said tartly.

  "Ah, but I do," he said sadly. "And it is a problem that has been weighing on me since Achra. Of course your father—God rest his soul—made things a good bit more difficult, since I couldn't simply consign you to the care of the King of Cymyl. It's so much better this way."

&nb
sp; Kaela stared at him, unable to believe he was speaking the way he was. Then she turned away to face the ocean.

  "Things have a way of working out," he pleaded.

  "I suppose," she said dully, without turning back.

  "Anyway," he said after a short silence. "Now that you're safely settled, I'm off. I just wanted to say goodbye, Kaela."

  She was silent, as unmoving as the stone wall she leaned against.

  "Well, goodbye," be said awkwardly.

  Kaela did not move or speak as she heard his footsteps start away, heavy and slow.

  "Kippen!" she cried suddenly, unable to bear it any longer. She whirled in time to see him start back eagerly, like a puppy that finds it will not be punished after all.

  "I couldn't let you go off like that, Kippen," she said softly. "Not after all you've done for me. Please, Kippen, will you let me tell one last tale? One to remember me by?"

  "Oh, Kaela," he said gently. "I will remember all your tales and you as well, always."

  "Oh, please let me tell one more, one for you alone. It would mean a great deal to me..."

  He smiled at her and touched her cheek. "Very well," he said.

  She looked about, and then sat down on the cold stone floor, her back against the wall. Kippen seated himself before her.

  "This story," she said softly, "is called 'A Necklace of Fallen Stars.'" She met his eyes and began the tale.

  A Necklace of Fallen Stars

  Once, a good while after the sun and stars were kindled in the heavens, there lived a girl named Vyria. Since her parents were dead, she lived with her Uncle Tregar in his enormous mansion by the sea. Vyria was happy enough, for though her uncle was reserved almost to the point of secrecy, he was not unkind to her and allowed her to do what she pleased so long as she did not trouble him in his workroom. He was an enchanter, and he did not like to be disturbed.

  Now, when Vyria was nearly seventeen, Uncle Tregar of a sudden began to take an interest in her. He began to notice how she behaved and what she wore, and fell into the habit of worrying about her if she wandered far or stayed long away. At first, Vyria was confused and puzzled by the change in her uncle, until one day, he told her that it was time for her to marry. He confided that her dowry was quite handsome and that with it, she could snare someone of high degree. Vyria was horrified, for she had always thought to marry for love as her parents had, but Tregar was adamant and kept after her to choose one of the lords or enchanters at Court. But to Vyria's eyes, they were all too old, too calculating, or simply too unappealing, so she put Uncle Tregar off again and again. At last, harried past bearing, she told him that she would marry the man who could settle a necklace of fallen stars about her neck, and though her uncle feared she would die an old maid, he had to be satisfied with her answer.

  Many weeks passed, the apple blossoms faded, the days grew warm and long, and finally the eligible lords ceased to even ask about Tregar's beautiful niece. What possible good could mere talking do? they asked one another. Everyone knew that not even an enchanter of great power could bind stars into a necklace.

  One morning, when the sky was clear and the world was summer scented, Vyria went to walk along the seawall. The easy breeze tugged playfully at her loose, gleaming hair, pulling it out behind her like a silken scarf. She sang to herself as she watched a cormorant circle and dive. She didn't see the young man lying on his back until she was almost upon him. He rose gracefully to his feet when he saw her, sweeping an imaginary cap from his head and bowing deeply.

  "Oh, excuse me," she floundered, finding herself scrutinized by a pair of the bluest eyes she had ever seen. "I'm sorry—I mean, I didn't intend to step on you or anything..." she trailed off helplessly.

  He smiled, a gentle smile that lit his eyes as though a star had been melted into their evening colored depths. "Think nothing of it, Mistress Flame-tress. You're abroad early; any reason in particular?"

  She smiled back. "None besides the sun and the sky."

  "That's certainly reason enough, milady—at least it's reason enough for me as well. My name is Amden; I'm a wandering minstrel, and I fear I've wandered onto your land."

  She shook her head, telling him that no one owned the seawall, then she introduced herself and asked what instrument he played. In answer, he produced a beautiful wooden flute and put it to his lips. The melody he played was haunting; it spoke of the sea, with the plaintive cries of the seabirds and the mournful wind in the dune grass woven into the fabric of the music. The flute sang of a ship sailing away and of a woman patiently waiting behind on a cliff, though she knew he would never return. Amden stopped playing, leaving the end of the melody and of the story hanging unfinished in the breeze, as he turned to face Vyria. Their eyes met. Without a word, Amden began to play again, his eyes never leaving hers. She felt suddenly as though he were playing the music he found in her eyes. It made her want to laugh and cry in one breath; she wanted to flee and at the same time stay. She sat without moving until the melody faded into the song of the wind and the sea. They were silent for a moment. She told Amden he was very good, hoping that her voice wasn't shaking. He replied with a smile. "You think so?"

  She nodded and rose to her feet. Thanking him for playing for her, she regretfully took her leave, remarking that her uncle might be worried. Amden bowed deeply as she raised a hand in casual farewell and turned away.

  "I'll see you again," he called after her. It was not a question.

  Uncle Tregar met her at the door and after a brief discussion of where she'd been, during which she did not mention her encounter with Amden, they ate in silence. Vyria's mind was off on the seawall while Tregar perplexedly tried to deduce what the cause of her distracted behavior could be. When at last they finished the meal and the servants came to clear away the plates, Tregar announced they were going to Court, so that he might present her to a possible suitor, one Lord Relar.

  Having dressed for the occasion, but full of apprehension, Vyria joined her uncle at the Court of King Khendar. Vyria had always loved it there, filled as it was with bright colors, laughter and music. Today however, against the background of festivity, one man in his rust colored cloak seemed to her more conspicuous than if he had been arrayed in peacock's feathers. A sudden fear clutched her, for Vyria knew he must be Lord Relar. He was a grim man, she noticed, her heart sinking, with hard gray eyes like chips of polished slate, and a heavy black mustache that frowned over his thin-lipped mouth. He regarded Vyria without a flicker of interest and spoke only to Tregar.

  "Her dowry is one hundred seventy acres and three thousand gerrins?" Lord Relar asked. Tregar replied cooly that it was, and while Vyria watched with growing dread, he introduced them. She curtseyed politely, but the lord did not even look at her. "Psst!" said someone at her elbow, and she turned to find herself facing Amden. Her face lit with a smile that was quickly quenched when she saw Tregar looking at her. Carefully schooling her features into a blank mask, she introduced Minstrel Amden to the two men.

  Amden quirked an eyebrow at her in amusement before he bowed to them, remarking as he did so that he was honored beyond his worth.

  "You are that," Tregar replied in a kindly tone.

  Vyria smiled sweetly at her uncle. "Then do allow me to remove him from your esteemed presence, as I'm sure you have business to discuss and Minstrel Amden did promise to show me the Hall of Bards." She curtseyed to them and took Amden's arm, guiding him toward the quiet bards' hall. She smiled and nodded to old Farkan, the master of the hall, as she went by, and the old man murmured a greeting.

  "What on earth—?" queried Amden once they were in the hall. "And who is that Lord Relar? He has a face to curdle milk and no mistake. In fact, he seems to have curdled you a bit as well."

  "He's a suitor," Vyria replied acidly. "He didn't even speak to me—simply went straight to the heart of the matter and questioned Uncle Tregar about my damnable dowry. I've never felt so helpless in my life." When he asked whether she could refuse Relar's offer, Vy
ria explained about the necklace of fallen stars. Amden looked shocked and indignant, exclaiming that the whole situation was archaic. What if she fell in love? Vyria looked into his troubled face, feeling her eyes fill with tears; but at the same time, there was something akin to joy in her heart. She was bewildered by the feelings and yet too proud to cry in front of her new friend. She turned away, brushing the tears from her eyes.

  "Oh, I don't know," she replied, as airily as she could. "That had never occurred to me." Suddenly the calm broke and she met Amden's eyes. "But, oh!" she cried wretchedly. "It can't be Relar!"

  Days passed, and beyond the information that Relar had gone in search of the fallen stars for her necklace, Vyria heard no more of her unwelcome suitor. As the summer sauntered lazily by, Vyria spent more and more of her time on the seawall, hoping that Amden would wander past and exchange a few words or a song with her, as he often did. Tregar, sensing what was happening to his niece, kept her as far away from the Court as he could; but he didn't know that Amden walked on the seawall.

  Late one afternoon, when the sun was already low in the sky and Vyria had nearly given up for the day, Amden came, playing his flute as he walked. He broke off when he saw her.

  "Vyria," he greeted her, smiling, "you always seem to be here. Do you live on the seawall?"

  She tried to smile ruefully, but blushed instead. "Uncle Tregar's house is so dismal...and he won't let me go to Court, so there's nowhere else to go. In the winter, even this refuge is lost to me."

  "He isn't unkind to you, your uncle?" Amden asked anxiously.

  "Oh no," she said quickly. "It's just...well, he isn't particularly understanding. It's much easier to be elsewhere."

  Amden nodded. "He isn't an easy man to know."

  Vyria had to agree. She had lived with her uncle ever since her father's death, and still she knew no more about him than what she'd gleaned in her first month's stay. It would be five years come winter. Tregar was not a cruel man, she knew, and would never beat her, nor wound her intentionally, but he was distant and cold. His exterior was a facade, and no one could tell whether there were kindness or contempt beneath the impassive mask he wore—or if, indeed, there were any emotion behind it at all.