Minstrel's Serenade

by Aubrie Dionne

  Moments later, the horses whinnied and the carriage tugged forward into the burgeoning night. What had she gotten herself into?

  “Are we there?” The boy rubbed his eyes, righting himself on the velvety seat.

  “We’ve taken a detour.” He’d probably squiggle away if she wrapped her arms around him. She couldn’t imagine who he’d lost in the attack and she knew not to ask.

  He gazed out the carriage window and his eyes widened. “Where are we going?”

  “To the House of Song.” She smiled, trying to get his mind off the horrors of the day. “You’re one lucky little boy. Not everyone from Ebonvale gets to see the House of Song.” Although she didn’t mention it, luck had favored him more than once. He’d survived the fire wyverns’ wrath. Was it because of the breastplate? Danika pursed her lips. Pushing him so soon after the tragedy was cruel. She’d let him be a boy again before bombarding him with questions.

  He shrugged and remained silent. Like any boy, he was hard to impress.

  “I’m Danika.” She extended her hand.

  “I know.” The boy stared at her ivory skin and flaxen hair, traits her mother had brought to their kingdom from the south. He didn’t move. “I’ve seen you in the parades.”

  “And you are?”

  He murmured the name, “Nip.”

  “Nip?” She’d try not to judge. “What an interesting name for a boy.” It sounded as if he’d pinch her arms when she looked away.

  Nip sniffed. “Ma named me after the cold--she had me in a blizzard.”

  His mother. Probably dead.

  Her eyes stung with unleashed tears. Maybe if she’d attacked the wyverns after her father passed away, the boy’s village would still be standing, and he’d be cooking with his Ma right now. “I’m sorry about what happened.”

  He nodded but made no further comments. Endless hurt shone in his brown eyes, as if he hid within himself. Even a princess’ offerings couldn’t help. She couldn’t reach out and make the horrors go away. Nothing would bring back what he’d lost.

  She’d make those worms pay, even if gleaning revenge meant allying with the House of Song.

  Danika squeezed her palms until her muscles ached. She would find a way to rid their infestation, even if it meant taking a boat to Scalehaven Isle herself and sinking the entire island chain. The wyverns were vermin, just like the rats in the wheat sheds and the crop-eating locusts. Except, if Bron’s wisdom rang true, these pests had a mind of their own. The wyverns’ possible sentience frightened her more than their fire breath or pin-sharp teeth.

  Her thoughts wandered to dark places until the boy spoke again.

  “Thank you for saving me, Danika.”

  “’Twas the least I could do. Remember, you saved me, too.”

  The carriage followed a winding road, crawling up a steep embankment. Moss brushed against the walls as if they rode through an old man’s beard. Nip stuck his arm out and tugged on a wisp until the end came free, sending glitter motes across the velvet carriage seat.

  “What’s it made of?” He ran his fingers through the strands as they disintegrated with his touch.

  “Magic and music.” Danika caught a shimmer of glitter on the tip of her fingernail. “In the Forest of Song, they are one and the same.”

  Snippets of melodies rode the wind, accompanied by tinkling chords and a low humming buzz. Now and then one particular note would catch itself in her heart and she’d sigh, remembering days long past when her father took her hunting, or when her mother sang a lullaby.

  The orchestra of sounds grew louder as they rode into the minstrels’ domain until a mighty symphony pounded bass notes in the bottom of Danika’s stomach. She glanced at Nip. Would he block his ears? But the boy listened carefully, as if each refrain held the answers to secrets he’d long sought.

  The carriage rose from the mist of the forest and turned a bend.

  “Whoa.” Bron’s voice echoed as a dissonance against the backdrop of harmonious sounds. The horses slowed, giving Danika and Nip time to take in the scene spread before them. Gabled cottages, nestled in long-stemmed grassy hills, shone pearly white in the rising moon.

  When the carriage door squeaked open Danika expected Bron’s paw-like palm and met Valorian instead. He offered a long-fingered hand to help her from the carriage. She slid her fingers into his, feeling his cool, soft skin.

  “Follow me.”

  She eyed Bron as he untied the horses. He bowed his head in deference, failing to meet her eyes. A pang of guilt swept through her. How could she leave him to be a second hand? Valorian pulled her forward, and she had no choice but to leave Bron behind. Nip followed behind her and Bron took up the rear with both horses in tow.

  Valorian led her past ivy-laced village gates. The cottages glowed warm honey light onto the pebble stone as the denizens prepared their evening meal. Every structure resonated with a different chord, each one more beautiful than the last. The plunk of a harpsichord accompanied their steps, followed by the trill of a flute and the swell of a fiddle. A solemn chant became a meandering melody and then turned into a lilting lullaby. Did the residents ever tire from making music? Surely they must sleep and allow silence to descend.

  “Music protects this village,” Valorian explained as if he’d heard her question. “We must churn out sound at all hours, each sentinel taking turns.”

  They followed the main thoroughfare to a domed cathedral at the town center. Crystal flutes hung from the ramparts, tinkling in the evening breeze. Once in a while, the wind hit the mouthpiece in the right angle, sounding a breathy note.

  Danika had imagined the House of Song as a giant cottage, or a vast and insurmountable fortress. But now, seeing the legend for the first time, the House of Song couldn’t possibly be anything besides a reverberating dome. The vault echoed the music like a massive speaker, resonating as each note careened through the lofty ceiling.

  Diaphanous moonlight shone through the pinnacle of the glass dome, illuminating a throne made from bluewood sitting on a stage surrounded by feathers. On the throne sat a middle-aged man blowing scales on a wooden flute. As he played, sparrows flew in twirling arcs above his head.

  Danika froze, unwilling to interrupt the tranquil scene, but Valorian gently pulled her forward. Eagerness shone in his metallic eyes, as if he’d introduce her as his new bride and not someone who’d trespassed in their forest.

  The King of Song paused on a low note, the sound echoing before tapering off into the ceiling. The sparrows settled on rafters above his head as he turned to greet the odd procession. Bron had tied the horses to a lamppost near a gushing fountain where they could drink. He stood behind her and Valorian. The boy hid in their shadow.

  “Father, may I introduce Danika Rubystone, Princess of Ebonvale, and her retinue.”

  Valorian turned to Danika, “And may I introduce to you, King Troubadir, my father.”

  King Troubadir set his wooden flute upon the throne’s arm with a click. “This is a long anticipated meeting, dear Princess. Come, take a seat.”

  He gestured to a row of satin pillows circling a low table on the stage. Valorian led Danika up three marble steps. Releasing his arm, she adjusted her skirts and positioned herself on the nearest cushion. After she nodded to Bron and Nip, they did the same. Bron sat at the opposite end of the table, where he had the greatest tactical advantage should he need the use of his claymore. Nip stayed by her side, pleasing Danika more than words could say. Valorian lit several lanterns of painted glass and took a seat by his father.

  A servant appeared, carrying a tray with steaming tea and an ale loaf. Nip whipped his hand out and fingered the largest piece. He stuffed his soot-streaked face until his cheeks stuck out. Danika watched the king’s expression, ready to correct the boy, but the older man smiled. “Help yourselves. You’ve endured a long journey, no doubt.”

  Bron sniffed the tea and took a hesitant sip. He nodded to Danika before she lifted the ivory chalice to her lips. She inhaled th
e scent of wilderberries and tasted sweetness.

  “Thank you, Your Highness, for such wondrous refreshment. Indeed, we’ve had a difficult journey. The wyverns have risen from the south, invading Shaletown, and I’m eager to return to my stronghold.”

  “Surely, you are.” Troubadir sipped his tea and crumbled a piece of ale loaf in his fingertips. “My audience will not detain you at length. However, I suggest you stay the night at least. The Forest of Song is protected by enchantments, but some beasts roam free, undeterred.”

  Danika flicked her gaze over to Bron and the warrior nodded his acquiescence. She buttered a piece of ale loaf with a tiny silver knife. “So be it.”

  Troubadir’s lips stretched into a pleasant smile. “My servants will arrange your chambers shortly.” The smile faded as soon as it appeared. “Now, to discuss the urgent matters at hand. We are both aware of the uprising of wyverns, as proven by your witness of Shaletown’s attack.”

  Danika glanced over at Nip but the remainder of the ale loaf distracted him.

  “I do not wish to sit here and talk of the past.” She raised her eyebrows, gesturing to the soot-covered boy.

  “Of course. My mistake.” He sipped his tea. “Let us talk of the future. I propose an alliance between Ebonvale and the House of Song.”

  Danika stiffened. Her father had warned her for years not to trust the song spinners. He had due cause for his concerns. They could change a person’s mind with only a few plucked notes. Dabbling with the minstrels was akin to stoking a fire.

  She narrowed her eyes. “With such superb defenses, why would you need our alliance?”

  “Excellent question, Princess. Why, indeed?” He stroked his beard, the silver and gold strands catching the lantern light.

  “We’ve lasted hundreds of years, sequestered within the bluewood forest with not as much as a skirmish with the wyverns. Our songs protect our village, much like the famous archers of Ebonvale.”

  The king waved over the nearest server and focused his attention on Nip. “Son, why don’t you follow my friend, Mira. She can show you our collection of leather-bone drums.”

  “I’m fine here, sir.” The boy crossed his arms. Troubadir cast a glance at Danika, but the princess didn’t trust these minstrels. Better if the boy stayed with her. She shook her head.

  “You are a brave boy.” The king paused, placing a piece of ale loaf on a china plate, untouched. Each plate had five staff lines painted with dotted eighth notes across the rim. Which song did each plate hold? Did the un-played notes bless their food or taint it?

  Troubadir sighed. “Our time of peace is at an end. Scouts have come from as far as Brimmore’s Bay claiming stories of a massive Mother-Beast, a leviathan of the sky.”

  Nonsense. Danika shot a glance at Bron. The warrior leaned forward, eyes alert as if the king piqued his attention. Danika ruffled her dress, thinking. If Bron paid these ridiculous claims heed, then she’d sit still long enough to hear him out. She nodded for the king to continue.

  “They say her tail spans the length of three warships, her wings spread the size of Shaletown’s borders. Her neck alone stretches farther than any of these bluewoods.”

  Danika breathed in to contradict him, but he held up a long forefinger.

  “Worse yet, one puff of her breath melts anything in its path within a mile’s radius. Traders from Kilra claim the beast took out the city of Talis within heartbeats.”

  His gaze flickered around the shadows, as if the beast would spring from any lantern flame. “Her eggs gestate while we speak. She’s building an army, a massive legion of sky worms capable of singeing this entire continent before any one of my minstrels could complete a stanza.”

  So quick to respond before, Danika could not summon a retort. His words stirred a sick current of bile in her stomach, and she regretted gulping down so much ale loaf. The boy sat in silence beside her. She should have sent him away with Mira.

  “Do you have any proof of these claims?” Bron’s muscles tensed.

  Troubadir spread his arm across the china plates and crusts and gazed down, wearing a sad smile of inevitability.

  “Holy Helena’s Goblet.” Danika fell backward and caught herself on her elbows.

  Bron jumped up at the same time, and the boy sat wide-eyed, running his hands along the oily surface.

  “This isn’t a table,” her voice croaked.

  A surface of blue-black, as shiny as a marble and as thick as her leg, glittered with swirls of hidden colors when she tilted her head. They’d eaten their dinner on a single scale--a mere shedding from a mighty beast.

  Troubadir wasted no time. “Our only hope is to travel to her isle and defeat her before she lays claim to this land.”

  Bron shifted, his leather tunic creaking like an old floor. “Swarms of wyverns with a giant mother-ass viper in charge--sounds like suicide to me.”

  Danika gasped in enough breath to recover a partial amount of her wits. “Our soldiers are not equipped to handle such fire. No armor can withstand such an onslaught.”

  “Pa’s armor can.” Nip’s boyish voice resonated in the great dome.

  Danika stared at him open-mouthed.

  Nip stood, looking both proud and sad. “He was pounding a leg shin when the wyverns came.”

  “The breastplate.” Danika nodded. “You wore a piece of armor when I first found you.”

  Nip swallowed hard. “I wanted Pa to wear it. I told him to, but he placed the breastplate over my head. As I tried to wiggle free, a puff of smoke pushed me backward into the wall. Ma screamed, then the roof came crashing in and everything became so hot, I feared my skin would melt.”

  Nip slumped down and Danika reached for him, pulling him against her. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

  “And it seems your father has found the answer.” Troubadir bent down to meet the child’s eyes.

  “Where did he get the metal? How did he forge it?”

  Shivering, the boy hid his face in Danika’s skirts.

  “Don’t pester him,” she snapped. “He’s lost so much.”

  Valorian stepped in, putting a hand on her arm. “My apologies, Princess, but we must know, and we don’t have much time.”

  An entire kingdom rested on the memories of a soot-streaked boy. Danika nodded, wiping away a stray tear on his cheek. She pulled Nip away and knelt in front of him, holding his shoulders in both hands. “Where did your father get the metal? Tell me his secret.”

  Nip’s eyes shone bright with fear. He shook his head.

  “Please, Nip. We need the answer now more than ever.”

  He whimpered. “Deep down in tunnels. The albinos traded the metal for rice.”

  “Darkenbite.” Bron hissed under his breath and spat on the floor. “A damned and foul place.”

  “Do you think they have more of it?” Danika smoothed over his hair, ignoring Bron. “Do you think they’ll still trade?”

  Nip nodded, curls bobbing above his eyes.

  “That settles it.” Danika rose from the floor and met Troubadir’s anxious gaze. “We’ll need all the rice you can muster. We’re traveling to Darkenbite at dawn’s break to retrieve more of that precious metal. I’ll employ every blacksmith in Ebonvale to pound it into armor. Once we’re equipped, I’ll send word to your minstrels. Together, we’ll ride out over the Sea of Urchins and battle this untamed She-Beast with the greatest army ever to sail the fourteen seas.”

  She extended her hand to the king, hoping an army would be sufficient, hoping he didn’t push for her hand to Valorian as well. “Deal?”

  Troubadir raised his head, his thin nose pointing up.

  Danika refused to allow herself a glance at Valorian. Who knew the kinds of thoughts smoldering in his head?

  “You have yourself a bargain, Princess.”

  “Good. Please take us to your guest chambers. Nip is tired, and Bron needs his rest if he’s to drive the carriage in the morning.”

  “Negotiations such as thes
e can make anyone tired. Valorian, guide these kind people to their quarters.”

  “Most certainly, Father.” Valorian gestured to the entranceway. “Follow me.”

  Danika reached for Nip’s hand but he shrugged her away. She’d have to accept Valorian’s arm instead. Slipping her fingers around his wrist, she allowed him to lead her into the night. Bron grumbled under his breath behind her as he and Nip followed. Danika resisted the urge to turn around and give him a look.

  Did Darkenbite frustrate him? Or did he find Valorian’s affections annoying?

  Surely, he thought of Darkenbite. How could the Chief of Arms, appointed as her bodyguard by her father before his death, harbor feelings toward a princess? Seven years her elder and five ranks below her, he had as much of a chance as a prisoner in their dungeon cells. Remember that.

  Danika breathed in slowly to calm herself. Long journeys such as these blurred the ranks, but they’d return to Ebonvale soon enough. Her throne and all the expectations along with it awaited her.

  Valorian brought them to a pair of bluewood cottages set apart from the village, resting in a moonlit glade behind the domed House of Song. “The one on the right is for your counterparts. This one, over here is for you.”

  True to his position, Danika’s bodyguard didn’t budge. His dark shadow at her shoulder reassured her.

  “Very well, then.” Valorian slipped her hand into his and brought her fingers to his lips. His kiss fell soft on her skin. “Tomorrow then, Princess.” He bowed to Bron and Nip. “Warrior, and son.”

  Valorian disappeared into the shadows while a lone flute trilled on the wind.

  Bron bowed to Danika and turned to leave. “Come on, little dragon slayer. Best we get some rest.”

  The night seemed unfinished, like she’d struck a dissonant chord with no resolution. A sudden longing to speak with Bron came over her, as if the answering note lay with him. “Bron, wait.”

  He raised an eyebrow and gestured for Nip to go in without him. The boy scurried to the front porch and slipped in the door. Bron returned his attention to her.