by Pati Nagle
A sharp crack to her right made her glance at Luruthin. He looked back, apologizing with his eyes as he removed a pine nut shell from his mouth, then offered her the bowl of nuts. She frowned and turned her gaze back to Ishanen.
He sang with such beauty, such passion. Eliani’s breath caught in her throat and she brushed away the wetness from her eye as he concluded the final verse. She burst into applause the moment the last chord faded away.
Luruthin tossed a handful of shells into the fire, set the bowl in his lap, and brushed his hands, which might be seen as applauding. Eliani ignored him; likely he was trying to goad her. He had always teased her, ever since they were both children, and showed no sign of stopping even though he was now past his majority.
One would think a member of Alpinon’s Guard would have more dignity, more gravity. One might wish it, indeed.
Ishanen put down the harp and picked up his drum. Standing, he began to play a lively rhythm, recognizable as a popular dance. Folk jumped up from their seats and formed a circle out in the hall, clapping along with the drum. Ishanen’s voice rang out, clear and true, cutting through all the noise to sing the dance’s melody.
Luruthin grinned and stood up, setting the bowl of nuts on his chair. He held out a hand to Eliani.
“Come and dance.”
She shook her head, watching Ishanen.
“But you love to dance!”
“Not tonight.”
Luruthin was silent for a moment, then muttered something she did not catch as he strode off to join the growing circle of dancers. She glanced after him, momentarily regretful. She did love dancing, but Ishanen would only be here for a few days. She did not wish to miss a moment of his performance.
She moved to a chair closer to the bard, now that nearly half the company had gone away to dance. Ishanen did not see her; his eyes were closed as he held the drum high and played it while he sang.
He swayed with the rhythms he was playing, a smaller version of the dance. His robe of pale sage green draped along his limbs as he moved. Eliani yearned to touch him, to be enfolded by those long arms, to feel his warmth against her. Never before had she longed so strongly for the sensations she had only heard about.
The dance ended in a roar of cheers and applause. Ishanen opened his eyes and smiled at the dancers’ approval. His brow gleamed slightly from his exertions.
Eliani applauded where she sat, and when Ishanen resumed his seat and glanced at her, she smiled. His answering smile was more polite than warm, but still it raised a little thrill within her chest.
He took up a flute and played a long, mournful melody while the company gradually returned to their chairs. Eliani remained where she was, and no one challenged her for the seat. She knew it was greedy of her, but she could not help it. She wanted to be close to the bard.
Ishanen played and sang long into the night, and Eliani hung upon every note. Toward midnight some of the guests began to depart; she could hear her father’s voice at the front of the hall quietly bidding them farewell. Still, many stayed on to hear the master bard from Southfæld whose presence here in Highstone was such a rare treat.
Governor Jharan had sent Ishanen from the court at Glenhallow to Highstone as a gift to his old friend, Governor Felisan. Eliani’s father adored music; he was always urging minstrels to come to Felisanin Hall, but a bard of Ishanen’s gifts was far superior to the musicians who usually performed there. Indeed, some of the local minstrels were in the audience, and Eliani knew that Ishanen had agreed to meet with them while he was here and teach them some of Southfæld’s traditional music.
She wished she had enough talent to attend those sessions. She played a little on the flute, but poorly.
The circle around the bard grew smaller as guests took their leave. Luruthin pulled two empty chairs out of the way and drew a third closer. Eliani spared only a glance for him, enough to notice that he had not retrieved his bowl of nuts, for which she was thankful.
Her father came and sat beside her, smiling when she looked up at him. He rested an arm across the back of her chair. She loved him, but could wish that he had not chosen this moment to embrace her.
At last, only kin remained listening to the music: Felisan and Eliani, Luruthin and his parents from Clerestone. They were not immediate family—Suthini’s mother and Felisan’s father were siblings—but beside Eliani they were the nearest kin Felisan had save for a sister who had gone to live in Fireshore, and he had invited Lurunan and his parents to stay at Felisanin Hall during Ishanen’s visit.
The fire had burned down to embers. Ishanen sat curled around his lute, head bowed as he frowned slightly in thought. At last he began a final song: “Skyruach,” a ballad commissioned by Governor Jharan, a tribute to the many who fell defending Southfæld at the battle that had concluded the Midrange War.
Eliani glanced at her father, for he had been in the battle along with Jharan. He listened, but his gaze seemed distant and he did not smile.
Ishanen sang with eyes closed once again. Thus freed from fear of embarrassing him, Eliani stared to her heart’s content, memorizing the planes of his face, the subtle colors of his skin, hair, and clothing. Pale colors, all. Only his eyes were dark, and they were hidden.
When the song drew to a close, no one moved or made a sound for a long moment. At last Felisan removed his arm from Eliani’s chair and leaned forward.
“Thank you, Ishanen. You have given us a rare gift this evening.”
The bard opened his eyes and smiled. “It has been my honor.”
“We will let you rest now, for we expect more tomorrow.”
Ishanen’s smile widened to a grin. “I believe I know a few more tunes.”
Suthini and Lurudon stood, and Luruthin joined them. While they exchanged goodnight wishes with Felisan, Eliani stepped toward the bard.
“May I help you carry your instruments to your guest house?”
Ishanen gazed at her, seeming to debate the offer. At last he gave a nod.
“That is kind of you. Thank you.”
Giddy with delight, Eliani could not stand still. “I will fetch your cloak.”
She dashed to the hearthroom and through it to the small chamber where visitors’ belongings were stored, and fetched the only cloak remaining. It was silver colored, a cloth so fine and soft it felt like the feathers of a bird. She folded it carefully over her arm and carried it back to the feast hall, taking care not to let it touch the floor.
Ishanen was putting his flutes into a padded cloth case. He had already covered the lute and the harp in similar cases. They must all have been made by the same person, for they were all of a like green fabric, adorned with silver beads. Ishanen tied the flute case closed and glanced up at Eliani as he slid the drum into a padded satchel.
“Thank you.” He took the cloak from her and put it on, then held out the satchel and the flute case. “Will you carry these?”
Eliani slung the satchel across her shoulder and held the flutes with both hands, knowing she must neither grip them too hard nor drop them. Ishanen settled the lute case at his back and picked up the covered harp. He stepped toward Felisan, who was still talking with the others. The governor turned and saw Eliani, then glanced at the bard.
“Let me have an attendant help you with your instruments.”
“I can do it!”
Eliani stared intently at her father, silently imploring him not to interfere. One brow twitched upward slightly as he looked to Ishanen.
“Perhaps someone could help you with the heavier things.”
Ishanen bowed slightly, his arms full of the harp. “Thank you, but I can manage, with your daughter’s assistance.”
Eliani’s heart beat painfully hard. He wanted her help!
“Well, good night then, Ishanen. Rest well, and thank you again for the music.”
Eliani led the way out of the hall, through the hearthroom and out into the star-scattered night. Autumn’s chill was in the air and she wished momentarily
that she had brought her own cloak, but excitement bore her on toward the high stair that descended from Felisanin Hall to Highstone’s public circle. She glanced back at Ishanen, his hair made paler and eyes darker by the night.
“We could go around by the road if you do not want to take the steps.”
“Thank you, but I believe I can manage.”
Eliani preceded him down the stair, careful to keep both the drum case and the flutes from bumping against the rock wall. The steps were broad enough that two could walk abreast, but burdened as they were it was safer to go separately.
She looked back at Ishanen as she neared the foot of the stair. He came carefully, watching his footing, moving with an unconscious grace that thrilled Eliani.
She walked beside him as they crossed the public circle to the guest house that had been given over to Ishanen’s use during his stay. Luruthin’s family had taken up the guest rooms at the Hall, and in any case, the guest house was more spacious, with a large front room where Ishanen would teach the minstrels on the morrow. Eliani wondered if he might allow her just to sit and listen.
She glanced at him, considering making this request, but her courage failed and she asked a less dangerous question. “Have you been to Highstone before?”
“Once, long ago. I was still an apprentice then. Oralan brought several of us here to play.”
“Oralan ... I do not think I have met him.”
“Doubtless you have not. He has not been back to Highstone, and that visit was long before you were born.”
Eliani pressed her lips together, annoyed at the reference to her age. She was not so very young. More than halfway to her majority.
The door of the guest house stood open, and bright firelight gleamed out from the welcoming hearth. Eliani passed through the hearthroom into the main room, where a fire also burned. Candles stood alight in pewter holders on the large table at one end of the room.
Eliani set her burdens down and turned to help Ishanen, but he had already put his harp in a corner of the room. He took the lute out of its case and unfolded the small whitewood stand that had held it while he played other instruments up at the Hall. Eliani watched him prop the lute upon the stand, his long fingers gently clasping the fragile instrument.
He straightened and turned to her, smiling. “Thank you for your assistance.”
She nodded, her heart beating rather quickly. “Is there anything else you need?”
“I think not. Your father was right, I look forward to resting.”
“I could make you some tea ...”
“That is kind of you, but I do not wish for tea just now.”
She stared at him, her chest rising and falling with each anxious breath. This was not the scene she had pictured as they walked hither. She had thought that being alone together they would fall into cozy conversation, discover tastes they shared, and realize their mutual attraction.
This was not so comfortable as her imaginings. This was awkward. She wished to stay, wished to further her acquaintance with Ishanen, but he was not at all encouraging.
She took a step toward him. “Would you like some company for a while? I would l-love to hear more about Glenhallow.”
“I will tell you more, perhaps, but not tonight.”
“Well ... I enjoyed your singing. Especially the song about the weaver.”
He smiled, moving toward the hearthroom. “Thank you.”
“You know so much about love.” She followed him, wanting to stay close to him though she knew he wished her to leave. “I want to learn from you, Ishanen!”
He paused, blinking. “About music?”
She gulped a breath, knowing she did not sound nearly as mature as she wished. “About love!”
He gazed at her, then raised a hand to her cheek. His khi was warm and gentle; his skin smelled faintly of resin. Eliani stood absolutely still, scarcely daring to breathe.
Ishanen smiled softly as he cupped her jaw with his long fingers. “You are a lovely child, but I would not pluck a flower before it has fully blossomed.”
His voice was so quiet, almost a whisper, yet she heard all too well. She drew a ragged breath.
“I am not—”
“Patience, Eliani. Good night now, and sweet rest to you.”
Somehow she had come to the hearthroom doorway. Ishanen pulled back the drape and held it for her, leaving her no choice but to go out. She should wish him goodnight, but her throat had closed.
She darted out before the tears could slip down her cheeks. She did not want Ishanen to see them. An unhappy gasp escaped her throat as she ran out into the public circle.
“Eliani?”
Not the bard’s voice. Someone else had seen. Her face burning, she ran westward across the circle, between houses and up into the forest.
“Eliani!”
Luruthin. Her heart cringed and she sobbed, climbing the steep slope scattered with leaves and old needles.
“Eliani, wait!”
“Leave me be!”
She leapt for a pine branch and caught it, rough bark hurting her hands as she swung herself up into the tree. A short jump to the next branch around, then along it and onto the limb of a neighboring oak.
She could hear Luruthin on the forest floor, still pursuing her. She wiped her arm across her face and kept on, wanting to be alone.
Tree to tree she ran, pine to oak to greenleaf, sometimes leaping to catch a branch or cross a gap. Anger and humiliation burned in her chest, driving her forward. She fled without thinking, without caring, until she jumped onto a branch and heard a snarl and growl before her.
Eyes glowed at her from low along the branch near the trunk, reflecting faint starlight. The growl rose and fell again, but did not cease.
“Eliani! Do not run!”
She stood still, panting, staring at the creature she had not noticed in her haste. Night washed the color from its pale fur, but she knew it by its rounded ears and huge paws with claws gripping the branch.
Catamount.
“Stand tall, Eliani!”
Trembling, she did as Luruthin commanded, though she wanted to drop down to the branch and make herself small. She heard him climbing; he made little noise but enough that the catamount also noticed. The cat turned its head just before Luruthin appeared on the next branch around.
“Hah, cat! Yes, look at me, it is me you should fear! Eliani, get to the ground. Heigh there, cat, I am watching you!”
Eliani gulped, looking below. She was too high to jump straight down, but a branch below and to her right was within reach.
The cat snarled at Luruthin, ears flat. He was closer to it than she; too close. Fear for him pounding in her heart, she leapt lightly from the branch and caught the lower limb, then swung to the ground.
“Luruthin!”
“Are you down?”
“Yes!”
“Go back to the city. I will be right behind you. Run!”
Choking on a sob, she ran. The catamount’s growl rose to a scream of rage. Eliani skipped to a halt, looking back in dread.
Footsteps pounded, then Luruthin appeared, running through the woods. Eliani sobbed with relief.
He caught her, spinning her around with the force of his pace, and held her shoulders as he peered into her eyes. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. Luruthin crushed her in a swift hug, then took her hand and pulled her toward home.
“Come on.”
“W-wait.”
“We must get back before a patrol is assembled to hunt for you.”
Eliani cringed, wiping at her face as Luruthin dragged her along. She hoped no such notice had been taken of her flight, but if Luruthin had seen her...
What had he been doing in the circle? She had thought he and his parents would retire to their rooms at the Hall.
She had no chance to ask him, being occupied with avoiding tripping as he hastened her back to Highstone. As they neared the few houses at the west side of the circle, she heard v
oices raised in alarm. Her heart sank.
Luruthin pulled her forward, passing between the houses and into the circle. A handful of guardians were gathered there, three of them saddling horses. Luruthin went toward them.
“Eliani is safe!”
Heads turned at his call. Felisan hurried forward from behind one of the horses.
“Eliani! Thank the spirits!”
He caught her in his arms and held her close. She tensed, but did not squirm away.
“I am sorry, Father. I did not mean to cause alarm.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. I just ... wanted to be alone.”
He held her by her shoulders and stared hard at her. Eliani swallowed. To forestall further questions, she glanced at Luruthin.
“I came upon a catamount—almost stumbled over it, and angered it. Luruthin distracted it so I could get away.”
Felisan looked at her cousin. “Thank you, Luruthin.”
Luruthin nodded, then met Eliani’s gaze. “I am glad I was nearby.”
Her father thanked the guardians and bade them goodnight, then put his arm around Eliani’s shoulder and led her toward the stair up to the Hall. Luruthin followed.
Eliani could not keep from glancing toward the guest house. The door stood open still, and the fire on the welcoming hearth burned bright. The ground floor windows were lit with soft light as well, and she thought she saw a figure standing at the side of one.
She looked away, fresh heat in her cheeks. The bard wanted none of her; he thought her a child. Unhappiness welled anew in her chest and she stifled a sob.
Her father glanced at her, but said nothing until they had entered Felisanin Hall and retired to their private quarters. Stopping in the hallway outside his study, he turned her to face him.
“Do you wish to talk?”
Eliani shook her head. She stared at his feet, and at Luruthin’s beyond. There was a scuff of dirt on one of Luruthin’s boots.
“Are you all right, Eliani?”
She nodded, then looked up at her father’s concerned face. “I am sorry to have caused a disturbance.”
He stroked a hand over her hair, then tousled it as he had done when she was a child. Eliani gritted her teeth.
