"No," he admitted. He hoped the same could be said of him, but at the moment, he wasn't at all sure of it.
"Then what's the harm? Come on. Tell me."
"Why do you want to know so badly?"
Wren gestured at the knot surrounding her father with a disgusted look. "Nothing happens here! Oh sure, they all seem marvelously happy. But your father—"
"Tal's not my father."
"Whatever you say. The Magebutcher coming to the Coral Castle is the most exciting thing to happen in years. But though he's been here for weeks, I don't know why he's here. He just lies around, drinking wine with my father and a bunch of lazy sons of nobles, and does nothing." The gold in her eyes swirled. "Is he actually a hero? Or did Father make up all those stories?"
"He didn't make them up! I told you earlier that he overcame those quetzals. And before that, he scared off bandits by using magic to make a hammer burst into flames."
"Hm." Wren didn't seem convinced.
But Garin's thoughts had caught on something else. "That name you called him — Magebutcher. I'd never heard that in Tal's legends, but King Aldric called him it as well. What's the story?"
The girl's eyes narrowed. "I'll tell you if you tell me why he's here."
Curiosity and loyalty waged war for a short moment. But after all that Tal had done for him, he knew how he had to answer.
"I can't," he muttered, not meeting Wren's gaze.
She lingered for a moment longer, then stalked off, leaving him alone in the dark corner with his guts twisting together.
Ox, one of the troupers, slipped up next to him, moving nimbly for a big man. "Need to sharpen your skills, my boy," he rumbled in his deep voice. "A girl like Wren won't be easy to please."
When Garin stared at him blankly, Ox laughed. "I speak of the highest art in all the lands, Garin! Of mashing one's lips together with a girl — or boy, we're not picky in the Dancing Feathers — in a way pleasurable for both!"
It took a moment longer for comprehension to settle in. "I wasn't—," he spluttered. "That is, we weren't—"
Ox bellowed another laugh and clapped him on the back, sending him staggering forward a step. "Never fear, lad! Falcon isn't that sort of father — he's a lover, not any kind of warrior. Besides, he knows Wren can take care of herself. Now, the secret to a proper kiss is—"
Garin was already running for the door.
The Song
As Tal entered the Smallstage, a cacophony of noise welled up to greet him, and he smiled as he took in the scene.
In one corner, Jonn and Ox were showing Garin how to juggle — or attempting to, for the lad didn't seem to have the touch for even three apples. On the stage, other players of the troupe were performing a raucous stomping-and-singing routine, their accents mimicking those of the provincial Nortveld folk to an offensive degree. He could barely glimpse Wren through the door to the backroom as she bent over a project.
His smile widened. For all its royal patronage and expensive costumes, the Dancing Feathers was every bit the same troupe as when he'd left it.
"Practically a menagerie, isn't it?" Falcon appeared from nowhere, not seeming to have lost the stage trick of stepping softly. "I find they're safer viewed from behind bars as well."
"With manacles bolted to the wall, no doubt."
Falcon beamed over the spectacle with all the pride of a parent. But as he looked back to Tal, his smile faded. "Somehow, I don't think you've come to join in the revelry."
"Not today. I need your help."
"My help? Are you sure that's wise?"
"I can't tell you everything. But if you come now, I'll explain what I can on the way."
A smile curled the minstrel's lips. "A mysterious errand. A set-up fit for the stage, wouldn't you say?"
Tal raised an eyebrow. "Don't be too eager. It only involves a case of madness and poisoning nightmares."
Falcon gestured widely toward the door. "Pull the rope already. Your noose is around my neck."
Garin glanced over his shoulder as he slipped into the backroom. Having only just escaped from Ox and Jonn's tireless efforts to turn him into a jester, he felt as if he were only just taking his first breath since entering the Smallstage. Seeing the room was empty, he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, letting his spinning mind settle.
"Even I think they're a bit much sometimes."
His eyes flew open to find the room not as empty as he'd thought. Wren's head was cocked and her eyes narrowed, wearing an unnervingly similar look as his mother when she was trying to decide which animal to butcher for the Harvest Festival.
Just as he was wondering if he should have said something in response, she spoke again. "Can you keep a secret?"
It was his turn to narrow his eyes. "I suppose so."
She sighed. "It doesn't exactly inspire confidence, but… Silence take it all."
Wren turned toward the back of the room and beckoned him closer. He followed, curiosity urging him forward into the recesses of the dim room.
They passed between rows upon rows of hanging costumes, between half-finished props and parts of backdrops, to the very back of the room. Garin's stomach turned over and over, wondering what she meant to show him, not daring to believe his hopes, unable to do anything but hope.
Reaching the back, she faced a backdrop of a forest that hung from the ceiling like a drape, then brushed it aside and stood back to let Garin see beyond her. He blinked, staring at the object set upon a squat table.
"A barrel?" he asked dubiously.
"Not just any barrel. A tun." The gold in Wren's eyes seemed to brighten for a moment, then she gestured him in, and he bowed in under the backdrop and squeezed by her into the small space beyond. Though they often had close contact while sparring, their proximity seemed far closer there in the backroom than it ever had under Master Krador's watchful gaze.
Garin swallowed as he stared down at the tun. As Wren let the drape fall back, the sparse light from the room beyond was nearly extinguished, so he could barely see her crouch before the keg.
"It's full of Jakadi wine," he heard her say, a note of smug satisfaction to her voice. "Paid a kitchen boy to haul it up here during supper one evening."
"Jakadi wine." He didn't know what exactly made Jakadi wine special compared to any other wine, but he'd heard enough reverent talk of it to be impressed. "No one's noticed it's here?"
"No one who's said anything to me. Here, hold out your hand."
He obliged and felt the cool metal of a cup pressed into his palm. Raising the cup to his nose, he sniffed, and the scent of spice and grapes filled his head. At Wren's urging, he tipped it to his lips. It tasted similar to its scent, only worse, and he was glad for the darkness to hide his expression. Not something he'd have chosen to drink; but then, he supposed it was the same as with Crazy Ean's marsh whiskey: you had to develop a taste for it, and once you did, nothing else could replace it.
He saw her rise, heard her drink, then chuckle. "Still tastes as bitter as doing penance, if I'm honest."
Garin grinned into the darkness. "If I'm honest, it tastes even worse."
Wren clinked their glasses together. "Then we'd best drink it fast."
For once, Garin found his doubts and worries had gone silent, and he tilted his head back and drained the whole glass.
Tal gestured to the door. "You should knock."
Falcon raised an eyebrow. "Why me?"
"Everyone loves bards."
"Everyone except marchionesses with unmarried daughters."
Tal grinned his concession, then knocked.
The butler who answered looked them over with a scrutiny that showed no trace of impropriety, yet managed to look disapproving all the same. When he was through with his examination, he escorted them upstairs to a study where they found the marchioness waiting.
"Gentlemen," Marchioness Nalda greeted them coolly as she rose and extended a limp hand to them. "How very welcome you are in my home."
>
Tal took her hand and bent low to kiss it, Falcon doing the same after him. "How very welcome you've made us feel, m'lady," Tal said with a small smile.
The marchioness supplied her own smile, every bit as cutting as his, as she gestured for them to sit. "I understand you wish to see my daughter, Teline."
Not one to dance around the fire. "Yes, we do."
"About her… incident the other day."
"The very one."
Marchioness Nalda's gaze slid over to Falcon. "As I understand it, you were there that day."
Tal glanced at his companion and found confirmation in his eyes. So why didn't he tell me before we came here? he wondered.
The Court Bard bowed his head to the marchioness. "Indeed I was, m'lady. So you must understand why I am concerned and wish to visit Teline and ensure her health is well."
The noblewoman considered him for a long moment, then gestured to her butler. "Show them to Teline's room. They will require but half an hour to conclude their business, I'm sure. Perhaps it will lay to rest some of the rumors haunting this house."
If this is the mother, I cannot wait to meet the daughter, he thought as they rose and followed the butler out of the room.
A short walk down the hall and a turn into a room later, they entered Teline's room, the butler remaining at the door as a not-so-subtle guard. Tal glanced around the room but found nothing remarkable in the opulence. His gaze came to rest on the girl tucked under the canopied bed, her dark eyes wide, her brown hair loose about her pillow and slightly disheveled.
"Hello there," she said, her eyes briefly catching on them, then wandering past.
Tal exchanged a glance with Falcon and found the bard unsurprised. He knew her state, or at least suspected. Plastering on a smile, Tal turned his gaze back to Teline and, kneeling, took her hand from the covers, brushing his lips against the cold, clammy skin. "Mistress Teline, what an honor it is to meet you. I am Tal Harrenfel."
The girl, no more than sixteen, smiled back uncertainly, his name seeming to mean nothing to her.
Falcon knelt next to him and took her hand in kind. "An honor for me as well, mistress. Perhaps you don't remember me, but I am Falcon Sunstring, Court Bard to His Majesty."
"The Court Bard." Teline smiled vaguely. "Such pretty songs you played for us at the last ball."
Falcon bowed his head with a smile. "You flatter me, m'lady."
Both of them rising, Tal studied her, his smile planted firmly on his lips. Some memory loss, he noted, but not complete. Absent-minded, as if distracted by something else.
"Pardon us for the intrusion and impertinence, m'lady," he said aloud, "but we had a few questions for you. Regarding the day you… fell."
The smile fled from Teline's face. "W-why?"
Tal's smile turned apologetic. "I am sorry if the question pains you. We merely wish to understand what happened, for your sake and for others."
The girl's eyes flickered between the two of them, then to the butler standing by the door. "Alright," she murmured.
Tal glanced at Falcon, who looked to the girl. "Lady Teline," the Court Bard said gently, "might you tell us what happened in the corridor that day?"
Teline slowly sat up, hair falling about her shoulders, eyes wide and staring at her covers. "I was near the east tower — why, I can't remember. Everything's so blurry since…" She shivered before continuing. "I was walking down the corridor — to where, I don't recall — when I heard it…"
"Heard what?" Falcon prompted when she trailed off.
"The Song," she breathed.
Tal felt a vague prickling at the nape of his neck.
"A song?" Falcon repeated. "Was it a particular song?"
Teline nodded. "Oh, yes. But it wasn't like any song I'd heard before." Her gaze slid away from them to the wall, but Tal had the feeling she didn't see the stones any more than she saw them standing next to the bed.
"It had no melody, no chords, no rhythm. No instruments played, and no minstrels sang. But all the same, I knew it was a song."
"What did you hear?" Falcon asked softly.
"Birds. The rustling of leaves. The grinding of stone against stone. Water pattering on rooftops. Footfalls in sand." A small smile curved her lips, and her gaze grew yet more distant.
"And what else?" the bard whispered.
Teline's smile turned to a frown. "Screams. The hiss of blades. The thud of falling bodies. The crackle of burning wood and… and…" Her breath was coming quick now, her eyes wide with horror.
Tal knelt before her, taking her hand in both of his. "It's alright," he murmured. "You don't hear it now, right?"
Slowly, her eyes found his, and she seemed to return to the present. She shook her head doubtfully. "I suppose not."
"What happened after that?" Falcon prompted. "After this song?"
Teline startled as if having forgotten the Court Bard was there and looked up shyly. "Then I fell. Mother told me the warlock was the first to kneel by me and care for me, but he said I wasn't injured."
"That warlock? In the east tower?" An uneasy suspicion rose in Tal.
The girl nodded. "Kaleras the Impervious," she murmured.
"My apologies, sirs, but I am afraid I must ask you to leave."
Tal blinked and turned to the butler, who had taken a step into the room. "Now?" he croaked.
The butler nodded curtly. "Lady Nalda's orders were explicit. If you would follow me…"
Teline barely seemed to notice as they bade her farewell and followed the butler from the small manor house. Only once the manservant had closed the door behind them did they exchange a look.
"Do you have any idea what that was about?" Tal muttered.
"Not the slightest."
"Isn't music supposed to be your expertise?"
Falcon's smile was curiously wide as he adjusted the dark metal bracelet on his wrist, which had slipped from his sleeve into sight. "Not when it involves sorcery. Then it should be yours."
The Song, he mused as they walked back toward the Coral Castle, rising from the hill above them. A damned dangerous ballad. He wondered if Falcon was right; if it was sorcery or some other sudden malady. Or if it is the Song in my book of fables.
But most of all, he wondered what it meant that the incident occurred so close to the tower where the Warlock of Canturith was presently lodging.
"Why's the World spinning? Silence, Serenity, and Solemnity, won't it stop spinning?"
The words were spilling from his mouth, spewing around his feeble self-control like a cracked ewer patched with parchment. A warmth spread through his limbs, right down to his toes and the tips of his fingers, and a humming filled his head. Almost, he thought he heard whispers of something, vague hints of familiar sounds, but too faint to detect.
Wren giggled in the darkness near him. A giggle — when had he ever thought he'd hear that coming from her?
"Drank too fast," she said, her words almost as slurred as his. "Supposed to…" She paused, seeming to grasp for words, or perhaps just compel her numb tongue to form them. "...Savor it."
Garin leaned his head back against the stone wall, a grin slack across his face. "Don't know whether to thank you or curse you for showing me your secret."
"Probably both. You haven't been drink-sick before, have you?"
He groaned. "Remind me never to trust you again."
"But if I remind you, should you trust me then?"
They both laughed far too much at that.
"While you're still in a thankful mood," she continued, her tone shifting slightly, "there's something I wanted to ask you again."
He knew there was something to her words he should pay attention to, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. The pleasant buzzing that accompanied the whirling was making it difficult to pay much attention to anything. "What's that?"
"Tal Harrenfel. I know he's not just a drunk. I know he's up to something. But for the life of me, I can't figure out what." He felt her move closer, close en
ough to feel the warmth of her body, so close they were almost pressed against each other. "But I know you know."
He was finding it hard to think, and could only manage, "I suppose so."
"Tell me. I won't tell anyone else — I swear it by all the Quiet Havens and Pyres of the Night."
Garin felt the smile slip into a vague frown. He'd sworn to Tal not to speak of it. But what harm could it pose to tell Wren? She wouldn't tell anyone else. This tun of Jakadi wine was proof enough that she could keep a secret.
"Fine."
Now she did press against him, her leg against his, and he had to repress a shiver. "Truly? What is it?"
He leaned closer, close enough he could feel her breath on his cheek. "He's hunting a traitor."
"A traitor? In the castle?"
He nodded, then realized she couldn't see him. "Yes. But that's all I know."
He felt her lean away. "A traitor." Then she was standing on her feet. "We have to find him, or her. Wherever they are, whoever they are, we have to find them."
Garin rose unsteadily to his own feet and nearly fell back over, barely managing to stay upright by holding onto Wren. Once he'd grabbed hold of her, he found he was reluctant to let go. "Shouldn't we leave that to Tal?" he protested weakly. "Or at least wait until the spinning stops?"
Her eyes gleamed again for a moment. "You have to make a name for yourself somehow. And if Tal can make his while drunk, why can't we?"
As she pulled him out from behind the backdrop and back into the dim light of the room beyond, Garin felt there was a flaw in her logic. But with his body feeling strangely warm and light, the vague whispers in his ears, and her pressed close next to him, he found it hard to care.
The Moonlit Courtyard
Tal kicked his heels up and pretended to take another sip from his goblet. "Thank you for meeting me, my dear peers. A man can never have too many companions to drink with."
"Nor too much drink to drink," Falcon added from next to him.
A King's Bargain Page 13
