Fae Song EPUB

by Williams , Deonne

  That left Rashelle to Shae. She was a delicate girl, quite unlike her strong and boisterous siblings. While most of the young people at court were following Vaethen and Caralyn, chasing game across the countryside, Rashelle enjoyed easy rides to secluded glens where she would spend an afternoon sketching squirrels or wildflowers. When her precarious health kept her confined, she would bury herself in a book, correspond with distant scholars in other languages, or 73

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  debate Shae and her tutors over some obscure philosophical point. Shae settled with ease into the role of trusted friend and confidant to the brilliant, fragile Rashelle.

  There was something else in the bag, and he steeled himself when an ornately framed, skillfully executed miniature dropped into his hand. Rashelle had laughed when she gave it to him, saying that self-portraits were usually so idealized they bore little resemblance to the painter. She was wrong; the portrait was a perfect resemblance. Deep red ringlets framed the gentle blue-green eyes and sweet-featured face smiling softly in the frame.

  Shae’s hand clamped around the miniature, hiding it from his view after no more than a glance, the frame’s edges digging sharply into his palm. His eyes turned to blackened embers with four tortured years of unexpressed grief raging within them.

  He would have protected her from any walking, breathing enemy that had sought her life, no matter the cost.

  Instead, Rashelle’s life had been stolen when she woke one morning with a chill that became pneumonia by sunset. The struggle for breath taxed her frail heart beyond repair, and at last, the royal healer shook his head, saying that there was nothing more that could be done, except to make her comfortable and ease her passing.

  Shae had kept watch with her mother, holding Rashelle’s hand and whispering what words of comfort he could muster, while inside, he raged at a foe he could not confront or hope to vanquish. Rashelle died like she had lived, quietly and gently, her hand slowly growing cold in his.

  When dawn arrived, Laef had unclenched his brother’s hand, half-carried him to his rooms where Laef poured him whisky until he mercifully passed out. Shae had left Ranleven immediately after the state funeral, returning to the palace only to gather his weapons and throw his saddlebags over 74

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  Talon’s back. He had stripped off his vambraces when he nearly rode Laef down, galloping through the gates, deaf to his brother’s plea to remain in Hasdran.

  He had been prepared for all the usual sacrifices expected of a Lifeguard, loss of home, family, and childhood friends. All those things he had been ready to endure. He had not been prepared to suffer the loss of a charge that none of his finely-honed skills could save. Shae had long considered that part of his life buried with Rashelle, but Corwyn had sharply recalled his past to him and the forced memories were not comfortable.

  The sound of Gwynn splashing out of her bath pulled him from his reverie and back to the present. He put the miniature and vambraces away, returning to his chair in the front room long before Gwynn opened the bedroom door.

  “Are you well?” she asked, unable to miss the dark whisper of melancholy in the room.

  “I’m fine; why would you think otherwise?”

  “You looked far away and sad staring into the fire.

  Harsh weather often brings heavy thoughts; let me show you how I chase them away.” Gwynn picked up her harp and called a bright melody from the strings. After a time, Shae’s thoughts began to ease, and by the time they were ready to go down for dinner, he was his comfortable controlled self once more.

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  CHAPTER FIVE

  The bards were sharing all the news, political rumblings, and rumors they had gathered in their travels over dinner, interesting Shae enough that he slowed his consumption. He had spent a portion of the last two years in the isolation of a Caeross mining camp, keeping the guards for the payroll and gem shipments in fighting shape.

  It had paid well enough but had kept him out of touch with what was happening beyond the borders of Caeross.

  “Have you heard the news about Rhodri? I cannot believe I didn’t say something sooner!” exclaimed Corwyn.

  “Rhodri ap Meredeth, the head of our college in Samhayne? He’s been there since before I was born. He must be older than dirt,” Gwynn giggled.

  “Dirt would be correct. The old windbag dropped dead in the middle of the college harvest banquet.”

  “Oh Corwyn, I was rude out of ignorance, but you knew better. You should be ashamed, speaking ill of our deceased brother like that!” she said, shaking her finger at him while a flush colored her cheeks,

  “Deceased great-grandfather is more like it. You have never had to assist at one of his lectures about the importance of polyphony. Old windbag is accurate. Self-important old windbag would be more accurate.”

  “So, when will the gorseth be held?” Traditionally, any bard holding the rank of Master had the right to become 76

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  head of the colleges in Inishmore or Samhayne. Whoever could best all other Masters in a gorseth earned the right to administer the college. The competition would be fierce; Rhodri had held his position for thirty years.

  “It was decided to begin the gorseth at the next harvest banquet. That will allow time to compete and declare a winner before the Wintertide festivities.”

  “And here I am, already on my way to Samhayne. Are you going to enter?” Gwynn kept her tone centered on polite curiosity, but she had already determined Corwyn would not be difficult to best.

  “Perhaps. I’m to play at the wedding of an old friend’s daughter next month in Glen Firth. I’ll wander through Midsummers, and if I don’t find a road in another direction I can’t resist, I may return to Samhayne in time.”

  The blond that had caught Shae’s attention in the kitchen approached their table and pointed to the door where a young man stood in sopping crimson livery. “Lady bard, there’s a gentleman here asking for you.”

  Gwynn excused herself from the table, and Corwin watched her cross the room. “Who is her patron? I’m guessing someone well-placed and wealthy; Gwynn is not going to be an ornamental songbird content in the household of Milord Puffypant’s third son.”

  “She doesn’t have a patron; she has the sense to realize that pretty songbirds should not fly alone,” Shae told Corwyn between bites of his dessert.

  “She is following the road?”

  “Don’t all bards take to the road?”

  “Not many female ones.”

  Before he said more, Gwynn sauntered back to the table with a satisfied grin on her face. “Lord Strathearn respectfully requests my presence tomorrow evening. It seems it will be his daughter’s fifteenth birthday, and he 77

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  wishes to make it memorable for her. This is to make sure I have no other engagements.” She tossed Shae a small velvet pouch.

  “Strathearn seems a generous man,” he observed, weighing it in his hand before tucking it away.

  At that moment, the blond returned to their table, this time asking for Corwyn and again pointing to the door.

  Another young man stood just inside, his dripping golden livery a reflection of the one before him.

  Corwyn went to speak with him and an exchange exactly like Gwynn’s took place. When he started back, the innkeeper cut him off and began an earnest conversation.

  After a few moments, Corwyn patted her on the shoulder and came back to the table.

  “Master Taran of the Goldsmith’s Guild requests my presence at the elevation of several journeymen two evenings hence. Now, if we don’t start singing soon, that poor woman is simply going to burst.”

  He reached for his harp case and Gwynn followed suit. His harp lacked the pillar ornament of hers, but it was covered in similar carved knot work. Corwyn struck a tuning chord for her without looking up, and Gwynn’s eyes flashed with suppressed indignation. But since he was the older of the two, it was customary for him to set the key, so she settl
ed for copying the chord perfectly and allowed the strong tone of her harp to drown his.

  Corwyn cast a startled look at Gwynn’s harp before meeting her cool stare. “You carry Talaysen’s harp?”

  “I earned the right to claim it. Why wouldn’t I carry it?” “You are right. Forgive me?” The remorse in Corwyn’s voice was sincere.

  “Well, you did apologize.”

  After a brief consultation about their respective 78

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  repertoires, they were ready. Corwyn stood and gestured for Gwynn to lead the way. The room grew silent in anticipation when they took their places near the hearth and spoke the greeting to their audience in unison. Shae felt the pull when their music began and was able to watch as those surrounding him gave in.

  Corwyn’s robust baritone matched well with Gwynn’s powerful soprano. So rich were their harmonies, their voices often resembled a chorus, rather than two. When at last they finished, it took the room several moments to recover. After acknowledging their audience, they returned to their table, Corwyn studying her face intently.

  “I think you give too much of yourself in your songs.

  I could feel it as we sang together; even I was caught up in your music. Is that wise?”

  “What would be unwise about it?” Shae’s question came right behind his.

  “It is possible for a bard to lose themselves entirely to music. Their souls fly with it, leaving the shell of their body behind to wither away. We are supposed to know where those limits begin and not cross them, but you cause me great concern, my sister,” Corwyn explained, his eyes never leaving Gwynn’s face.

  Shae’s eyebrow rose. “Does Corwyn have a need to worry for you? Do you cross boundaries that you should not?” “Those boundaries were made for those with less strength of will. I never have any trouble letting the music go. None of those who have lectured me won the Harp of Talaysen; I did. Do you care to guess how much will that took?” Gwynn’s voice echoed in the space between them.

  “I only ask that you are careful,” Corwyn told her.

  “I am being careful. I found a Southron to look after me. Who would be better suited to keeping me out of 79

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  trouble?”

  “Even I might not be able to save you from yourself.

  You will have to use some common sense,” Shae said.

  “I know what I’m doing,” she insisted. “There is no need for worry.”

  “So be it.” Corwyn’s voice indicated his surrender to Gwynn’s persuasion. He smiled out at the common room.

  “Now shortly, they’re going to want more songs. If you like, I’ll go first, age before beauty.”

  “Or skill,” Gwynn teased, lifting her glass to him.

  “You’re big enough Shae; can’t you spank her when she’s being naughty?”

  Shae chuckled when Gwynn’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose I could, but I also like to sleep soundly. This one strikes me as the vengeful type, and since we share lodgings, that could get worrisome.”

  “So there.” She tossed a bread crust at Corwyn.

  “Enough!” He reached across the table and grabbed Gwynn’s wrist. “Sorry Shae, I’m about to discipline your charge.”

  “I won’t interfere if you don’t leave bruises.”

  “Of course not, there are better ways to punish an impudent young lady.” He pulled Gwynn from her chair and held her arms behind her back with one hand while tickling her unmercifully with the other.

  “Shae!” she gasped, trying to wriggle free of Corwyn’s grasp. “Make him stop!”

  “Eventually, I’m enjoying watching you squirm.”

  Shae’s grin flashed at Corwyn while she struggled. He finally released her, and she fell back into her chair. Shae surveyed her flushed features, still grinning. “Keeping you safe doesn’t mean I won’t let you be reprimanded when you deserve it.”

  “Whose side are you on?”

  “Yours. Consider this an exercise in improving your 80

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  manners; if I can teach you to behave, I won’t have to kill as many people.”

  “Better keep your blades sharp,” Corwyn advised with a chuckle, “few of us ever learn to behave.”

  “As I’m beginning to see. All right brat, have it your own way. I will bear the burden fate has thrust upon me,”

  Shae sighed.

  “People are beginning to look this way again,”

  Corwyn said. “I’ll start the second round, and you finish it.”

  He signaled for more wine when he reached for his harp.

  “Good, it will allow me time to recover from your uncontested attack on my person. A fat lot of good this Southron is doing me.” Gwynn attempted to punch Shae on the upper arm when she finished. His opposite hand snaked out, closing firmly around her fist, and stopping it a full hand span from his arm while Corwyn strolled back to the fireplace.

  “Oh, you’ll come to appreciate me more,” he told her, easily pushing her hand to her side before releasing it.

  “Better wet your throat while you can. I think you and Corwyn are going to be busy here in Mazlo.”

  “I hope so; I just hired some Southron who will want to be paid from time to time. I better stay busy all the way to Samhayne.”

  “Yes, you had. I’m certain I don’t have anything suitable to wear for a noble girl’s birthday celebration. Did we not agree that you were responsible for my clothing expenses?” Shae waved at their server and ordered a second dessert.

  “Since I don’t pay to feed you, I think I’m still ahead.”

  “No doubt of that.”

  After Gwynn’s second turn at playing, the crowd began to thin. It was earlier than the two bards were used to being finished, but in the light of the weather, they both 81

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  understood. The audience was generous, however; Corwyn’s beaten old hat was full when it returned to him.

  “Good evening’s work; even split sound fair, Gwynn?” Usually, when two bards performed together, the older bard received a slightly larger share of the earnings. It seemed Corwyn was trying to make up for his earlier assumptions.

  “Fine with me. Why don’t you come up and sit with us for a bit? We can split it there, and you can show me your chord variation in The Skylark. I like it better than the traditional chords, but I’m still missing something in the second set of changes.”

  “If you will teach me that song you sang about the runaway piglet. I laughed until I cried. Where did you find it?”

  “I wrote it last fall. What’s more, it happened exactly the way I described it. Sometimes, the truth is much more amusing than anything made up.”

  Shae volunteered to fetch another bottle of wine while the bards headed for the stairs. The bottle had transformed into two bottles, some cheese, and sliced fruit by the time he arrived in their room.

  Gwynn giggled while she pulled off her boots. “Travel with a Southron and you’ll never go hungry. If I couldn’t manage to sing for our supper, I bet Shae would scare it out of someone.”

  “No need to scare anyone,” Shae advised her, setting his prizes on the table. “I can always charm it out of some unsuspecting server.”

  “I’ve eaten many a fine meal intended for other tables that way,” Corwyn agreed smugly.

  “I don’t know which one of you is worse. Shame on you both!” Gwynn exclaimed in reproof.

  “Gwynn don’t tell me you haven’t used charm to your 82

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  advantage,” Corwyn said.

  “Not for dinner, that’s too easy.” Shae rounded on her with an evil grin, and she realized that, once again, she had spoken without thinking.

  “Tell me more.” He placed his hands on the arms of her chair and leaned forward, trapping her. “I’ve seen you render men speechless with your pretty face, but how have you used your charm?”

  “You two are the experienced travelers, not me.”

  Gwynn returned S
hae’s gaze with careful innocence; her vanity pleased to learn he found her attractive.

  “Nice dodge, now answer my question.”

  “I have persuaded a stable hand to give me extra rations for Rogue when I was a few coins short,” she admitted, “but I’m not sure that is the same.”

  “Not quite the innocent you would have us believe. I knew it all along,” Shae told her, tapping Gwynn playfully on the chin when he straightened.

  He opened the wine while the bards settled in front of the fire. Corwyn showed Gwynn his chord variation, and after that, she taught him her piglet song. Then they just made music together, the notes dancing around each other like fireflies on a balmy summer evening. The wind’s howling faded to a murmur, and the rain whispered gently against the windowpanes while they played. Later, much later, Gwynn’s fingers slowed when she tried to stifle a yawn.

  “You don’t have to be polite. Just have Shae throw me out if you’re ready for bed.”