Fae Song EPUB

by Williams , Deonne

  “I don’t really want to stop, but I am getting sleepy.

  It’s just been so long since I had the company of a fel ow bard.”

  “I agree; we will try to find more time for music.”

  Shae removed his feet from their comfortable position on one of the low tables and went to open the door 83

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  for Corwyn. The moment the latch released, the wind began to rise again, whistling under the eaves of the inn. “I’ll go check on the horses before bed. They seemed unsettled today.” Both bards’ expressions grew blank before they replied in unison. “The horses are fine.”

  “Talon is lying down, sound asleep,” Gwynn added.

  “Just the same, I’m going to look in on them. That is the only way I will be certain.”

  He followed Corwyn out into the hall and toward the stairs. His room was on the far end of the upper story, so they walked the short distance to the stairs together.

  Reaching the staircase, Corwyn caught Shae’s eyes. “I spent half a year in Samhayne, and all the talk was of the next Wintertide Tournament. I recall hearing the last winner was a Southron Blademaster named Brashaen. Would that have been your father?”

  “It would; he also won the pairs matches with my mother. Anything else I can do for your curiosity?”

  “Are you entering this year? I want to know how to place my bets.”

  “I’m entering, and my brother Laef is planning on entering too if his current position allows him the time.”

  “Which one of you will win, or is that a question I should not ask a Southron about a sibling?” Corwyn’s tone was sly.

  “I would never pass judgment on my younger brother’s skills.”

  “That tells me everything I need to know. Good night, Shae, Brashaen’s son, try not to get soaked checking on your sleeping horse.” Corwyn ambled off toward his room, humming the song Gwynn had taught him.

  Shae took the stairs and crossed the darkened common room. When he opened the inn door and looked, 84

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  there were deep puddles in the yard, and the rain was falling in heavy sheets. For a moment, Shae hesitated, tempted to take Gwynn’s word about the horses, but then his disciplined nature took over. He dashed across the yard to the barn and found she was correct; Talon was sound asleep in the straw.

  Rogue, however, was awake and nickered a greeting.

  Shae gave him a wisp of hay that had fallen outside of his stall. “Very well, next time I’ll believe her. I suppose I just had to see it for myself.” Rogue snorted and rubbed his forehead against Shae’s hand, begging for a scratch. Shae indulged him, and he responded with a contented sigh and half-closed eyes. “You are spoiled and, like your mistress, equally unashamed of it. Good night, Rogue.”

  He raced back across the yard, slipping into the inn door. Shaking the rainwater from his hair, he glided in silence across the room and upstairs. When he opened the door, Gwynn was seated on the rug in front of the fire, staring into its glowing depths.

  “You were right; Talon was asleep. I gave Rogue a scratch for you though.” She started at the sound of his voice.

  “Great Mother! How can someone your size move so silently?”

  “Lots of practice,” he laughed, reaching for the wine and their glasses before claiming a chair by the hearth. “I thought you were going to bed.”

  “I was thinking about Corwyn asking you if you knew who my patron was. He seemed to forget that bards can hear each other’s voices across a crowded room.”

  “I am going to keep learning all manner of interesting things about you, aren’t I?” Shae sighed. “In his defense, he just seemed surprised that you were following the road. He stated that was unusual for a female bard.”

  “It is, and I’m probably taking it too seriously. It’s just 85

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  that I run into comments like that all the time. I understand some of it; I know I don’t quite fit into any of the roles expected of me.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, I won Talaysen’s harp. No one ever dreamed that it wouldn’t go to a man, so when I won it, there were those who didn’t think it was proper. It couldn’t be denied, but there were whispers of disapproval. Corwyn is right; most women from Inishmore do become household bards.

  Although our ranges tend to be more extensive, few of us have voices that match the strength of our male counterparts. Entertaining an attentive household audience requires less vocal power than singing down drunks at inns.

  My mother’s range was phenomenal, but it lacked strength.

  Mother also found no charm in traveling; she said that awakening daily with sticks in her hair was not a life she sought.”

  “In Southron, we believe that if your choices don’t hurt those who are innocent, you should live your life the way you choose. If you don’t, you will never be happy.”

  “You had some wise teachers. My teachers thought I was too stubborn, and my mother thought I was too adventurous. If I wasn’t both, I would not have earned that!”

  She waved her hand toward her harp.

  “I agree; sometimes, it’s necessary to push yourself past what others think you are capable of doing, and it has been my own experience that often gets called being too stubborn. If it’s any consolation, and the gods know I’m no expert when it comes to bards, I think you are very talented.”

  “Why thank you.” Gwynn raised her glass to Shae in a toast but returned to staring into the fire. “I understand wanting to be good at something. I’ve always been driven to be the best that I could be. It’s just there is this nagging feeling I’m not doing what I should or choosing the right 86

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  direction. It sneaks up on me like a phantom, pulls my thoughts in different directions, and I don’t know what to do about it.” She looked back at Shae, a shadow in her eyes.

  “I’m sure that self-doubt never happens to a Southron.”

  “We conceal it better than most, but it happens to everyone,” he assured her.

  “That’s a comfort. Now, if we can just figure out how to scare that feeling away, then my fame will be secure.”

  “We’ll work on it; I’m good at scaring things away.

  Now, I think you should go to bed, since I’m getting you up early in the morning.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re playing at a noble’s home tomorrow night, and I’m certain that my riding leathers won’t be appropriate there. I haven’t got a thing to wear,” Shae teased.

  “So why do I have to get up early if you don’t have the right clothes?” she asked, getting to her feet.

  “Well, someone has to pay the tailor, and our agreement clearly states that you pay for my clothes.”

  “The part about me getting up early must have been in the fine print. You carry all my money; you can pay the tailor yourself. Better that you get wet than me; I have to think of my voice.”

  “Spoiled bard!” Shae gave Gwynn a push toward the bedroom. “To bed, little one.” She went, grumbling good-naturedly about bossy Southrons.

  Shae turned to bank the fire before following her and a log flared for a moment, filling the dragon’s eyes on the harp’s pillar with blue fire. When he stepped between the harp and the fireplace to put the empty wine bottle on the table, he noticed that the light did not fade.

  His better judgment warred with him for a moment before he laid his hand against the harp’s pillar. It was warm to the touch, but that could have been from the fire. The 87

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  fire’s proximity did not, however, explain the power that prickled against his palm or why the dragon’s eyes grew brighter. His fingers closed around the carved throat of the dragon, and the power under his hand blazed in response, sending a shock through Shae’s arm. The Harp of Talaysen was more than carved wood and platinum wire. Something within it was aware.

  “It’s you! You are the one nagging at her!” The Harp grew hot under his gras
p, and it seemed that there was anger in it, anger and a consuming need. “Gwynn is my charge, and I am sworn to keep her from harm, any harm. If you try to hurt her, I’ll consign you to the flames myself.” His husky baritone was filled with threat. The Harp quivered under his hand for a moment, and the strings chimed softly, making him believe his words struck home. He also got the impression that, for whatever reason, the Harp was angry. It wasn’t angry with Gwynn. The light in the dragon’s eyes flashed once more and then faded. “Good, I’m glad we understand each other.”

  He released his hold and marched toward the bedroom, swearing to himself that no one would ever know what had just occurred. Somehow, it didn’t seem right that he should have to keep his charge’s possession from harming her. Who would think that a harp could have feelings? No, he corrected, not a harp, the Harp of Talaysen.

  Making sure Gwynn got safely to Samhayne had developed a complication. It was a good thing he handled complication well.

  88

  CHAPTER SIX

  Although it was still dark from the cloud cover, Shae awoke at his normal time shortly after dawn. There was no point in awakening Gwynn; none of the shops would be open this early. Rising, he slipped silently to the window, finding the rain was still falling heavily and the yard was under water. Shae grimaced in distaste.

  “Harkir’s Forge,” he swore. “Why should I care what impression I make on some provincial lord?”

  Despite his complaint to Gwynn, under the doeskin bag containing his vambraces was a black damask doublet and breeches with silver buttons and trim. He had packed his brig and riding leathers the night before they buried Rashelle, determined to leave before anyone could protest his departure. He had not paused to change before he left Ranleven, which was why it remained in his saddlebag. He unearthed it, finding several creases and some dust, but nothing someone capable in the laundry of an inn this size could not correct.

  Throwing the doublet and breeches over his shoulder, he also removed the letter he had meant to send to Laef. He closed the bedroom door behind him and turned warily to face the Harp. There was no gleam in the sapphire eyes, and it was cold to his touch.

  Good, he thought with relief, I don’t have to concern myself with you yet. I need someone to have a discreet look 89

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  at you. Shae frowned at the idea of seeking a practitioner of the arcane, but who else could determine if the Harp had ill intent?

  He tossed his sealed letter into the fire; he had decided to write another to Laef, now that his plans were more certain. The half dozen or so he had dashed off in the last few years had let him know he was alive, but they had never been very long or informative.

  Hel o little brother, he began with a faint smile, knowing how much the salutation would annoy Laef. He spent quite some time on it, and just when he finished, Gwynn wandered out of the bedroom with her hairbrush, still in her nightshirt.

  “Morning,” she sighed, curling into one of the chairs before the fire. She eyed the rain-drenched windows while she brushed her hair. “What an awful looking day.”

  “Good morning to you too. Now get some clothes on before you catch a chill. I only added a couple of logs to the fire when I woke.”

  “It just needs stirred.” Gwynn fluttered her fingers, commanding the flames to rise higher and ignoring Shae’s scowl when they responded. “What are you doing? Have you had breakfast yet?”

  “I’m writing a letter to my brother, and we’ll eat once you get your clothes on. Before that, you are penning a message to Lord Strathearn.”

  “Saying what?” she asked, joining him at the table.

  “Requesting his lordship to send a coach for you tonight; you don’t want to ride through the rain to his house, do you?” Shae signed his letter with a flourish and pushed the inkwell toward her.

  “I hadn’t thought about it, but you are right. I don’t want to arrive looking like I swam there.”

  “Common sense reminders, just one more service I 90

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  offer. Get started; I’ll find you something to wrap up in before you freeze to death.” She bent over her note while Shae went into the other room. He returned shaking his head, placed a blanket around her shoulders, and set all three clean pairs of her boot hose on the table.

  “Could you please explain something to me?” he asked.

  “I can try.”

  “Do you realize you don’t have a single pair of boot hose without at least two holes in them? What am I going to do with you?” Shae’s tone was faintly exasperated.

  “Remind me to buy new hose,” Gwynn giggled, reaching for the sealing wax. “I meant to replace them when I got to Layton, but I got in after the shops closed. Besides, no one sees my hose because -”

  “I made you buy new boots.” Shae finished for her, shaking his head.

  “I thought you were going to wake me up early this morning.”

  “I was teasing you; I have something that will suit.

  That is, unless you want to go out in this weather.”

  “No, I have to plan a song selection for a fifteen-year-old girl. Maybe I should compose something new…”

  Gwynn looked deep in thought. “What would a young noble woman like to hear songs about?”

  “Don’t ask me; I’m neither,” Shae protested.

  “Possibly something romantic would do.” Her brow furrowed.

  “You don’t think much of romance?”

  “I think it’s somewhat overblown. More than half the songs I know have something to do with being in love, having unrequited love, losing a love. Great Mother, the list is endless. There are lots of things to write songs about. Why do people spend so much time and thought on a single 91

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  subject?” Gwynn sounded honestly puzzled.

  “I think if you had ever been in love, you would never ask that question.”

  “I didn’t mean—” she began, but Shae cut her off.

  “I know; I’m just telling you to not make judgments about something it seems that you have yet to experience.

  You are right, though. There seems to be a disproportionate number of songs, poems, plays, and artwork about love. See if you can find another topic; Strathearn’s daughter might appreciate it.”

  “Especially if he’s already chosen her a husband! Can you imagine, someone else choosing a life partner for you?”

  Gwynn’s voice was full of revulsion.

  “It’s common among nobility and damn near required if you’re royalty,” Shae said.

  “I think lots of songs about spring and the joy of youth are in order.”

  “Sounds like an excellent idea. I’m going to find someone to take your note to Strathearn and get my letter to my brother. Then, I don’t know what I’m going to do. It’s not often I get paid for doing nothing.”

  “Being cooped up like this may make me go mad long before the rain stops,” Gwynn complained.

  “I understand; we’ll just have to find something to do.

  How are you at chess?”

  “Terrible, I have problems planning ahead. You know that.”

  “That’s perfect!” Shae grinned at his companion.

  “Not only can I work on your impulsiveness, but I get to tweak your conceit at the same time. I left my traveling set with Laef, but Mazlo is large enough I can remedy that.” And it would give him the perfect opportunity to find a hedger type willing to look at the Harp.

  “I don’t think it’s worth getting wet.” Gwynn glared 92

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  at him. “Don’t you like cards? Or dice? I love games of chance.”

  “Chess will do more for your education. Spend the morning working on your songs. I’ll get our business taken care of and be back before lunch.”

  Shae left after they finished breakfast, with the high collar of his cote turned up and a wide-brimmed oilskin hat on his head. The shoulder cape widened his broad shoulders and made him more imposing when h
e swept out the door.

  Gwynn tuned her harp and ran her fingers down the strings, turning a simple scale into a silvery glissando. She didn’t see the light begin to gleam in the dragon’s eyes. She never did; it was always turned away from her.

  Shae slogged through the half-flooded streets of Mazlo, in good spirits despite the rain beginning to seep through his boots. In the last hour, he had placed his doublet in the capable hands of the inn’s head laundress, the older boy who worked in the barn was on his way to Lord Strathearn’s, and he had arrived at Mazlo’s courier station.

  A holdover from the days of the Empire, the courier system was now managed by the government of Samhayne on the western side of the Dinar, while Southron had taken over on the eastern side. On either bank, many of the riders were of the Lance or the Staff Clan, but anyone able to pass the rigorous horsemanship requirements and meet the weight limit could become a courier. Couriers rode straight through for twenty-four hours, changing horses at remount stations every fifty leagues along the major trade roads.