Lesia helped her out of the dress and sat down near the window to begin her work. Gwynn reached over and lit 165
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the lamp on the table beside her. Lesia simply smiled in appreciation, which chagrined her bit. Apparently, lighting a mage lamp did not impress a Pathani. Gwynn laughed at herself and lit all the lamps in the bedroom before moving back into the sitting room.
Shae was staring critically at his blade as though the mirror sheen wasn’t enough, but Gwynn didn’t see a single imperfection in its finish. He looked up when she entered and asked with a grin, “Is your fitting session over? That was much shorter and a lot less fuss than I have experienced for those things.”
“Well, I suppose it would be more complicated in a royal establishment.”
“You have no idea,” Shae groaned, sheathing his sword. “Rayna was no problem. She was so busy that everyone came to her. They were glad to have the queen’s patronage any way they could get it. But Rashelle and Caralyn…” Shae rolled his eyes. “They were convinced they had to go to every shop themselves. The hours Laef and I spent in dressmaker’s shops while those two giggled over fabrics and trim. After they finally made their decision and were fitted, they would drag Laef and I off to a tailor shop to be poked and prodded at while they picked out clothes for us that would not clash with their new dresses.” Shae buried his head in his hands. “And you ask why I didn’t like royal life? Shelah was fortunate. By the time Vaethen was eighteen, he wouldn’t stay at a tailor’s any longer than it took to make sure he wouldn’t split his breeches.” He raised his head, looking at Gwynn with a martyred expression.
“Believe me; in the time it took you to pick out a cloak, Rashelle could not have decided what color of ribbon to put in her hair.”
“The sacrifices you Southrons make.” Gwynn’s voice was loaded with false sympathy. “How do you stand it?”
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“We are a hardy people. We learn to adjust as necessary,” Shae said. She laughed and began to light the lamps in the sitting room. She was pleased to notice the one she had lit earlier was still burning. “You seem to have gotten the hang of that pretty quickly.”
“It’s not difficult at all; I think that is what amazes me the most.” Gwynn picked up her lute and strummed it idly while she walked onto the terrace. It was early evening now, and the setting sun had turned the white city of Heralith into a symphony of rose and orange. Part of the plain was already lost in the long shadows of the mountains. The air was beginning to grow cool, which Gwynn knew from her years in the mountains of Inishmore meant that, once the sun went down, it would be quite chilly.
What would Elisan have to say to her this evening?
Would he be angry, thinking that she had insulted his masterwork? Would he be surprised, as Darion had been?
But what about my Harp? Will Elisan want to take it back?
He can’t do that. I won it, and it’s mine by right, under the conditions laid down by Talaysen himself. Perhaps, if she was lucky, Elisan would agree to help her. Questions hammered at her brain until she put them firmly aside. She had no way of knowing what Elisan would feel, but even so, it was not like Shae or Darion would let any harm come to her. “Gwynn,” Lesia called her from the door. “Shall we get you ready?” Gwynn went with her to the dressing room, feeling very spoiled. She had never had anyone to help her dress for dinner before.
Shae was already there, buttoning his black and silver doublet. “I’m leaving right now. I suspect that Lesia would rather fuss over you without me underfoot. Getting a woman dressed for a royal dinner party is something I know too much about.”
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“You do take up a lot of space,” Gwynn teased.
Lesia directed Gwynn to the dressing table. “Please sit. I want to start with your hair. It is such a delightful color, like a raven’s wing.”
When Lesia was done, Gwynn felt she was looking at a stranger in the mirror. The shimmering gray dress clung to her, as if she was clothed in moonlight. The hair pins held a coronet of braids in place while the rest of her hair flowed like a sable river down her back. The belt of silver filigree encircled her slight waist, adding to the sheen of the gray dress she wore.
Shae stared at her once she joined him in the front room. “Harkir’s Forge, you may well be the most beautiful woman I have ever seen!”
She blushed. “You already say I’m vain. You will only make it worse saying things like that.”
“I have no need to lie. Right now, you look like you belong in the palace of a faery king,” Shae stated with conviction.
“If it is any consolation, I feel much more at home in the common room of an inn.”
“It is.”
Gwynn was fetching her Harp from the bedroom when a knock on the door heralded Syrus’s arrival.
“I have been sent to summon you to dinner.” They followed him back the same way he had led them earlier, down the stairs and past the doors to the Ard Rhi’s study. A little farther down the corridor, Syrus paused in front of a set of doors, waiting for the two guards to open them. He stepped in and proclaimed, “Tiarna Gwynn ferch Gryffyn ailed Tiarn Shae ap Brashaen.”
Gwynn stifled a snicker; Syrus’s declaration had sounded pretentious to her ears. Shae raised an eyebrow and admonished her in Southron, “Mind your manners; we don’t 168
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want them to think mortals are completely uncivilized.”
“I think Lesia has already formed her opinion about mortals.”
“Well then, let’s not make everyone in Heralith think that way, at least not the first night we are here.”
Darion came to Gwynn’s side the moment they entered. “Elisan isn’t here yet, so we are going to hide this for now.” He took her Harp and handed it to Syrus, who carried it reverently into a curtained alcove. “You look breathtaking. I knew I should have stolen you and kept you for myself when I found you as a pretty child.” They both laughed. That was a common legend about the Pathani, but quite untrue. “Come along; my sister cannot wait another moment to meet you.”
Shae was the only one who appeared to be armed with anything more than an ornamental dagger. It might have been a breach of etiquette to wear a sword to a Pathani dinner party, but he was not there to seek their approval; he was there to look after his charge.
“Here she is,” Darion said, drawing Gwynn to a halt in front of a Pathani lady. “Selene, this is Gwynn ferch Gryffyn and her guardian Shae ap Brashaen.” Pale silvery hair was wound in dozens of intricate braids around the Rhian’s head and light golden eyes smiled at Gwynn.
“My brother has spoken of you a number of times,”
she said. “I’m glad to finally meet you. The gray suits you well.”
“Rhian Selene, I am deeply in your debt. You were right in what you told Lesia. I have not gotten to dress up like this in a long time. Pretty silken things do not travel well in a saddlebag.” Odd, Gwynn thought, wasn’t that what Mother said when she gave me the jewelry when I left for Inishmore? She heard Selene greet Shae and his reply only distantly.
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“You still miss her greatly, don’t you?” Selene’s voice was low. Darion was introducing Shae to someone else, so neither of them heard the Rhian’s question. Selene patted the seat beside her. “Sit with me.”
“Your people read each other’s thoughts so easily. I have managed to do it before, but it was usually when someone was upset or surprised.”
“Strong emotions and thoughts are the most easily heard. You will find you can read anyone’s thoughts at any time; you have only to listen. The ability was taught to your people when we taught you music. Now, you still have not answered my question.”
“Yes, I miss her, because she was taken from me so unexpectedly. I never got the chance to properly say goodbye.” The painful memory of her mother waving farewell when Gwynn rode out of Baron Holger’s keep beside Gry
ffyn flashed through her mind. “She was always so vibrant and full of life. At times, I still have trouble believing she is gone.”
Selene laid a comforting hand on Gwynn’s arm, but further conversation was cut short when Elisan’s name was announced. Gwynn watched the Pathani Master enter with interest. His hair was white, and his eyes were a strange combination of greenish gold. Something about him told Gwynn that he was very old, even as the Pathani counted such things.
Shae sidled up to Gwynn. “Do you think he will turn you into a frog or something for desecrating his masterwork, little one?” he asked irreverently. She was gratified to hear a smothered grunt when her elbow connected sharply with his thigh.
“Even without your assistance, she doesn’t seem to be entirely defenseless.” A Pathani with deep emerald eyes stood next to Shae. He was clad in a red and white doublet 170
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with an eight-pointed star embroidered over his heart.
Gwynn remembered seeing it on the livery of the palace guards, so she assumed it was some sort of device of the royal family.
“Oh, she’s not defenseless,” Shae told him with a grin,
“but she is small enough to need extra help at times. Gwynn, this is Captain Gunnar, leader of Heralith’s guards.”
“It is true pleasure, dear lady,” Gunnar said, gallantly kissing Gwynn’s proffered hand. “Let me reassure you, should Elisan seek to change your already perfect shape, I will be more than happy to join Shae in your defense.”
Gwynn and Selene both giggled at the captain’s outrageous flattery.
“Captain, if I could be certain that your blades are as swift as your wit, then I would indeed have nothing to fear,”
Gwynn shot back.
“A compliment and an insult offered in the same breath!” Gunnar exclaimed. He clapped Shae on the shoulder. “I see why she needs you.”
“Charming and quite insincere, isn’t he?” Selene said to Gwynn.
Gunnar frowned at Selene. “Mir Rhian, such harsh words for your favorite guard captain, I am quite shattered.”
“You are the only guard captain in Heralith,” Selene reminded him, “so being my favorite will not save your conceit.”
“So cruel!” he gasped before grinning at Shae. “Do Southrons have to put up with this sort of abuse from their charges?”
“Constantly.” Gwynn and Shae made the declaration in the same breath. The foursome laughed and continued their light conversation until Navarre and his lady were announced.
Ard Rhian Mariel was as beautiful as her daughter, 171
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with the same golden eyes. They might have been sisters if it weren’t for the ancient wisdom that shone in the Ard Rhian’s eyes. Gwynn struggled for a moment to meet them; she feared a single glance from them would bare every secret in her soul. She sank into a deep curtsey before Navarre and his lady when they reached them. The Ard Rhian reached for both of Gwynn’s hands.
“Welcome to Heralith,” she said. “Once we saw much more of your people. It seems as their skill with music increased, so did their need to share it with the Otherworld.
None have found their way here since Talaysen’s last visit. I am glad you have graced us.”
“Thank you, Ard Rhian,” Gwynn responded, pleased that she had managed to meet the queen’s eyes and keep her voice steady. “To find myself in Heralith is both a gift and an honor.”
Navarre drew Gwynn to the side to tell her the evening’s plans, so she did not hear what subsequently passed between Shae and Mariel. “Greetings Shae, Brashaen’s son.” Mariel held Shae’s eyes for an uncomfortably long moment after his bow. “We Pathani prefer to speak plainly, and I have heard the same said of the people of Southron. Will you hear my words?”
“I would be honored, my lady,” he answered, somewhat surprised at how easily he returned to the formal conversation of a court. “While I know little of the Pathani myself, Gwynn has told me you are a race of learning and great wisdom. I would be happy to hear any words you would speak with me.”
“One of the gifts granted to some of us includes the ability to catch glimpses of another’s path in life,” Mariel said. “I am pleased you are at Gwynn’s side for fitan may have laid a harder road before her than she can yet fathom.
She will need the strength of a true friend. Her road may test 172
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any that travel with her in body, heart, and soul. Are you ready to once more use all of your own gifts, not just the strength of your arm or the speed of your blade?”
Mariel’s words were exactly the ones asked of a prospective Lifeguard and it was a Lifeguard who answered her, swearing a solemn oath. “I will use whatever gifts given to me, including my own life, to protect Gwynn from anyone or anything that seeks to bring her harm.”
“I believe that fitan intends for you to walk together.”
Mariel smiled with approval before moving to greet her other guests.
Gwynn touched Shae’s arm when Mariel moved away, asking in a low voice, “Can you believe I’m the only bard to come here since Talaysen’s time?”
“I’m sure I’m the only Southron ever to be here, so that makes me far more special than you are.” They both laughed and shortly afterward, the steward announced dinner. “Harkir’s Forge, it’s about time they noticed I was beginning to fade away from starvation.”
When they were seated, Gwynn realized Elisan was next to the queen. She was seated further down the table between Darion and Gunnar. Selene was next to Darion and Shae next to her. Shae regarded the seating arrangements dubiously.
Gunnar, seeing his expression, teased, “Don’t worry.
I promise I will let no harm come to your charge in your absence.” Shae was not worried; he doubted that anything would occur at a Pathani royal gathering, but it went very much against the Lifeguard in him not to be posted behind Gwynn’s chair during a state occasion. He had also taken an instant liking to the guard captain, but he had not missed the speculative look in Gunnar’s eyes when he glanced at Gwynn.
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“Go softly, I have not decided if my contract defines bruised hearts as harm. Mind you, she is a grown woman and can make her own choices, but I won’t have her toyed with.”
Sapphire eyes warred with emerald ones for a moment and then Gunnar conceded. “You are either overprotective or a closer friend than you know. Perhaps you are both, but I shall heed your words.”
The meal was sumptuous. Gwynn enjoyed herself immensely; everything was delightful and very different from anything she had ever eaten. It also seemed that each course required a different wine, and she had to refuse several toward the end.
Darion noticed and asked, “Our vintages are not to your liking?”
“The wine is incredible, but if I have any more, I won’t be able to hold a conversation after supper. Shae will have to pour me into bed to sleep it off. Wouldn’t that give Master Elisan a wonderful impression of me?”
“We can’t have that!” Darion beckoned to a serving man, made a request, and he returned shortly with a pitcher.
He poured a deep red liquid into Gwynn’s glass. “I seem to remember you had a fondness for cherry almond cider as a child. Now, you won’t have to worry about impressions.”
Gwynn was grateful. She was lightheaded, and she did not wish to make a fool of herself in front of Elisan.
After the meal, everyone returned to the reception area. Shae and Gunnar stood near the fireplace, still deeply involved in their dinner conversation of obscure fighting styles. Selene and Gwynn had returned to their earlier seats and were discussing some of Talaysen’s works.
While the rest of the guests began making their farewells, Darion brought Gwynn her Harp. “Elisan will be closeted with Father for a bit. Why don’t you play for us?”
“What would you like to hear?”
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“Anything of your choosing,” Selen
e suggested.
Gwynn wasn’t sure what prompted her; her fingers seemed to choose the music and a mournful set of chords stole through the room. The song was an ancient Pathani lament, written by Elinwy, daughter of Delrithar, lord of the dwellar where the bards had first learned music. It told the tale of Andine, the youngest child and only daughter of Macsen. Macsen’s descendants would later become the dukes of Kincara, but this song was set in a time before any of the family had borne a title loftier than that of chieftain.
Elinwy had been the mage tutor of Macsen’s children, the line having a gift for magic. Andine was beautiful and loved by all who knew her. Just before she turned sixteen, she had been struck down by a mysterious wasting sickness that neither mortal nor Pathani could cure. Elinwy’s lament mourned not only Andine’s loss, but also the transitory nature of all mortal beauty.
As always, Gwynn lost herself in the music. Elinwy’s work had always touched her heart deeply, making it ache as the Pathani’s must have. That was what it meant to be a bard: to feel and share every emotion they sang of with everyone who lent an ear. Bards not only gave the pleasure of music, they showed their listeners that no one lived, grieved, laughed, or loved alone.
When she finished, Gwynn dropped her cheek against her Harp and closed her eyes to will away the lost feeling while she let go of the music. Yet, here in Heralith, it was more difficult for her than it had ever been. A gentle touch on her cheek startled her; she lifted her head and found herself gazing into the depths of Elisan’s eyes.
“I would not have thought it possible that someone else would ever play Talaysen’s Harp, let alone play it so well.
That you can play it at all tells me a great deal about you.”
“Master Elisan, your words honor me.”
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“No child, you honor our music. Tomorrow, Darion will bring you to me.” He laid his hand on the dragon’s head and the eyes flashed briefly. “You have mastered and overcome him, but now we must find a way to make you friends. Good night, Gwynn. Fest well for tomorrow, our work will begin.”
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