CHAPTER EIGHT
The dress was more beautiful than Kayla could have imagined. It was lovely, with the bodice in deep blue velvet with silver laces and trim. The ensemble was amazingly simple and complex at the same time, and Kayla couldn’t have asked for more.
She laid the dress and cape across her temporary bed at Dragonmeer, slippers and jewels beside them, and smoothed out the minute wrinkles that had appeared during the short coach trip to Brant’s home.
She was about to begin unpacking her small trunk when there came a light tap at her door.
Enter,” she called.
A lithe blonde entered and curtsied with a huge grin spread across her face. “My name would be Sarali, miss. Master Brant wanted me to help ye with the bags and anything else ye might be needing. I’m yours for as long as ye’d be needing me.”
Kayla was instantly grateful. “Wonderful. Sarali, is it?” she asked the small woman as she swooped about the room like a bird coming in to roost.
“Yes, Miss Kayla, Sarali it be, though I know me name doesn’t fit me voice. Me husband changed it on our wedding day. Seemed the proper thing to do at the time,” the girl prattled on. She didn’t seem to be more than sixteen or seventeen by voice and figure, but her face showed a few lines etched there by time. Kayla upped her assessment by half. Perhaps twenty-five or thirty? It was hard to tell. Sarali seemed to be one of those ageless people who would look as good at fifty as they had at seventeen.
“So you’re married?” Kayla sat on the bed, careful not to disturb the dress, and chatted with the girl as she worked.
“Yes, miss. I’d be married to the big lug of a chef.”
“The man with the tattoos? From Ketahe?” Kayla asked, remembering her first sight of the man as their coach pulled into the stables. He had been in the back of the castle, his arms loaded with miscellaneous boxes that looked heavier than any normal man should be able to carry, but he was certainly not normal. The man was huge, and Kayla had been frightened by him at first. Though he seemed vaguely familiar, she knew she’d never met the man. He had seemed so fierce with all the tattoos, and she had heard many tales of the terrifying strength of the Ketahean people. They were known as warriors, not cooks, and she had never imagined one of them being married to a little sprite of a thing like her new chambermaid.
Sarali nodded with pride. “He be the one. The form behind the tattoos isn’t much to look at, and he can’t speak a word of common, but he’s a great cook and a man full of passion.” She shrugged. “A girl can get mighty swept up by his kind, if ye catch me meaning, lady.” She grinned from ear to ear, not the least bit embarrassed, though Kayla could feel herself reddening at the girl’s admission.
“Oh . . .” Kayla tried to regain her composure. “Thank you, Sarali. It is a pleasure to meet you. I’ll be sure to let Brant know how wonderful you’ve been.”
“Oh, he’d be knowing that already, miss. Sir Brant and I have an understanding, and he’d not have assigned me to ye if he weren’t already a mite pleased with me work.” And with that she turned and flounced down the stairs, leaving Kayla breathless in her wake.
Kayla sat in her room for a long minute before she pulled out the final two items from the beaded satchel she’d carried all day long. The first was the flute she’d played for the nobles that morning, and the second was the Sapphire Flute. She ran her hands across the polished wood, and it seemed that she could almost feel the flute calling to her from inside its case. It hummed and throbbed in her heart and mind, calling like a siren to free it from its prison. She was mesmerized, entranced by the feelings that lured her, taunted her to open the case. Should she? Did she dare?
She was saved by the sound of another knock at the door. She snapped her eyes toward the entry with mixed feelings of relief and reluctance, and stood only long enough to shove the case beneath her mattress.
“Enter,” she called for the second time that evening. The door opened slowly, and Brant stuck his head in.
“Everything okay in there? Did Sarali get you settled?”
“She certainly did. She’s wonderful, Brant. However did you know I needed her?”
“I’m not completely uncivil, you know. I am the son of a duke, and I know how you ladies work. Especially you, Miss Kayla,” he answered, face splitting in a mischievous smile.
Kayla got up from her perch on the bed and opened the door. “Get in here, you big cream puff,” she demanded, pulling at his arm.
“I can’t go in there, Kay. It wouldn’t look decent,” he answered, fully serious for a change.
“And when has that ever stopped you?” she shot back. His reluctance faded only a little, and she yanked him inside and shut the door behind him. Brant looked about like a cornered rat, and Kayla started to laugh.
“I’m not going to attack you in my bedroom just because you proposed to me, silly. We’ve slept side by side many times in total innocence. Do you really think I would take a chance of ruining things now?”
He looked a bit chagrined at that point, but was still a little wary. She decided it would be best to change the subject. She moved to the side of her bed and dug beneath the feather mattress, finding the hard lump in no time at all.
“Here. I know you want to see this.”
Kayla flipped the latches of the long wooden case and lifted the lid. The Sapphire Flute lay within, almost welcoming her with its light. She lifted it tenderly, as if it were a newborn babe. Brant feasted on the flute with eyes of wonder and reached out one tentative hand to touch the shining blue form.
“Is it . . . ?” he asked.
“It’s okay, love. You can touch it. I don’t think it can be broken.” He smiled warmly at her and took the slender instrument into his large hands. He raised it to his lips.
“No!” Kayla lunged at him, alarmed. “You mustn’t play it!”
He lowered it, puzzled. “Why not?”
“It could destroy the world.”
Brant laughed.
Kayla was a bit offended and took the instrument from him.
“Please, Kayla. Don’t put it away. Who told you it would destroy the world?”
“The king,” she snapped.
“Kayla,” he purred her name. His strong hands gripped her elbows and turned her around. “King Rojan is known to overreact to danger. I have heard that flute played myself. I was very young, but I do remember its tones, and I have longed to hear them again. Don’t you think that if this flute was going to destroy the world, it would have done so then?”
Kayla was not sure. She, too, had heard the flute as a child and wondered the same thing. She wavered.
“Play for me, Kayla,” he begged. “I want to hear those perfect tones played by your lips.”
What he said made sense. Why would playing the flute destroy the world now, when it hadn’t before? There was no logic to it, and she had heard of the king‘s overprotective sense of responsibility and caution. Perhaps Brant was right. What would it hurt?
But no. She’d made a promise to her king to guard the flute, to protect it and save it for The Chosen One. How could she call herself honorable if she went back on her word, just because her love asked her to do so?
“Not now, Brant,” she replied, slipping into his arms. Maybe she wouldn’t have to make that decision. Perhaps he would forget. Perhaps she could make him forget. “Maybe later.”
“I can be very persuasive,” he whispered in her ear. “Very persuasive, indeed.” He bent his lips to hers, and his kiss made time fade away.
She broke from him after much too long. Even she was worried about the impropriety of the situation now. She had no idea how much time had passed. Lost in his kiss as she had been, she'd lost all track of time.
And then the dinner bell rang. That made it all too clear how long he’d been there—much too long for propriety’s sake.
“You have to go, Brant. I’ve got to change, and I’m half-starved—”
“Okay, okay, Kayla. I get the point. I’m going. I’ll meet y
ou downstairs,” he said, smiling, and kissed her once more.
“Get out of here!” She laughed, pushing away from him. “You’re distracting me.”
“That’s kind of the point,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at her.
Kayla could take no more, and though she smiled the whole time, she put her long fingers in the middle of his chest and physically shoved him out the door, slamming it in his face. His laughter continued to echo down the hall as he went to dinner.
Kayla tried to pull her dress off over her head, and only succeeding in getting her laces tangled in her hair combs and jewels.
The door creaked open. “Tis Sarali, miss. Would ye need any help afore dinner?” she asked in sweet tones that thankfully did not laugh at Kayla’s plight.
“Please!” Kayla begged. Somehow the girl unwound her, got her free in record time, and continued at that breakneck pace with which she seemed to do everything. Kayla was dressed, laced, combed, and set, with hair and make-up in place in ten minutes flat, and Sarali hadn’t even paused over Kayla’s evahn ears. She was tempted to see if she could steal Sarali away from Brant when she finally received her title. A thought occurred that warmed her heart—Sarali might just come with the package if she married Brant.
Kayla stepped outside into the hall and pulled the door shut behind her. She took a deep breath and held it, trying to resume the mask she’d become so accustomed to wearing. It was a little more difficult today with all the joy she’d found. Still—the duchy was not yet hers. She checked her hair one last time to be sure the tops of her ears were hidden, then stepped down the stairs calmly, her head and back straight and tall.
The dining room was filled with people. Kayla stopped on the bottom step and scanned the room, overwhelmed by the bright colors and cacophony of sound. The voices echoing through the cavernous room with its massive stone walls almost deafened her sensitive ears.
There were so many voices, it was difficult to discern one from the other but for an occasional laugh that carried above the crowd. Instead of trying to block the sound, Kayla listened deeply, much as she would to a new symphonic piece. Bit by bit, the annoying grate on her ears softened into sections similar to an orchestra. The drunken gamers to her right became the deep brass and drums, while the tittering women to her left became the high wind section. It was a trick she’d learned long ago. It made these largely attended parties a much more enjoyable experience, and she’d learned a lot about the people in the process.
An annoying rumble sounded from somewhere near Kayla’s midsection. The last she’d eaten had been the two sausage rolls in the square, hours ago. The tables nearly groaned with food, and her mouth watered. She took the final step into the dining room and moved almost hypnotically toward the table to her left, nearest where the cackling women stood. They silenced as she approached.
Kayla nodded as she walked past them. Their silence continued as she made her way to the side buffet and picked up a handful of grapes, grateful the duke was kind enough to put out some pre-dinner snacks. The women didn’t deign to respond, but turned their backs and whispered behind their hands, eyes glancing nervously at her as they walked past toward the king’s table. Few were as accepting of her half-evahn status as King Rojan and Brant’s family. She never let it show, but the needles were there, pricking her heart.
Kayla was eyeballing a turkey leg when the final dinner bell rang. She snatched her hand away and faced the steward of Dragonmeer as he pounded his staff twice on the floor. “Dinner is served,” the elderly man announced with dignity, then turned himself back to the kitchen.
Brant came up behind her and took hold of her arm. “Where have you been? Everybody’s waiting.”
“Everybody? Brant, where are we going? There’s a good spot right . . .” Kayla trailed off as he led her to a chair at the high table. Never in all her years of being Brant’s best friend had she been invited to sit with his family. The high table sat on a dais just before the fireplace, framed on each side by a curved stairway leading to the second floor. It was a mark of honor to be seated there, and a thrill surpassed only by that of meeting the king and receiving the Sapphire Flute.
At the duke’s side stood the tattooed Ketahean, Sarali’s husband. It was the first good look Kayla had gotten at him. She stared openly as Brant pulled out her chair and waited for her to sit before he scooted her close to the table. The large chef caught her eye and gave a slight nod of his head in all seriousness. He then turned and sliced a piece of meat, taking it daintily on the tip of his knife, and presented it to the duke. Brant’s father took the slice, sampled it, and nodded. The tattooed man set down the knife, placed his hand on his opposite shoulder and bowed. Kayla stiffened with surprise as she saw the spikes and swirls that lined his hand. The chef was the cowled man she’d seen twice that morning, the one who’d been in the king’s presence just before her. What in the world would he have been doing there? Why would a chef meet with King Rojan?
The Ketahean filled the duke’s plate and left the room, which seemed to signal the servants to fill plates for the other guests. Within moments, the smell wafting under her nose had her mouth watering. Finally the duke stood, his silver goblet lifted in toast. “To Kayla Kalandra Felandian, performer extraordinaire!” He raised his cup and drained it. “To Kayla!” the room responded, though Kayla noticed that not everyone joined Duke Domanta in his exuberance. Her resolve strengthened by another notch. She would not let them ruin her night. This was her ball, her dinner, and their petty prejudice would not make it any less magnificent.
The duke sat down, picked up a roll, and slathered it with butter. That was the sign to begin.
Kayla dug in with fervor. She forked a piece of steak that had already been cut and nearly choked on it. Not because it was bad; no, quite the opposite. The flavor was so intense that for a moment she could do nothing but chew and swallow the juices that overwhelmed her.
“This is delicious, Brant. What’s it seasoned with?” she asked when she could finally speak.
He shrugged. “Who knows? It certainly is good, though. Chef T’Kato has certainly outdone himself this time. Most everything he cooks has a bite to it. It makes me sweat, but I can’t seem to get enough.” Brant took a bite from his roll and gestured with his knife as he spoke. “He’s new, you know, from Ketahe.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a loud whisper. “You should see him, Kay. He’s got tattoos all over his head and down his arms. He looks entirely vicious, but he’s gentle as a kitten, though he doesn’t speak a word of our language.”
“I know. I saw him, remember?” she added after swallowing another bit of the spicy steak.
“Oh, that’s right, I forgot already. I’m always so distracted when I’m in your presence.” Brant flashed a toothy smile at her. “So,” he changed the subject, “are you going to play for us tonight?”
Kayla laughed. “I don’t know. Are you going to play with me?"
Brant grimaced and leaned back in his chair. “Are you kidding? I can never match your ability, Kayla. You put me to shame.”
“Maybe,” she said, “but it sure is fun. Seriously, Brant, you’re pretty good. Why not play with me? Please?” she wheedled, batting her eyelashes furiously.
Brant laughed out loud. The other members of the table glanced over at him, but went quickly back to their food and chatter.
“How can I resist that?” He winked, then took her hand under the table and squeezed it softly. Kayla’s heart glowed. It would have beamed as bright as the moon, if it could.
“Kayla, darling!” an elderly male gushed from just behind her chair. His heavy hand settled on her shoulder just a little too hard. His falsely sweet tones grated on her ears like a beginning violinist. Suddenly, her stomach turned sour, and she wasn’t hungry. Kayla pushed her chair back, turned, and plastered a cold smile on her face.
“Why, Grandfather, whatever brings you to Dragonmeer?” she said in the same insincere tones he used. The old man despised her every bit a
s much as she hated him. He was supposed to be sick—he was the reason Kayla’s mother and uncle couldn’t come. He had something up his sleeve—he always did.
“Congratulations on your performance and pending title,” he said a little too loudly. “I understand the king made you the new keeper of the Sapphire Flute.”
Kayla reddened with anger. That was the last thing she had wanted him to know. Somehow she kept her mouth civil, locking her jaw just long enough to gain her composure. He saw through her; she could see it in his eyes. The man was truly enjoying her discomfiture.
It amazed Kayla that her dignified, kind, and loving mother could be even remotely related to the man. His coldness had forced his daughter to look for love wherever she could find it, thus her unapproved marriage to an outsider and resulting half-breed daughter. Kayla’s mother had squirmed out from under his thumb, and that maddened the man until he came to this. Oh yes, he enjoyed every bit of torment he could inflict on them, as if punishing Kayla for her mother’s choices would make any difference.
Kayla pulled her feelings back behind their walls and stood her full height to look down on him, not cowering before him as she knew he wished. She could see the spark of anger light and quickly smother in his eyes.
He’s up to something, her heart whispered again.
Her grandfather leaned close and hissed in her ear, his breath bitter and smoky. “You’ve been working awfully hard to gain favor, little Kayla,” he said, a note of nastiness creeping into his voice. “I told your mother I would be willing to bring her back into favor if you would play that darling little toy of yours.”
Little toy? Was he calling the Sapphire Flute a toy? How dare he! Realization set in then, and Kayla saw his game. Somehow he knew that he asked the impossible of her. In his sick, twisted mind, he thought he’d come up with a way to sabotage her bid for power. Once again the responsibility for the family name was placed on her shoulders. It was too heavy to bear.
But . . . she knew how to play that game as well. She squared her shoulders and curtsied. “But of course, Grandfather. It would be such an honor to play for you. Just let me go and fetch my little toy.” She couldn’t help the anger that crept in her voice then, so she ignored it and continued. “You wait right here like a good boy,” she patted his cheek, “and I’ll be right back.” She turned and walked back up the stairs to her room with all the poise she could muster.
So—the gloves were off and swords were drawn. Grandfather expected her to fail. He had thought she would say no, and that was the last thing she could do. Should she listen to the king and not play the Sapphire Flute? Or play for her grandfather and prove her worth?
The question was moot, really. The answer came to her then, and she smiled to herself with anticipation. Oh yes, indeed, she would prove her worth, and not just with her abilities. She’d outsmart the fox this time, with witnesses for a change. She would defeat him in this game and send him crawling home for however long he had left to live.
She grabbed her flute case and dashed back down the stairs. Brant glanced at her face and quickly wiped his mouth before scrambling to his feet. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have the pleasure now of hearing from our guest of honor, Miss Kayla Kalandra Felandian.” Brant swept his arm toward her, giving her the floor.
Kayla moved to the center of the room, took her flute from the case, and handed the box to someone nearby—she didn’t know who and didn’t care. Placing the flute to her lips, she took a deep breath, squeezed her eyes shut, then released her breath slowly on a high note that quickly plummeted into the depths of her range.
It was a song of sadness, determination, and triumph—a song she had never before played in public, for it was the song that opened her very self—her soul song. It was not long, nor as complex as some of the other pieces she’d done, but she played it with all the feeling in her soul. As a writer pours their heart on the page, so she put it in her breath. She kissed the flute with music once more, and when she was done, not a sound could be heard. As had her performance that morning, it brought the room to absolute stillness.
Everyone seemed to breathe together before they surged to their feet, applauding madly. The three women who had spurned her before now stood with thoughtful tears. The oldest nodded her head in Kayla’s direction, and she responded in kind.
Only one did not applaud. He approached, his face red and lips drawn tight. “That is not what I asked of you, child. Do you really think you can compete with me?” he snarled.
Kayla smiled. “Why ever would I do that? You asked for me to play my ‘little toy,’ and I did. What more could you mean?”
“I asked you to play the other flute, the special one.” He leaned in close, spittle flecking his lips.
“I can’t play that one.”
“Ha! I knew it,” he shouted. The room quieted again as its occupants finally noticed the tension between them.
Kayla could take no more. She turned to the duke’s table, but brought the entire room into the conversation.
“Ladies, gentlemen, my grandfather has made a request, and I would hear your word on the matter. I am sure most of you know by now that the king has given me guardianship over a very special instrument—the flute played by his own grandfather, the Sapphire Flute.”
Murmurs and gasps could be heard among the gathering. Evidently not everyone had received the news yet.
“That man has asked me to play it—and I would like nothing more—but I face a quandary. When King Rojan gave me guardianship of the instrument, he told me, very explicitly, that playing the flute would call C’Tan and S’Kotos down upon us, for they want this instrument desperately. Now, I would ask you, which of these two men should I heed this night? My grandfather, who tries to win me with bribes? Or the king, who is concerned for the safety of this people?”
All were still for a long moment. Then Brant’s voice started a chant that was quickly picked up by the rest of the room. “The king. The king. The king,” they said over and over again.
Kayla turned to her grandfather. His face changed from mortified embarrassment to purple fury. “You can forget the offer, Kayla. I wouldn’t take you in if I had no other family left to inherit. You are an outcast, a leper to me—”
Kayla cut him off. “Oh, save it, old man. I don’t need you, and neither does the rest of the family. You’ve done nothing but taunt and torment us with your whims for the entirety of your life. No more.” She spat the words at him. “What you choose to do with your inheritance is no longer my concern, but if you continue this way, you are going to die angry and very much alone.”
Kayla cradled the flute in the crook of her arm and stood tall once more. “I will not play the Sapphire Flute for you, Grandfather—not today, not tomorrow, not ever. You are not worthy of it. That flute is a gift from the Guardians, meant to bring joy and light and life to the people. You have neither light nor joy, and I will not cower before you any longer. Goodbye, Grandfather. I doubt you’ll be seeing me again.”
The man’s face had continued to purple throughout the speech, and finally he turned without a word and stalked from the silent room. He stopped before he left the archway and spoke over his shoulder. “Perhaps you are my grandchild after all, Kayla. Good show, child. Good show.”
His words were nearly a physical blow to her heart. He was right. It was exactly the kind of thing he would have done. Set your enemy up where it causes the most harm and then watch them fall while you laugh—only Kayla wasn’t laughing.
As a matter of fact, she was surprised to realize there were tears coursing down her cheeks. She wiped them away with an angry fist and wound her way through the buzzing crowd toward the stairs that led to her room. She was no longer hungry in the least. Her stomach was too full of acid and guilt.
A single person began to applaud. Kayla stopped just before the stairs and slowly turned. That one person turned into three, then three into ten, and before long the entire room was applauding and whistling nearly as much a
s they had when she played that morning.
People moved aside to form a path. Brant pushed his way through, still applauding, until he stopped just in front of her and let his hands rest with a final clap. He stared into her eyes for a long moment, then took her in his arms and kissed her soundly in front of the entire room. Kayla stiffened at first, very aware of the faces gaping around her, but within seconds she was as involved in his kiss as she had been that afternoon. It was as good as an announcement of their engagement. The room erupted into even louder cheers, if that were possible.
Brant pulled away, still cradling her in his arms, and shouted into her evahn ears, the room was so loud. “I’m proud of you, Kay. That took a lot of guts.”
“Yes, it did,” an unexpected voice came from the doorway, though how he’d heard Brant, Kayla didn’t know.
It was King Rojan.
The room quieted and dropped immediately into deep bows and curtsies as he passed. The king ignored them and crossed the room to grip Kayla’s arms.
“You have proven yourself tonight even better than I imagined you could. You’ve earned the right to a title, young or old. Kayla Kalandra Felandian, I hereby declare thee Duchess of Driane, with all the rights and responsibilities inherent therein. That should do for now.” The king grinned boyishly. "Driane’s been abandoned for quite a while, so you’re going to have some serious clean-up to do. Some of the businesses have been running under the stewardship of the kingdom, so I’ll hand those back to you. You’d better find a steward pretty quickly, child, or running a castle is going to overwhelm you.”
Kayla was astonished. It was everything she had ever wanted. A title, prestige for her family and herself once more, and to be wed to the one man in her life who had truly accepted her for who she was. What more could she ask? “Thank you, Your Highness,” she said, her mind still spinning. He bowed to her before turning his back and walking away. Brant immediately took her in his arms once more and hugged her tight, the crowd roaring around them.
The question echoed through Kayla’s head for the next hour as everyone wanted to be near and congratulate her. What more could she ask?
And yet . . . her heart still lay full of longing as she thought of the silken length of the Sapphire Flute. Why could she not play it? How could C’Tan hear a flute played from distant lands, or maybe even across oceans from where she was? It did not seem possible, and yet King Rojan had explicitly told her not to play it.
Once all the congratulations had been given, Kayla found herself back in her room, caressing the Sapphire Flute and wondering what it would feel like to play it, just once. A single note couldn’t hurt anything, could it?
The instrument seemed to rise of itself to her lips. She just wanted to feel it there and know what it would be like to play it.
She blew softly. There was no sound, but Kayla felt the power in the air just with the vibration her wind caused. It thrilled her in a way even Brant’s kisses could not. Her entire body ached with the need to play the glorious tones this flute could produce, and yet . . . she could not. Kayla hung her head and reluctantly lowered the instrument from her lips. She might not understand the king’s reasons, but still he was her king, and she dared not jeopardize everything she’d worked so hard for. She would bow to his wishes—for now.
She laid the flute back in its wooden case, then buried it deep within her feather mattress for safekeeping. She knew if she carried it around, someone would entice her to play, and she would give in much too easily.
She quickly undressed and hung her new gown, intent only on one thing—knowing the flute was safe beneath her as she slept.
The Sapphire Flute: Book 1 of The Wolfchild Saga Page 13