“Just remember, Bard Cricket,” the Dagda said. “Remember not to let your guard down just because you are enjoying a season of peace.”
Bowing low, Cricket replied, “I thank the Dagda, who is truly the most excellent one.”
The Dagda snorted once more. Standing, he nodded to both man and wolfhound and faded back into the trees.
The magic disappeared as well, and Cricket sank to the ground, his heart pounding. CuChulainn whined and nuzzled his friend, who wrapped his arms around the dog gratefully.
“Well, I know it’s not you,” Cricket said, scratching the furry ears. “Still, what would Faerie want with me? In every story I’ve ever heard, they oppose humans at every turn. So why warn me?”
CuChulainn just barked and curled up beside the young man, staring out into the darkness. Cricket unrolled his blanket and laid down. He stared at the stars for awhile, but there were no answers there either, and he finally fell asleep. He woke the next morning wondering if the whole thing had been a dream, but as he built up the fire, he saw the pattern that the Dagda had drawn in the dirt: an intricate knot without beginning or end.
Summer brought a muggy heat to Taris, making Cricket realize how much he missed the road. It didn’t help that the queen had decided to help her favorite bard by summoning him with the most attractive maids in the palace; Cricket found himself gently but firmly fending off their advances.
It even became a game. Elhonna would send a buxom blonde, and when she casually asked him what he thought of her, he would make a noncommittal reply. The next time it might be a svelte brunette, or a red head with eyes tilted like a fox. Cricket would find something wrong with each of them, but something obscure; her gums showed when she laughed, or she breathed loudly. They played the game all summer, but Elhonna never sent a plain looking girl with curly brown hair falling out of its braid and a bodhrán bouncing on her hip, so Cricket never felt any real fear of giving in.
Throughout it all, he remembered the Dagda’s warning, and practiced his magic whenever he was alone.
Chapter 18: Seduction
The heat finally broke, and Cricket felt better. He didn’t have to listen to CuChulainn pant all night for one thing, and for another, the queen evidently tired of her game. He almost missed it after a couple of weeks; he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed the sight of the lovely young girls, but at the same time, a tension eased from his shoulders that he hadn’t even realized was there.
One reason that the queen had been distracted was her new lover. Eochaid, Lord of Cantref Roansfal, had thick blonde hair and ruddy skin, and from the beginning the court sensed something different about his relationship with Elhonna. Whisperers said he would be the consort before Samhain, but Cricket, who saw them in private as well as public, wondered if it would last through a whole month.
Elhonna did try to make it work. She forgave him his faults, and tried to curb her sharp tongue for his sake, and he tried to please her without being overbearing. The people said that they made a handsome couple, and that their children would bless the kingdom. Cricket thought that they would kill themselves before their first anniversary.
One night, about a month before the Harvest Fair, Elhonna and Eochaid took their supper privately while Cricket played his harp in the corner. The conversation remained inconsequential until after the desert had been served. “El,” Lord Roansfal said, “Why don’t we set a date already? The people are anxious to see us married.”
The queen took a bite of her honeyed pastry, chewing slowly while she thought. “I don’t think that this is the right time.”
“How about mid-winter? We could hold the ceremony in Salwick, with all of your precious musicians in attendance.”
“Don’t get sarcastic with me, Lord Roansfal.”
“And don’t get imperious with me, your majesty.” He softened his expression somewhat. “I just want you to be happy, my love, and I want to stop pretending that we’re not spending our nights together as well as our days. I hate having to leave you before the sun comes up.”
“Patience, Eochaid,” the queen said. “All the inconvenience will be worthwhile in the end.”
He picked at his desert. “I have heard that you treated some of your other lovers differently.”
“Oh? And how is that, exactly?”
Eochaid ignored the warning in her eyes. “I understand that Lord Giltheny was given free reign at Salwick, and that the Prince of Duvnecht all but sat in your throne, even in Taris.”
“You are treading on dangerous ground, my lord.”
“Am I? Am I so wrong to ask for the same treatment that you gave to others?”
“You are if you think that I should treat my future consort the same as men I had no intention of wedding.”
“But how do I know that you really want to marry me?” Eochaid asked. “You’ve had more lovers than I care to think about, but you want me to believe that you will be faithful to me? I think that the only people that you keep your word to are your bards.”
“Don’t start complaining about the bards again,” Elhonna sighed. “I know you think that I pander to them. I know you think that they are leeches sucking the life out of Taris. I’ve heard it all before, and I’m tired of it.”
“All right, all right,” Eochaid said. “I won’t mention it again. But I do want to set a date for our wedding.”
Elhonna took his hand. “Not tonight, my love. But we will, soon.”
When she summoned him next, several days later, Cricket found the queen staring into space. “How may I serve you, my lady?” he asked with a bow.
She waved him to his customary stool, but did not speak. As he tuned Linnaia, he watched her from the corner of his eye; although she stared into the fire, shadows danced across her face and pooled in her eyes. He played softly, but she did not move, seemingly entranced by the flames.
He sang her songs of comfort and rest, songs that he had written just for her, but she ignored him. He tried a ballad and a reel, a sword dance and a hymn. Nothing worked. With a shrug, Cricket stopped trying to figure her out, and just let the music come as it would.
He thought of his queen’s loneliness, and began shaping the song around it, using his own as a model. The notes hoped and waited for love, but also promised strength and peace in solitude.
Cricket drew the song to a close and returned to the natural world, feeling better than he had in a long time. He looked up to find Elhonna watching him with wonder in her eyes. “Why is it,” she asked, “that you never use magic when you play for me?”
“It hardly seems necessary, my lady.”
“When you play like that, it’s true, magic would be redundant.” She touched his hand. “But you are the only man in my kingdom who offers me nothing but the truth.”
Cricket said, “Will you tell me what happened?”
She sighed and stared back into the fire. “Eochaid betrayed me.” She shrugged away his surprise. “Or maybe I betrayed him. I don’t know. But our love was not what I thought, and now he’s gone. I’ve been sitting here trying to decide if I should level his cantref, or just take his head.”
“I think my lady should sleep,” Cricket said gently. “Has Lord Roansfal left Taris yet?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that I hurt, and I have no one to share my grief with.”
“You have me.”
Elhonna looked at him with a sad smile. “I know, and that’s why I sent for you; but now, I’m not so sure that I want the truth that you always give me so unsparingly. Right now I think I just want someone to hold me and tell me that everything will be okay.”
Without thinking, Cricket laid Linnaia aside and crossed to the queen’s couch, sitting beside her and wrapping his arms around her. She turned and buried her face in his chest, sobbing softly. He made shushing noises, carefully keeping his mind away from the silken feel of her hair and the warm curves of her body.
After a while, Elhonna quieted and sat up, brushing tear dampened strands fr
om her face. “Thank you,” she said. “I don’t think I would trust any other man to hold me like that.”
“You are my friend,” Cricket said. “I’m glad I could be here for you.”
“Would you play for me, and help me sleep?” she asked. “Not as a bard, but just as a friend.”
“Of course.” He went back to his stool and picked up Linnaia while she settled herself in bed.
“Play something from the heart again,” she said, snuggling into her blankets.
Nodding, he began with a chord reflecting the promise of a new day. He searched out the melody from his memories of peaceful nights and sleepy mornings, from the smell of hay and the warmth of the hearth. He wove magic into it, but only to shut out the world, making the queen’s bedroom a refuge from the rest of her responsibilities. And he locked that magic into the stones, a gift for his friend.
A week later, while Cricket played, Elhonna said, “I wish we could just be a normal man and woman.”
“Nonsense,” Cricket chided. “You could never be normal; whether a queen or a pigherder, you would be exceptional.”
“But being a pigherder for a while would be nice,” she mused. “It would be nice to have an uncomplicated life for a while.”
Cricket cocked his eyebrow. “I don’t understand. You thrive on the challenges of your position.”
“But I get tired at times,” she explained, looking at her hands. “And I want to have someone who loves me, just as a woman, who will take care of me at the end of the day.”
“He’s out there somewhere.”
Elhonna looked up at her bard. “I wonder if maybe he’s right here.”
It took a moment for the meaning of her words to register in Cricket’s brain; he felt the world recede into the distance, and his hands fell still on the strings. He closed his eyes, trying to regain his coherence. “Are you saying...?”
“I am.”
“We can’t do this, Elhonna.”
“Of course we can,” she replied. “Unless you feel nothing for me...”
“That’s not it,” Cricket said. “You are my friend, and I love you dearly, but what you’re talking about...”
“I’m talking about making you my consort. I’m talking about marrying you.”
“But I am a bard...”
“You will be Pen Bardd before we wed.”
“Wait, wait.” Cricket gripped Linnaia tightly with both hands. “You would depose Ewan and put me in his place? That in itself is wrong. But it’s more than that: as a bard, I could not fulfill my duty to Glencairck if I were your husband.”
“I don’t understand.”
Cricket looked into her eyes. “I will still be a bard, and I will still be responsible for rendering judgment, at times on the Ard Righanna’s law, or the Ard Righanna herself. And if I am the Ard Righanna’s consort, how could I be impartial? No, my lady, the queen should not marry a bard, any bard.”
“So give up the star.”
“Only when you give up the crown.”
Elhonna’s eye flashed dangerously. “You would ask that of me?”
“Yes. Because you asked that much of me.” Cricket forced his hands to relax. “I’m truly sorry, Elhonna. If you were not queen, and I were not bard... but then we would be different people entirely, wouldn’t we? And I do love you, just not in that way.”
Cricket felt her magic like a wave against him, frightening him with its intensity. He wondered if he would be overwhelmed, but he touched the strings of his harp and it subsided.
The queen sat perfectly still, and when she spoke, her voice was as cold and hard as stone. “You may leave now.”
Cricket wanted to protest, but her tone made the words stick in his throat. He put Linnaia in her case and stood, making the most respectful and elegant bow he could. When she remained silent, he turned and left.
In the courtyard, CuChulainn sensed his friend’s distress, and pressed against his side as they made their way through the streets of Taris. “How would you feel about leaving, boy?” Cricket asked, throwing his arm over the dog’s back. CuChulainn just wagged his tail. “I know,” Cricket answered. “But we may no longer be welcome here.”
For the next fortnight, Cricket heard nothing untoward, but the queen did not give him any responsibilities, either. Finding himself with more free time than he knew what to do with, he spent many long hours at the White Owl, playing for the patrons. He talked to Byrn and Wylla about what had happened, but for all their combined wisdom, none of them knew what might happen next.
All around them, Taris prepared for the harvest fair. Bare-chested men in coarse trousers built the great corrals on the plain of Temair, and artisans worked by candlelight to bolster their inventory. Cricket and CuChulainn wandered through the streets, listening to the music of the city, and when they returned to their room, Cricket would work on new songs. He played them in the taverns, on the street, and into the wind, knowing that Elhonna would hear them. He just hoped that she heard his love as well.
Less than a week before the fair, Cricket received a summons from the queen. He took the time to make sure that his hair was tied back neatly, and that his boots as well as Linnaia’s case were shined. Calling to CuChulainn, they made their way through the afternoon crowds to the palace.
The wolfhound took his customary place in the courtyard while the bard went in. Cricket felt a sense of detachment as he walked the palace halls: three weeks had turned the familiar into the alien, although nothing had changed. Walking into the queen’s grianan heightened the sensation and coupled it with the memory of a day when he had still been a student. The impressions confused him, causing a moment of vertigo; he quickly caught himself and took his customary seat by the fire.
Elhonna did not look up from the scroll she held, and she said nothing. He stifled a sigh and began tuning Linnaia.
“Advise me, bard.”
“Yes, my queen?”
She threw the scroll on the table and motioned to it. “Bangreen wants a treaty. They are offering to lower their tariffs on milk foods if we will lower ours on gemstones.”
“Are there any kind of threats, veiled or otherwise?”
“No.”
“So what do your other councilors say?”
She leaned back and put a hand over her eyes. “They think it’s a trap, of course.”
“And you?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t ask.”
Cricket played for a moment while he thought. “King Seth took over just a year before your own reign began, and except for the civil war his accession created, he has shown no indication of continuing his father’s expansionist policies... I think this may be a hesitant step towards something more than an armed peace.”
“Then why do we fight it?”
Cricket shrugged. “We have always mistrusted them, and they have always mistrusted us. Any peace we make with the northerners seems to be temporary in the end; even this might not last more than a generation or two.”
Elhonna picked up the scroll. “But I could try and change that.”
“And you could succeed.”
She said nothing for a moment, intent on the wording of the document she held. “I’ve missed you.”
A knot in his heart eased. “And I have missed you, my lady.”
“I don’t want to be without you, even if we can’t be lovers.”
“I will always be your friend, Elhonna.”
Cricket saw a play of emotions across her face that he could not read. “That will have to do, I suppose,” she said. When Cricket looked away, however, her eyes said, For now.
Every three years, the Harvest Fair hosted a feis, or gathering of nobles, which met with the queen for six days before Samhain to make laws and review policies, each man according to his rank. They met in the MiCuarta, the largest hall in the palace, with the queen in the middle, and the princes of the four quarters surrounding her at the cardinal points. The ollam sat in a ring around them, followed by the queen’s bard
s teulu, the lords, lairds, and any chieftains who had come.
Cricket watched with fascination as Elhonna drew out the opinions and comments of all present, listening seriously to each, no matter how outlandish. Every day she seemed to grow stronger and more sure of herself as she danced rings around her opponents and bolstered her allies. Cricket felt the rush of her magic, deeper than his own, more like water than air. He shielded himself from it as a matter of course, but with a start, he realized that the only other bard who did so was Ewan.
Probing gently, Cricket explored the queen’s non-musical magic. It reminded him of rivers and lakes surrounded by lush green grass, and forests full of deer and wild boar. He could smell the still peat bogs and rough mountains softened with blankets of pine. The magic called up images of swineherds with their buckets of slop, shepherds with their bales of wool, and cowherds with their buckets of milk. From lonely fishing villages to crowded caers, from herds of glossy horses to flocks of white swans, the queen’s power reflected all of Glencairck.
Retreating behind his shields, Cricket marveled at the accuracy of the old tales that spoke of the sacred responsibility of the High King or Queen. Most people assumed the poets had exaggerated, but Cricket knew that Elhonna, and perhaps every other person who was confirmed by the Lia Fial, had inherited a power to fulfill those responsibilities. By the end of the feis on Samhain morning, her will had dominated, resulting primarily in a new treaty to be offered to Bangreen.
Samhain Eve, after she lit the sacred fire and participated in the celebration for a while, Elhonna summoned Cricket to her chambers. He found her in a strange mood, pacing the room like a cat.
“What would you like to hear, my lady?” he asked as he tuned.
“Anything,” she answered.
He played a soothing melody, but if anything, she became more agitated. “Stop!” she commanded.
Stilling the strings with the flat of his hand, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She stopped. “Everything. I don’t know.” She started pacing again.
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