“The Bardic Guild found out, too. I don’t know how, but they had a Guildmaster protesting to the High King before I even got the safe-conduct,” Nob continued, after describing how Harperus had come to get him early this morning. “They tried to get this lady banned from the Court because she’s a Gypsy, then they tried to get her barred because she plays at Freehold and they have some kind of arrangement about the musicians at Freehold. The High King just ignored them. They were even going to make a fuss so you couldn’t be heard, but Theovere got word of that before it ever happened and told them if they did anything he’d have them all discharged, so they gave up, I guess. The High King made her your Second. Do you know what that means?”
T’fyrr shook his head. Nob was only too happy to explain. “She’s more than a servant, like me, but she’s not the High King’s Musician, she’s yours. So nobody but you can discharge her, you see, not even Theovere if the Guild pressures the High King to do it, but she doesn’t have the immunity you do if she offends somebody at Court. She can only be arrested by Theovere’s personal guards, though, if she’s accused of something.”
“Then I’ll just have to be certain I don’t offend anyone,” Nightingale said in a low, amused voice. Nob giggled.
“The Guild people are all pretty disgusted, but Harperus says not to worry, they can’t do anything, and as long as you’re real careful and never let any of them get you someplace without witnesses so they can claim you offended them, it’ll be all right,” Nob finished in a rush. He kept glancing over at Lyrebird with a certain awe and speculation in his eyes.
“When is Theovere expecting us to perform for him?” T’fyrr asked. That was the question of the most moment.
“As soon as you get there—I mean, after you get cleaned up and all,” Nob replied, correcting himself with a blush. “You can’t go before the King with dust on your feathers!”
Nightingale gave T’fyrr an amused look that he read only too easily—she had warned him something like this might happen, which was why she had made her own careful preparations before they left Freehold.
Nob hurried them both inside and, while Nightingale waited in the outer room, rushed him through his usual preparations.
Still harried by the energetic Nob, like a pair of hawks being chivvied on by a wren, they hurried up the hallways to the King’s private quarters.
This time will be different. This time there will he Magic. Elation and worry mingled in him in a confusing storm of emotion, leaving him feeling unbalanced. The least little things were unbalancing him, after last night . . .
After last night . . .
What exactly had happened? Something had passed between them, as ephemeral as a moon shadow and strong as spider silk. A whisper more potent than any shout, that was what it felt like; a stillness at the center of a whirlwind. As if every feather had been stripped from his body, leaving him bare to the winds.
Perhaps it was just as well that they had work to do immediately, so that he had no time to think about it. He did not want to think about it; not now, perhaps not ever.
But you will, his conscience told him. You will have to, eventually.
He didn’t want to think about that, either.
Nightingale was too weary to be impressed by the Palace, the High King, or anything else for that matter. There wasn’t much left of her this morning, except the magic and the music; she had saved enough of her energy for that, and had very little more. She felt as if she was so insubstantial she would blow away in a breeze, and so tired she could hardly walk.
It was not the physical weariness, although that was a part of it, certainly. She had stayed up to play for revels all night long and traveled with the dawn a thousand times. But this morning was very different.
But part of me dwells within him, now, and part of him in me. Strange and yet familiar, a breath of mountain air across her deep and secret forest; a hint of music strange and wild, a brush of feathers across her breast.
No time to think about it now; time only to enforce her don’t look at me glamorie, spun with a touch of Bardic power and sealed with a hummed, near-inaudible tune. Time only to take her place behind T’fyrr in the King’s chamber, set up her harp, tune it with swift fingers, and wait for his cues.
He would have to be the one to choose the tunes; she could only follow his lead, and try to set the magic to suit. They’d had no chance to discuss this, to pick specific songs. “If it is something you don’t know, I’ll sing the first verse alone,” he whispered. “If we do that enough, it will seem done on purpose.”
She nodded, and then they began.
With no time to set what they were to perform, with only their past performances together to use as patterns, he was not able to choose many songs suited to their intent. She was not particularly worried about that, not for this first attempt. She was far more concerned with setting so good an impression of her ability on the King that he would continue to support T’fyrr and, indirectly, her. It would take more than one session of magic to undo all the harm that had been wrought with years of clever advice and insidious whispers. It might be just as well that they were not too heavy-handed with the message for the first performance; better that they had more songs merely meant to entertain than to carry the extra burden. She must impress the King as well as convey the magic, after all.
She knew that she had done that much when the King ceased to play his game of Sires and Barons with one of his lords, and ignored everything else in the room, as well, closing his eyes and listening intently to the music they made. She knew that there was something more than herself at work when the bodyguards’ faces took on an unexpected stillness, as if they, too, were caught up in the spell of harp and voice, when even the lord who had been playing at the game with the High King folded his hands in his lap and simply listened.
There is something of me in T’fyrr, as there is part of him in me. Has he learned to touch the Magic through me? It could have been; Raven had his own touch of the magic, and she would never have noticed one way or another if he had acquired a little more of it from her after their bittersweet joining. So much of her soul was bound up in the magic, could she have ever spun it out to wrap T’fyrr’s if the magic didn’t come with it?
She sensed a terrible weariness in that second man, and as sensitive as she was this morning, she could not help but move to ease it. So when the music chosen did not particularly suit their purposes with the High King, she turned her attention and her magic to that weary lord, sending him such peace as she could. He was not a man who would ever feel much peace; his concerns were too deep, his worries never-ending. But what he would take in the way of ease, she would give him gladly. No one with such weariness on his heart could ever be one of the lot who were advising the King to neglect his duty. This could only be a man who was doing his best to make up for the King’s neglect.
The King made no requests; T’fyrr simply picked songs as he thought of them, so far as Nightingale could tell. Finally, at some signal she could not see, he stopped, and it was a long, long moment before the King opened his eyes again and set his gaze on the two of them.
It was another long moment before he spoke.
“I do not ever wish to hear your musical judgment called into question again, T’fyrr,” he said quietly, but with a certain deadly quality to his words. “You may bring whosoever you wish to accompany you from henceforth—but it will be my request that it be this gentle lady. Her safe-conduct to this Palace is extended for as long as she wishes to come.”
The High King turned to the lord that had sat at play with him. “What think you of my nightingales, Lord Seneschal?” he asked, but with a tone full of wry amusement, as if he expected some kind of noncommittal answer. Nightingale suppressed a smile at the unintended irony.
But the Lord Seneschal turned towards Theovere with an expression of vague surprise and a touch of wonder. “You know that I am not the expert in music that you are, Your Majesty,” he said with no hint th
at he was trying to flatter. “I enjoy it, certainly, but it has never touched me—until today.” He closed his eyes briefly, and opened them again, still wearing that expression of surprise. “But today, I felt such peace for a moment, that if I were a religious man, I would have suspected something supernatural . . . I thought of things that I had forgotten, of days long ago, of places and people . . .”
Then he shook himself and lost that expression of wonderment. “Memories of—old times. At any rate, Your Majesty,” he continued briskly, “if I were not so certain of the honor of the Guildmasters, I would have been tempted to say that they were opposed to this lady’s performance because she would provide an unwelcome contrast to the performance of the Guild Musicians.”
Nightingale bowed her head to hide her smile. The Lord Seneschal’s tone of irony was just enough to be clear, without being so blatant as to be an accusation against the Guild Musicians. For all that the King had supported her against them, he had a long history of supporting them as well. At any moment, he could spring again to their defense, so it was wise of the Lord Seneschal to be subtle in his criticism.
Nor was that lost upon Theovere, who answered the sally with a lifted eyebrow.
“Let us discuss that, shall we?” he said, and T’fyrr, taking that as the dismissal that it was, bowed them both out.
Nightingale parted company from him quickly after that, since Nob brought word that Harperus wanted to speak with him, and she most certainly did not want to be there when he showed up. She returned unaccompanied to Freehold, resolving to make her journeys hereafter in something less conspicuous in the way of a costume. The Elven silks would pack down readily enough, and she could change in T’fyrr’s rooms, even if that would scandalize young Nob. With the safe-conduct in her hand, the quiet and respectable clothing would do very well for her to pass the gate reserved for those who were higher than servants but less than noble.
But she should think about spending some of her rapidly accumulating monies on other clothing, as well. Granted, she could not lay her hands on more Elven silk, but there were perfectly good seamstresses in the city who would not scorn to sew to her design. She needed something appropriate but less flamboyant than Elven-made clothing. She was a commoner, an outsider, and it would not do to excite the jealousy of the ladies of the Court in the matter of dress. Every time she stepped onto the Palace grounds, she went completely out of her element, a songbird trying to swim like a fish. There was no point in making herself more problems than she already had.
She was uncomfortably aware of speculative eyes on her as she made her way to Freehold, and she was grateful that, although the hour tended toward noon, it was still too early for any of the more dangerous types to be wandering the streets. Pickpockets were easy enough to foil; she could leave broken fingers in her wake without seeming to do more than brush her hand across her belt-pouch. But in this particular outfit, she was fair game for ransom-kidnappers who could legitimately assume she had money or had family with money. And she was even more vulnerable to those looking to kidnap for other purposes.
So she set the don’t look at me spell again, all too aware that it would only work on those near enough to hear the melody she hummed under her breath. If she were less tired, she could have included anyone within sight of her—
But she had just spent all night and part of the morning working the magics of music and the heart, and she had scant resources to spend on herself. She sighed with relief when Freehold loomed into view, and she had seldom been so glad to see a place as she was to see that deceptively plain door.
She took herself straight upstairs; fortunately, word had not yet spread of her Royal Command Performance, and she did not have to fend off any questioners. Only one of the Mintak peace-keepers appeared, silent as a shadow, to take her harp from her—and one of the little errand boys, with a tray of food and drink beside him. Neither asked any questions; they simply followed her to her room, put their burdens down, and left her.
She ate and drank quickly, without tasting any of it; she stripped off her gown and lay down in her bed, still rumpled and bearing the impression of her body and T’fyrr’s, and the faint, spicy scent of his feathers. And then, she fell asleep, and slept like one dead until an hour before her first set of the evening.
She woke with the feeling that she had dreamed, but with no memory of what her dreams had been about. She woke, in fact, a little confused about where she was, until her mind began to function again. Then she lay staring up at the ceiling, trying to sort herself out.
There was a difference, a profound and yet subtle difference, in the way everything felt, but she had known that there would be.
Some of the magic—had not precisely left her, but it had changed. If she sang alone, she would still command the same power—but if she performed with T’fyrr, it was another story altogether. Together they would command more than the magic of two people; their abilities would work together as warp and weft, and the magic they wove would be stronger and firmer than anything she had ever dreamed of. So T’fyrr shares the Bardic Magic now—or else, I have awakened the magic that was already there. Not entirely unexpected, but certainly welcome, for as long as the two of them remained partnered.
She shoved that last niggling thought away, with a hint of desperation. She would not think of that. The pain would come soon enough, she did not need to worry at it until it did come, and T’fyrr went on his way again without her.
Or until she was forced by circumstance to leave him. The road traveled in both directions, after all.
The other changes within her were precisely as she had expected—except for the depth to which they ran. She did not particularly want to think about that, either.
But she wouldn’t have to; there was a performance to give. T’fyrr would probably not be able to come—he could seldom manage two nights in a row. A brief stab of loneliness touched her, but she had expected it, and absorbed it.
I have been lonely for most of my life; I do not expect this to change. That was what she told herself, anyway. Being lonely has never killed anyone yet, no matter what the foolish ballads say.
And with that thought to fortify her, she finally rose from her bed and prepared to face another night of audiences.
###
She made her way across the city with far less of a stir this morning than she and T’fyrr had caused yesterday. No one would look twice at her, in fact, in her sober and honest clothing. The bundle at her back could be anything; unless you knew what a harp case looked like, there was no reason even to think she was a musician.
She presented herself and her safe-conduct at the Bronze Gate; the guard there scarcely glanced at it or her, except to note the size and shape of the bundle she carried and to order her to show what it was she had. When he saw it was only a musical instrument and a small bundle of cloth, he became bored again and passed her through.
She found a page to show her to T’fyrr’s rooms, in plenty of time to use his bathroom and change into the gown she had brought with her. He was pacing the floor when she arrived, and turned to greet her with relief and disappointment.
Another sign of how we are bound, now; I know his feelings without needing to try to interpret his expression. The relief was because she was early; the disappointment he made clear enough.
“Theovere hasn’t changed,” he said as she asked him how they had been received yesterday. “He still hasn’t done anything any differently. I don’t understand—”
Before he could say anything further, she seized his hand and drew him into the bedroom, away from the odd devices she recognized as Deliambren listening devices. She did not want the Deliambrens to know about the Bardic Magic—at least, she did not want them to know that she was exercising it. They already knew there was something like it, of course, and they knew, from the results she got, that she used it. They might put “magic” and “harpist” together and come up with “Nightingale.”
“Don’t be impatient
,” she told him as his tail feathers twitched a little from side to side and he shook his wings out. “Even with the Magic, this is going to take time. For one thing, we didn’t have the chance to select songs that would channel his mind in the direction we wanted it to go. For another, we are trying to change something that took several years to establish; we aren’t going to do that overnight.”
He opened his beak, then shut it abruptly, as if he had suddenly seen what she was talking about.
“Besides, you aren’t in the special Council sessions,” she continued. “You have no access to the one place where he actually gets things done and issues real orders. You have no idea how he is speaking or acting within them. If I were the King—”
She let the nebulous thought take a more concrete form, then spoke. “If I were the King, and I began to take up the reins of my duty again—I would know that I would have to be careful about it. The Advisors aren’t going to like the changes we’re trying to bring about in him, and they are powerful people. He can oppose them in small things successfully, but—” She shook her head. “He was a very clever man, and I don’t think that cleverness is gone. He was also a very observant man, and he must realize what has been going on. If I were the King, with my sense of duty reawakened, I would start working my will in very small things, taking back my power gradually, and hopefully by the time they realized what I was doing, it would be too late. And I would be very, very careful that I didn’t seem to act any differently.”
T’fyrr nodded then. “In a way, since he has let the power slip from his hands, Theovere has less power than any of them. Is that what you are saying?”
“More or less.” She moved back into the other room with its insidious little listening devices. “Well, more to the point, what are we performing today? If you have anything that I don’t know, I can probably pick it up with a little rehearsal.”
“Which you have cleverly provided time for by arriving early.” His beak opened in that Haspur equivalent of a smile, and she warmed with his pleasure in her company and her cleverness. “Well, here is the list I had thought we might perform.”
The Eagle & the Nightingales: Bardic Voices, Book III Page 24