The Knight, the Harp, and the Maiden

by Anne Kelleher Bush

  “‘What choice have you to offer me,’ asked the lady. ‘My life is over now—my lover is dead.’

  “‘Become my bride,’ replied the thurge, ‘or live with the curse I shall set upon you.’

  “‘Better to die than be your bride,’ answered the lady. ‘Never will I wed you.’

  “‘Then your choice is made,’ said the thurge, and fast as light, the spell was made. And the lady shuddered as the power wove itself around her, encircling her with chains forged of light and air and power, and she cried out. ‘Now,’ said the thurge, ‘this is the curse I set upon you. Nothing shall be yours but that which you earn by your own hands. You will know the harshest deprivations, the coldest nights, the hungriest days. For if you accept the least kindness, the smallest charity, the curse will befall on all who would befriend you, and you will watch their suffering and know you were the cause of it.’”

  “How cruel,” murmured Lona. “Is there nothing to save her?”

  “‘Only one who loves you for yourself alone shall break the curse,’ said the thurge, and the lady fled into the night. In despair she went to her father’s house, and sought comfort in the arms of her old nurse, but when the poor old woman tried to help her, the nurse’s hands burst into flames. The lady disappeared into the night, carrying only a few possessions, and her harp, by which would come her means to earn her bread. And so she wanders from town to city to village, across the roads, accepting no charity, no kindness.”

  “But what happens to her,” asked Lona. Cariad had set a goblet of apple-scented wine beside her, and she reached for it unconsciously. She took a long drink. “What happens to the lady?”

  Juilene looked down. What a foolish thing to do. How was she to end the story? “I—I cannot be sure, lady. Though I am certain she met a kind man who loved her for herself alone, and broke the spell and together they lived happily.” She glanced up and saw Cariad watching her. There was that same compassion in his eyes, and she had the feeling he had heard far more in the story than she had told.

  “What a sad, sad story,” Lona mused, munching on a grape. She popped another into her mouth. “And you tell it well, with such feeling, I would think you had it from the lady herself.” She looked up and narrowed her eyes. “Have you a place to sleep this night, little sister?”

  Juilene hesitated. There was too much kindness in this woman’s face. The landlord had said nothing, but surely there was some nook she could curl up in. “I—I will stay here, my lady.”

  Lona gave her another sharp look. “Fetch a plate for the ’sayer, Cariad, if you will—she’s earned a fine supper, don’t you think?”

  “Assuredly, my lady.” At once he was on his feet, bowing, and before Juilene could protest, he was halfway across the room.

  “No, no, my lady.” Juilene gripped the frame of the harp. “I—I have already eaten—”

  “Hush, child.” Lona waved her hand. “You look thinner than I do. And I would wager you cannot remember the last time such a handsome young knight served you with his own hands?”

  Juilene flushed. She could remember all too clearly the last time she had been so served, and she lowered her eyes lest Lona see the tears that sprang once more to her eyes. “You are too kind, my lady,” she murmured. She looked up to see Cariad leaning over her, a large dish piled high with every kind of food from the platters. “I—I cannot.”

  “Take it,” he said, his voice as gentle as a nursemaid’s.

  She shook her head, pleading with her eyes. “I cannot.”

  “Take it,” he said once more. “Nothing will happen. I promise.”

  She drew a deep breath. There was such assurance in his voice, in his eyes, in his face, that inexplicably she believed him. “I—I have no money to pay—”

  “Take it.” He held the platter out.

  Slowly she set her harp upon the floor, and gingerly reached out. Her hands closed around the edges of the plate, and as she took it, he released it. She realized she was holding her breath, staring at his hands, waiting for something awful, something terrible to happen to him, and for the outcry that must surely follow.

  But nothing happened, nothing at all, and he withdrew with a little bow. He turned to Lona. “The hour grows late, my lady. Shall I see you to your room?”

  Lona looked around. “Eat, child.” She sighed. “I think so, Cariad. The day’s traveling has quite exhausted me.” She rose heavily to her feet and smiled once more at Juilene. “Goddess blessing, little sister. Your playing has eased me greatly, this night, whether you know it or not. Sleep well.”

  The knight offered her his arm. Lona took it, and without a backward glance, the two left the common room. Juilene picked up a morsel of meat wrapped in dough and slowly chewed it. Her mouth watered, and she closed her eyes, savoring the delicate spices, the juicy flavor of the well-roasted meat, the flaky texture of the buttery crust.

  “I see you pleased the lady.”

  Her eyes flew open. Elizondo stood before her, his hands laced over his ample belly. He smelled of sweat and musk and the kitchens all at once, and for a moment Juilene lost her appetite. “Yes, sir. It seemed I did.”

  “And you pleased everyone else, too, it would seem, for more than one has commented to me on your skill. Lucca’s got lazy, I suppose. Maybe it’s time I booted her out on the road. Well, no matter.” He paused and an expression she could not read flickered over his broad features. “I wish I could offer you a proper room this night, for you have played well. But I am full to the attics, and well—if you want you can sleep in the stables. There’s a room off the side that the stablehands use if one falls sick. You can sleep there if you like, if you’ll play ’til closing.”

  Juilene nodded. It was better than sleeping by the road, and there was a chance that Cariad might return after seeing Lona to her room. He might wear the lord’s colors but he was clearly the lady’s man. Perhaps they were lovers, she wondered, as Elizondo turned back to his guests, and she bent her head to the harp once more.

  Diago and his men were laughing at the bar, making so much noise that the harp’s gentle music was nearly drowned out. It didn’t matter, thought Juilene. She caught Diago’s eye inadvertently. He smiled and raised his glass to her. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her shiver despite the heat of the fire. But she had better get used to the way men looked at her, she scolded herself, and become more adept at handling their advances than by blushing and turning away. She was no longer the shy daughter of a noble house. At least for this night, she was safe and clean and well fed, and there was the promise of a warm place to lay her head. It should be of no consequence that the lord of the district should choose to look at her as if she, too, were one of his possessions. Tomorrow she would move on. The old songsayer was right. So far the road to Eld was a good one.

  The fire had burned down to no more than grey ash, the platters were empty save for crusts and crumbs. Dirty goblets and cups were everywhere. Juilene paused in her playing. The last of the patrons was snoring in the corner by the window, and Elizondo leaned upon the bar, his robes hanging off his shoulders like broken wings, counting pieces of silver. “What a night, what a night,” he said, over and over again, as he shook his head and sifted through the coins, not so much counting them as caressing them.

  The young barkeep looked up from polishing the glasses and smiled, but said nothing. The serving maids crept from the kitchens and began to gather the debris into shallow baskets. Elizondo looked at the young man behind the bar and grinned. “A better night I’ve not seen in many days.” He heaved his bulk away from the pile of gleaming coins and shuffled over to the door. He pulled the outer door tightly shut, and ceremoniously slid a thick piece of wood through the lock. “There,” he said, to no one and everyone, “the night’s done.” He gave a self-satisfied sigh and turned to face the servants. “Clear up this mess as quick as you can, and then to bed. Those merchants from Parmathia want to be on the road to Gravenhage early.” He swept
the coins into a huge leather bag, savoring the weight. “A very good night, indeed.”

  Juilene watched him disappear up the steps behind the bar, the wood groaning beneath his weight. How lucky he was—rich and overfed and self-satisfied, the master of his own little world. She rose to her feet, holding her harp close. Now to find the stables, and the room Elizondo said might be hers for the night.

  A serving maid with a tired face and a stained apron pointed through the kitchen doors with a suds-covered hand. She made her way out into the yard. Stars flickered in the black night sky. There was no moon, but dim lamps burned in some of the windows, casting enough light for her to pick her way across. The stables were large and immaculately kept, as one would only expect in an inn of Elizondo’s standing. The odor of horses was strong but not offensive, and in the dim light, she could see the bulky shapes and hear the soft whickers of the animals as they slept. A thin line of light beckoned beneath a door set in the far wall, and Juilene followed it. She placed her hand on the rough-hewn wood and gasped, for the sapphire ring glowed a low but steady blue. She glanced over her shoulder, but saw nothing. She hoped the door had a lock. Swallowing hard, she pushed open the door and peered inside. The room was small, but clean, and a narrow bed, covered in a coarse blanket, stood against the farthest wall. There was a rickety table, on which burned the stub of a candle, beside a basin and a pitcher. Her pack lay on the floor at the foot of the bed. She sighed and hugged the harp. “It’s nothing but all being in a strange place, surely, old friend,” she whispered as she stepped inside and closed the door. She placed the harp carefully beside the table. “Let’s rest while we can.”

  “Rest, indeed, little sister.” A man’s voice drawled from the shadows, and Juilene gasped. Thane Diago lounged on a small stool in the corner behind the door.

  “M-my thane,” she stammered. “What are you doing here?”

  “Come, little sister, don’t play so naive. Of course you know why I’m here—Elizondo told you to expect me, didn’t he?” He rose to his feet and stood between Juilene and the door.

  She glanced desperately at the door behind his back. “N-no, my thane,” she replied, struggling to regain her composure. “He did not.”

  He cocked his head and put his hands on his hips. “Oh, I think so, my little songsayer. All those looks and soft glances you gave me—and that playing of yours, so full of gentle passion—and you, yourself. You intrigue me, you know that?” He grinned. In the meager light of the candle, his face was very dark and his mouth looked very wide, his shoulders very broad. He towered at least a foot over her.

  Juilene instinctively drew back. “Please—I’m very tired. I have no wish—”

  “Ah,” he said softly, dangerously, and Juilene felt the edge of the bed against the back of her legs. “It doesn’t matter what you wish. You’ve glamour on you—what sort of magic is this that you carry?”

  Faster than she could imagine, he reached out, grabbing for her. She shrieked and tried to dodge, but as his bare hand made contact with her upper arm, he pulled it back just as quickly, as if stung. “What the goddess?” He stared down at her, his whole body menacing. His eyes were narrowed slits. “There is a spell on you. I thought I saw it in the tavern, but you were in front of the fire and I couldn’t be sure. And there’s something—something odd about it, isn’t there?” He paused.

  Juilene stared at Diago in disbelief. Could the man be a thurge as well as a thane? He fumbled in his belt for his gloves and pulled them on, the tight leather snapping against the flesh of his wrists. He leaned down and Juilene shrank back. “I want you to tell me who put it on you.” He jerked her face up to his.

  “I’ll scream,” she managed.

  “Scream all you please. Elizondo knows what I require—he takes great pains to meet the needs of all his guests.”

  A chill went through Juilene. So that was why she had been welcomed, bathed, and fed. No wonder the curse hadn’t affected Elizondo or his servants. There was a price she was expected to pay, and it wasn’t with her music. Damn them all, she thought suddenly. I’ll not be used. “Let me go and I will.”

  For answer he pushed her down on the bed and fell across her, his weight pinning her. She struggled with all her might, but he only held her down easily and laughed.

  “Quite a little dragon, aren’t we?” He felt for her nipple through her gown and pinched it. She gasped and tried to slap his hand away. “Now. The name.” He pinched her nipple again, harder, and grinned as her face twisted in pain. He reached for her arms and held them above her head with one hand. With the other he fumbled at the skirt of her gown. He pulled it up roughly and she closed her eyes as she heard the worn fabric tear.

  Tears filled her eyes as she felt the coarse wool of his breeches and the cold leather of his boots on the smooth skin of her legs. He ran his hand up and down her thigh, probing between her legs, stabbing his fingers deep into her secret places. She struggled against a nausea that flooded her throat. She clamped her knees together, but he was too strong.

  “Now,” he whispered, and his hot breath burned her ear. She heard the sound of a dagger sliding out of its sheath, and he held it up before her eyes. The blade was long and jagged on one side, and it gleamed silver in the dim light. The hilt was black leather, banded and bordered in silver. “The name,” he said, “or I put this in you—and I might not care which end goes first.”

  Juilene gasped and closed her eyes. “Lindos,” she whispered. “Lindos of Sylyria.”

  He threw the dagger aside and rolled on top of her with a chuckle of triumph. Her face burned with shame and humiliation. This was exactly what Lindos had in mind for her, she knew. But instead, she heard the door open and another man’s voice, Cariad’s voice, she recognized, and her heart leaped.

  “Leave that girl alone.”

  Diago looked up. “Get out of here, young whelp. Go crawl back to your mistress’s skirts ’til you’re ready to play like a man.”

  “Men don’t play this way,” Cariad answered. “Even animals don’t play like this.”

  Diago rose and Juilene scrambled up, pulling at her skirts. She drew her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs.

  Diago’s face had darkened to an ugly mottled red. “You insolent puppy—shall I teach you what it means to play with me?”

  “Go ahead and try,” Cariad said calmly. He stood motionless. “Especially if you wish to answer to both King and Over-Thurge. Darmon is itching to bring a complaint against you. Give him the excuse he’s been waiting for. I don’t think you want to endure too much scrutiny, do you, my thane?”

  The veins in Diago’s temples bulged and he pressed his lips so tightly together they nearly disappeared. Dust swirled on the floor, and the whole room shook. A crack appeared in one wall, and from the stables a horse screamed, but nothing else happened.

  Cariad stood impervious.

  Finally Diago pushed past him, his face twisted with rage. “I’ll deal with you another day,” he bellowed, his voice echoing across the silent stableyard as he disappeared into the night.

  Juilene swallowed hard, scarcely believing he was gone. “How—how did you dare to withstand him?”

  “He knew I was right,” he said with a shrug. “Diago has no wish to call the attentions of either Conclave or Council upon himself. He’s not trusted by either as it is. And in my country, my uncle is a thurge. He gave me a charm to protect me against the use of magic.”

  Juilene eyed him closely, not sure whether to believe him or not. But Cariad was speaking and she could scarcely gather her thoughts sufficiently to ask the questions swirling through her head. He gestured to her harp. “Come with me.”

  “Where?” she asked, not sure whether to trust him or not. There was something in his face that said he could be trusted, but how many others had she thought she could trust, and how many times had she been mistaken?

  “I have a room in the inn,” he repeated patiently.

  “Oh.” Juilen
e raised her eyebrow. So he had saved her for himself. She drew a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. If she was going to be used this night, it might as well be by one whom she found attractive. “All right.” She picked up her pack. Her wrists ached and she shuddered to think at the way Diago would have used her.

  “Ready?”

  She nodded.

  “Come.”

  He offered her his arm and she took it after a moment’s hesitation. What was it about this man that was at once so noble and so—she groped for the word—sad? He was young—maybe only a few years older than she—certainly no older than Arimond—but there was about him an air of gravity, utterly different from Arimond, as though he had known great suffering in his life, and carried the memory of it with him always. She realized that not once that whole evening had she seen him smile.

  He led her back across the yard, and through the kitchens, and finally up a flight of steps to the rooms above the inn.

  She bit her lip, and hoped that what she could offer would be worth her night’s lodgings. Something about this man made her not want to see anything bad come to him because of her.

  She allowed him to lead her down the corridor, and finally he paused before a door. He opened the door, and stood aside to let her pass. She walked into the room. It was not large, but it was comfortably furnished with a wide wooden bed. The sheets on the bed were white, the blankets fine wool dyed a soft rich shade of blue. A fire burned in the small hearth. She looked around, and was surprised he did not follow her inside. She turned back with a question on her face.

  “Good night, sister.” He bowed with grave courtesy and began to close the door.

  “Wait,” she cried. Immediately he paused. “Aren’t you—don’t you—where are you going?”

  “I’ll be just outside the door. Diago is a stubborn man when he gets in a mood like that. If he’s frustrated, there’s no saying what he’s capable of doing. Goddess help whatever poor wretch he’s found to use instead of you.”