by Amy Keeley
The red curtains moved, as if a breeze had touched them. “Of course, your Highness.” Zhiv himself did not appear, and his voice sounded hollowed out, layered, and thrown into a cave with several others until anyone who had never heard him speak would be unable to guess his true voice. But she knew that guarded tone. It was Zhiv indeed, and he wanted no one to hear what he actually thought of what had occurred.
“Since you are here, Zhiv,” the King said, “would you mind singing us a song? To celebrate the goodwife’s fortune.”
Though she couldn’t see him, in her mind’s eye she imagined the corners of his lips curling upward, and his eyes narrowing. “As you wish, Highness, though her fortune is, in my opinion, debatable.”
“Do you think so?”
“She would have been better off if you’d sent her back to her husband.”
Krysilla’s eyes widened. He meant that. She could hear it in his voice.
“Even if her husband does not want her?”
“If he doesn’t, why ask her to promise? No. Send her back, and let her beg her husband to leave off the noble woman.”
“You’re cruel, Zhiv,” the King said, though a smile danced along his lips and in his eyes. “Sing for us, and perhaps I might forgive you your cruelty.”
“As you wish, Highness.”
Krysilla shut her eyes tight. Even hearing his words, spoken so casually and with such lack of regard for feelings she thought he understood, didn’t diminish her reaction to his music. Though she’d heard his fiddle more than once, she’d only ever heard him sing at the Felldesh manor. Now, as well as then, fantastical images formed from the rock surrounding them, the stone floors and walls becoming a fantastical menagerie.
But, unlike his performance at the Felldesh manor, this performance had no songs full of secret longing, or even songs glorifying Tothsin ideals. The song he sang this time was quiet. It was the song of a man who had waited his whole life for a dream to come true. Not an ideal, either. This dream had no roots in doctrine. It made no promises of relief from pain and suffering. And through the spell that wound round the melody, she felt a glimmer of the power that had hummed through the door the two of them had opened.
The lyrics were not as clear as the other songs he sang. The dream, though full of landscapes rich with wildlife and beauty, drifted aimlessly, as if searching for something to form into itself.
Only toward the end did it begin to form into something more substantial in her mind: a quiet meadow, and beyond it, a lake at the foot of what appeared to be a mountain. And a house. A strange, beautiful house, with a cave above it, and a balcony that stretched over the shore of the lake. Trees surrounded it, and yet, she could see it clearly because she was looking over the water at it. And with this image, the layers on Zhiv’s voice melted away one by one.
The song ended before they could all disappear, however.
She wanted that. The house and the honesty in Zhiv’s voice. No layers, no games, no pretense. If only he wanted that, too.
And she wondered what kind of magic he used that planted images in a person’s mind.
“Beautiful, as always,” the King murmured. His eyes, too, had closed while Zhiv sang. “The calm of the Plains of Belgeriand is indeed a pleasant distraction.”
Plains? The spell must show different images to each listener, she realized, and wondered how that could be possible.
“Thank you, your Highness.” Zhiv sounded pleased.
“And now, it’s time to return to work. Hon Jixsin, I wish to speak with you for a moment. Lord Teranasin, would you mind showing the goodwife to the entrance while we speak? Hon Jixsin shall meet you there.”
Lord Teranasin bowed. “Of course, your Highness.” Krysilla followed him out, though she looked one last time at Daegan, and, presumably, Zhiv, hoping to catch a glimpse of why Daegan had supported her at all before she left. But his face was unreadable, and Zhiv was invisible, leaving her with her speculations. And the memory of Zhiv’s words. She would have been better off if you’d sent her back to her husband. And yet she could see him, furious at Lejer’s hypocrisy, storming through the halls underneath the Felldesh manor.
Perhaps, she thought, as she followed Lord Teranasin down the long hall with many windows, he thinks this is a trap the King has set. Or perhaps, he hates the thought that I might be forced to go back to Lejer against my will.
Considering how he loved freedom, that made sense. He wouldn’t wish a trap on anyone.
Once outside, she expected Lord Teranasin to bow politely and go back inside. Instead, he gestured for her to follow him. “Have you ever stood at the feet of a Blessed One, goodwife?”
Unsure of his game, and trusting him far less than she did Zhiv, she shook her head.
“The statues are most unique. They are where a supplicant may wish on whatever his or her heart desires. And they also have the distinction of being the only place where the King is unable to hear the answer.”
I doubt that, she thought. A place where people share their deepest desires is exactly the place a king would wish to listen most.
As if hearing her thoughts, Lord Teranasin grinned. “Of course, the silence is not granted by the King. Not directly. It is the one place where a person can cast a silence without immediately bringing the Dogs because the Dogs only stay near his immediate person or in the wide world beyond. This small space is forgotten. There’s still a risk, but I feel it adds to the fun of the supplication.”
Common people didn’t cast a silence. It wasn’t allowed. “Nobles, you mean.”
He turned back to her. “I’m sorry?”
I shouldn’t have said anything. “Only nobles are allowed to cast a silence.”
He paused. “Of course. I forgot.”
You would. Trying to let her annoyance pass, she said, “Do nobles often share their deepest desires at the feet of a statue like this?”
“Most don’t. They’d rather share them in a place where it’s certain the King will never hear.”
“Why here, then?”
For a moment, a cloud passed over his features, so at odds with his carefree manner that it almost seemed as if he were a different person. “Because some have no choice.” And then his smile was once more untroubled. “I’ll show you. Watch.”
He knelt down in front of the statue and bowed his head. With a lift of his hand, a silence rose up around them, thick as the kind that wrapped Zhiv’s room. Without looking at her, he said, “Goodwife, you are in terrible danger.”
“Am I?”
“Don’t speak. Don’t make it appear we are conversing.”
Trying not to look surprised, she waited for Lord Teranasin to continue.
“The King has asked you to spy on his favorite minstrel, supposedly to make sure he is not the subversive Lord Felldesh now believes he is. This is not a ruse nor a distraction. The Dogs have been attempting to catch Zhiv for some time now, though they would rather show him as a paragon of wild abandon as well, if they can.”
He placed both hands on the feet of the statue and lowered his head, as if pleading with the Blessed One. “I don’t know all, but the King has been working closely with the Disciples, making deals worthy of any noble, for the sake of a plan that, if I have learned correctly, is more dangerous than any spell Zhiv Mikailsin might loose on our world.”
He leaned back, covering his face with his hands, and yet Krysilla could still hear him. “Go to the library with Heir Jixsin. Look for the platform the Disciples are building where they will begin their trials, and listen for rumors of the room they’re building for those who might be Ornic at heart. The King will allow this for their silence and cooperation.” He rubbed his face and stood, head bowed once again. “There’s more than this, but I don’t have time to say it.”
The silence dropped away. Lord Teranasin looked at her with eyes that seemed tired. But that was only a moment. When he smiled, he was once again the careless lord. “Care to try?”
Krysilla hesitated.
“I think it’s not for one such as me. I’m only a baker’s wife.”
“Suit yourself. It’s rather freeing, though.”
She shook her head and he smiled in a way that told her she had made a wise choice in not using it. “The Dogs?” she asked.
“The Dogs come and go among nobles. I’m not afraid.” The door opened and Daegan came out, lost deep in thought. “Goodwife,” he said, and continued as if she didn’t exist.
“I must go.” Krysilla bowed to Lord Teranasin. “Thank you for showing me how nobles speak to the Blessed One.”
“Thank you for listening. I hope you will remember it.”
“I’m sure I shall.”
“Goodwife?” Daegan waited impatiently by the door that led to the square.
With narrowed eyes, Krysilla glanced at him, bowed once more to Lord Teranasin, though it wasn’t required, then ran to catch up to Daegan, who had turned to leave.
***
The rest of the day felt awkward, filled with a sort of dance between her and Daegan, who, though he acted as gruff as her husband and could be just as impatient, never snapped at her as he did. She knew it was because they weren’t married, but that didn’t diminish her irritation. He worked upstairs and down, and she moved through the house, cleaning and straightening, sometimes even when it wasn’t necessary. She made sure to never move anything out of place, and never enter a room where either man kept their business without their permission. She’d learned that very well with Lejer when they’d first married, and had never forgotten it.
If this impressed him at all (Krysilla couldn’t tell), Daegan showed it by no longer glaring at her, and even responded in a cold, yet polite, manner when she asked if she was expected to cook dinner.
“Only if you like.”
That’s no answer, she thought. “What am I expected to do if not what the King asked?”
He had been between locks. Now, he picked one up and held his hand over it. She could hear the clicking inside as Daegan silently attached the keyspell to the mechanism. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”
“Oh, don’t answer like Parlay,” she said before she could help herself.
He stopped and looked at her in surprise. A faint grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Sorry. We’ve lived together a while.” He put down the lock. “Do what you like. It might be nice to not worry about cooking for once.”
She remembered what Lord Teranasin had said. “Heir Jixsin.”
“Hon,” he corrected her.
“The King—”
Daegan sighed, his mouth set in a thin line. “I am the second cousin three times removed to the Queen’s brother. Long ago, my branch renounced their fortune to live the ideals that the Honorable Toth preached. They chose trades and have lived as one of the common people ever since. I am heir to nothing, not a village, not a noble house, not even the throne if he offered it.”
Krysilla stared at him. “You’re couldn’t...the King has children.”
“No, I’m not to inherit the throne. But stranger things have been known to happen.” Through narrowed eyes, he glared at her once more. “Anything you wish to say?”
She thought for a moment. “The King wanted to speak with you to ask if you would accept power again.” That was why he appeared deep in thought and had been irritable all afternoon.
“He tries, on occasion.”
“And you won’t budge.” She saw his stubborn refusal in his eyes. Nothing could compel him to accept anything the King might offer.
But what would a distant relation of the King, a relation that had renounced the power of nobles, plan with someone like Zhiv Mikailsin?
Shaking her head at the momentary distraction, she said, “Hon Jixsin, may I make a request of you?”
He said nothing, only watched her closely.
Taking a deep breath, she said, “I would most appreciate your permission to accompany you when you next visit the library.”
He snorted. “People will talk.”
“Tell them I wish to learn more about becoming a Disciple.”
“Now who’s sounding like him?” If she had expected a smile, it didn’t appear. “You will need an escort. But what’s at the library?” He leaned against the table, waiting for her answer.
She thought her answer over carefully. As if knowing why, he said, “No one listens during the day. At least, not closely. Parlay wanders where he will in the morning, plays in the afternoon, and in the evening goes carousing as minstrels are wont to do, while I have nothing to hide.”
Obviously, she almost said, thinking of Zhiv’s words when he’d bounded up the stairs. They had a plan and she was part of it, though Daegan disagreed. At least, at the time. He seemed to be coming around.
Daegan studied her for a long while. “Very well, goodwife. Keep your secret. I shall go later this afternoon. You may join me if you wish, to learn more about becoming a Disciple.”
She bowed as deeply as she ever did to Lord Teranasin. “Thank you, Hon Jixsin.”
Dinner was simple, and yet she was grateful that Daegan was not stingy with his food as Lejer tended to be. It was just the two of them. Zhiv did not show.
Krysilla busied herself with cleaning her room and making sure everything she wished hidden remained so. She almost put her bag in the room beyond the wardrobe, but settled for putting it inside only.
It seemed like forever before Daegan announced he was leaving. On the way, Krysilla kept an eye out for Zhiv as Parlay the Fiddler, playing for the crowd. But he was nowhere to be seen.
As Zhiv had, Daegan said the single word, “Tower” and the door opened for them both. And Krysilla remembered her question.
The Felldesh door had been dependent on many words for it to open. And Zhiv had spoken them as he touched the characters. She’d thought he was talking to himself, but now she realized what he’d been doing.
“Still gawking?” Daegan asked from up ahead.
Not even realizing she’d slowed, Krysilla looked back at the door that had now disappeared from view. It must be an Ornic spell. “Did a noble build that?”
“In a sense. It was created by one of the first kings. Later ones improve or maintain it, depending on who’s doing the talking.”
And because this was the most Daegan had ever said to her, Krysilla looked suitably impressed.
“Any place you wish to visit first, prospective Disciple?”
She thought a moment. “I’m still bound to my husband, which means I can’t become a proper Disciple. I imagine not many will be willing to speak with me after they find out that fact.”
“There might be a few.” And this time Daegan gave her a sidelong glance that revealed nothing. “Once you find someone willing to talk, you’ll be on your own, though. I still have my meditation.”
“Yes. I know. Thank you.”
He only tilted his head forward in response.
In front of the library was a small group of Disciples, their brown robes looking uncomfortable in the late afternoon heat, talking in front of the door. One of them looked up and smiled, as if he’d been waiting for them. With a nod at the others, who nodded back and left, the Disciple who’d noticed them raised his hand in greeting. Soon, they were close enough to speak to each other.
“Hon Jixsin,” the Disciple said, a drop of sweat forming on his balding head. “What brings you and your friend?”
Daegan looked at the Disciple a little longer than Krysilla had seen him look at anyone. “She wishes to know the requirements of Discipleship, Hon Syjimyix.”
“Does she?” It was only then that Hon Syjimyix looked at her, and she knew in that one look that he knew who she was and thought very little of the wife of Lejer Gillasin. And yet, his smile never faltered. “Well, we shall have to discuss the matter, won’t we?”
“Would it be inappropriate for me to leave her with you to discuss these things?”
“Of course not,” Hon Syjimyix said, smile firmly in place. “My self-control shall s
tay firmly in place.”
Daegan smiled in return and said, “Then I shall trust her to your care until I am done. Goodwife.” He bowed and continued toward the library.
Hon Syjimyix gestured toward a different door, though it was still nowhere near the chapel. The clock in the tower rang out, a louder sound than what could be heard in the city, more resonant and deep. She closed her eyes and listened to the song of the bells, entranced.
Then, the deepest bell of all sounded out the time, its notes echoing through the yard. I wonder why it sounds different in the city, she thought, opening her eyes again.
Hon Syjimyix smiled indulgently at her. “You enjoy music?”
“Yes,” she answered without thinking. Zhiv’s music. She loved Zhiv’s music. And the bells reminded her of that in their resonance and beauty, even though the instruments were wildly different. But she couldn’t say it. Not to him. She remembered the way she’d been taught and said, “Is music more accepted among Disciples than the commoners?”
Straightening in a way she’d only seen Disciples about to preach straighten, he answered in the tone of one who has prepared a lecture for just such an occasion. “Disciples must train themselves daily against all temptations. The ones who came before us practiced no self-restraint. For them, and those who are the remnant of their terrible upbringing, self-control is a constant struggle. But for those who have chosen this life, such things as music offer no temptation. They are pure.”
Because they have no magic, she thought. “So, if I were to become a Disciple, I could sing whenever I wish?”
“Unless there is silence, yes. But only after you’ve trained your will. One must learn that there are moments when you may not express yourself as you wish. It’s something parents teach their children, but when those children grow up, they tend to forget it.”
Krysilla nodded. “What would I do first?”
“First, you would be interviewed to see if you truly were capable of the life Discipleship demands. It’s a kindness to turn away some who obviously could not handle the rigors of the disciplined life.”