Devin swung around to face him. “Don’t you think that I know who and what my father is?”
Marcus stood taut and still. “I doubt you know the half of it, Devin.”
Devin clenched his hand. Just once he would have liked to throw propriety to the wind but now was not the time. He dropped his fist to his side.
“A wise choice,” Marcus remarked, as though he had read his mind.
“Don’t push your luck,” Devin muttered, his mood reckless.
Marcus’s face looked ominous. “Don’t push yours,” he warned. “Stop behaving like an angry child. You need to go back in. You’ve made a shambles of Chastel’s dinner party.”
Devin’s stomach was tied in knots. “I can’t eat,” he said.
“Then you’d better pretend to,” Marcus retorted. “If you truly believe Chastel is an ally then I would recommend that you treat him carefully. We’re a long way from home and we may need his assistance before we’re through.”
Marcus opened the door, ushering Devin into the quiet coolness of the hall. Dr. Mareschal stood waiting for them, his brow furrowed.
“May I be of service?” he asked.
“I don’t believe so,” Devin replied brightly. “It’s a lovely evening. I just thought I’d enjoy the sunset over the lake before dinner.”
“God,” Marcus murmured under his breath. “Have a care, Devin. Playing the clown doesn’t suit you.”
CHAPTER 43
Changes
Dinner was uncomfortable. Gaspard, heavily influenced by alcohol and remorse, was either completely silent or chattered incessantly. Chastel, Mareschal, and Jeanette determinedly held the conversation to neutral topics but any chance of a normal evening had been effectively shattered. Devin retreated into sulky silence, endlessly rearranging the food on his plate.
When the dessert dishes had finally been cleared away, Chastel turned to Devin.
“I am glad that you brought your harp, Monsieur Roché,” he said cheerfully. “Can I trouble you for a song?”
Devin nodded, anticipating the request. “Of course,” he said. When he was officially a bard, similar requests would become a frequent part of his travels. The realization eased some of his earlier distress over Gaspard’s decision. Fourteen months with no one but Marcus for company seemed interminable, but he would have his performances. And somehow, he would have to memorize as many of the Chronicles as he could before going home.
Devin had selected and then discarded several ballads during dinner as his mood skittered erratically from anger into despair. Nothing adequately suited his current frame of mind. He pulled the harp case onto his lap wondering what he could offer that might defuse the situation. He and Gaspard had been friends since they were children. In a year’s time they would be back at the Académie together. He didn’t want his disappointment in Gaspard’s current decision to influence the course of their friendship from here on.
Chastel stood up. “Let’s retire to the parlor,” he suggested. “I have some fine brandy to complement your performance.”
Devin found himself next to Gaspard as they walked down the hallway. He moved a few steps ahead, anxious to avoid another confrontation, his harp tucked under his arm.
Gaspard matched his pace, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Dev,” he murmured. “I really have to go home. After all my anger and rebellion, he’s still my father. I love him and yet I am terrified of him at the same time. I have little choice but to do as he wishes.”
Devin stopped. He doubted that he had the strength to defy his own father either. If he were officially recalled to Viénne, he would have to go. If he even considered resisting, Marcus would have no qualms about dragging him back kicking and screaming.
“I’m disappointed that you won’t be coming with me,” he said, leaning back against the wall behind him. “But I do understand, Gaspard. You just surprised me earlier with the news.”
“That was badly done,” Gaspard admitted. “I apologize. You know me, I rarely get anything right.”
“That’s not true,” Devin protested.
“It’s true enough,” Gaspard replied. “But I realized in the last few weeks that I really want to graduate from the Académie. I don’t want to be the first Forneaux in centuries who couldn’t measure up. I just wish that you would be there to help me get through my exams.” He shifted apprehensively and leaned closer. “Would you consider going back with me, Dev? This trip you’ve planned isn’t safe. I don’t want to hear you’ve been eaten by wolves or beaten to death by angry provincials.”
Devin smiled in spite of himself. “I doubt that either of those things will happen. This is very important to me, Gaspard. Although, with you gone, I will now have to memorize all fifteen Chronicles, including every song and ballad. I’m fairly certain that I can’t do that.”
“Your brothers will mock you if you don’t!” Gaspard reminded him.
Devin laughed. “As unpleasant as that might be, it is of less importance than being able to compare the Chronicles with the Archives. Unfortunately, it seems that memorizing them is the only way I will be able to do it.”
“Have a care,” Gaspard cautioned. “By himself, my father is a formidable adversary. But he has many other colleagues who agree with him. Most are adamantly opposed to any credence being given to the Chronicles. If they realize what you intend to do they will kill you.”
Devin shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “I believe they have already tried.”
“Come back with me,” Gaspard begged.
Devin glanced down the hall. “The others are waiting for us. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine,” he assured him, feeling a weight had already lifted from his heart. “Come on, I owe Chastel a song for my supper. I think you’ll like what I have chosen.”
He settled by the hearth on the stool Chastel provided. It was traditional to grant a seat at the fire to a visiting bard, and Devin took a certain pleasure in accepting it. He plucked his harp strings, found them still perfectly in tune, and turned to his audience.
“When I came to Ombria,” he began, looking at Chastel, “I found your great monoliths fascinating. I knew that their origins must appear somewhere in Ombria’s Chronicle. Today, Armand taught me the ballad of “The Standing Stones,” as my last story. I think perhaps that it should have been my first.”
They’ve stood for centuries in silence,
Some have fallen at their task,
But the Standing Stones of Ombria,
Were carved and placed to last.
They wind across our province,
Through woods and fields for miles,
And they trace our true beginning
To Terre Sainté’s sacred isle.
Sacred Center of Creation.
Holy birthplace of mankind,
Lost for centuries in mystery,
Shrouded in the mists of time.
Hallowed garden full of wonder,
Home of man before his Fall,
Sacrificed in thirst for knowledge,
Lost forever to us all.
Man turned away from comfort,
Toward a cruel and rocky coast,
Forfeit safety for adventure,
And left the place he loved the most.
They built their boats of timber,
Sailing with the evening tide,
They ran short of food and water
And many of them died.
When at last they found Llisé,
They steered onto her shores.
Found both hardship and adventure,
In their quest for something more.
Llisé’s fields were tilled with suffering,
A living wrestled from its earth.
Many times they must have yearned for
The island of their birth.
A few set sail with longing,
In hope of being saved,
But the current ran against them
And they drowned beneath the waves.
In Ombria they gathered,
To mark the way that they had come
So it would never be forgotten
If they ever could go home.
So they cut the Standing Stones,
Aligning each with care
And carved each sacred symbol
So that all would be aware,
They’d left a paradise behind them
That could never be regained
They left the Standing Stones as tribute
To the sacred island’s name.
Oh Blessed Terre Sainté
Oh, why did we depart?
May your sacred memory lie at peace,
Forever in our hearts.
Devin stilled the strings with his open palm and looked up. Chastel gave an enthusiastic sound of appreciation and began to clap, as did Jeanette and Gaspard. Marcus followed suit.
“Ah,” Chastel murmured, “The Legend of Terre Sainté.” I haven’t heard that in years. Why did Armand teach it to you last, I wonder?”
Devin laughed, knowing he could never disclose the real reason. “I think Armand waited because I have asked him time and time again to tell me about the Standing Stones. Nothing gave him greater pleasure than to withhold information that I wanted so badly.”
Jeanette laughed too. “It is very like him to do that,” she said, standing up. “But perhaps you will forgive him because he did send this with me.” She unfolded a length of russet suede from her bag. Devin’s heart skipped a beat. “I finished the embroidery several days ago, but Father wouldn’t let me give it to you until tonight,” she continued, shaking out the folds.
In the center of his cloak, she had embroidered the symbol of Ombria: a wolf’s head against the full moon. She leaned forward and draped the cloak over his shoulders, bending to kiss him on one cheek and then on the other.
“He told me that an apprentice must have a final performance before he becomes a full-fledged bard. He left it to me to judge whether you had measured up.” She smiled, her eyes shining. “You have my unqualified approval.”
Devin flushed. “So, you planned this dinner together?” he asked, looking at Chastel.
Chastel nodded. “Armand felt that it was too dangerous to risk a second performance in Lac Dupré. He asked me to surprise you with a farewell dinner party. That way you could fulfill your final requirement by performing among friends. Now you understand why I was so puzzled when Armand didn’t come.”
“Did you know about this, too, Marcus?” Devin asked.
His bodyguard smiled. “I did. And between Gaspard’s announcement and your reaction, I was afraid you had wrecked all our plans!”
“I’m sorry,” Devin apologized. “Forgive me, please.”
“It was actually my fault,” Gaspard said gaily. “I saw no reason for Devin to have all the attention tonight!”
Devin laughed, glad that they had made peace even though he would be traveling on alone.
“I think I owe you a few more songs for your trouble,” he said to Chastel.
Chastel bowed graciously. “You owe me nothing. I’ve been only too glad to help you along your way. It’s been an honor to get to know our Chancellor’s son. It is I, who am in your debt.”
“Never,” Devin replied, hiding his embarrassment by rearranging his harp. “Would you like another ballad?”
“Nothing sad,” Jeanette begged. “Would you sing ‘Reymond and Eleanor’?”
Devin beamed. “Of course,” he said, striking the beginning notes of the familiar love song.
As he played song after song, he realized that performing was heady stuff. Of course, there were the initial jitters – the fear of failure – but once he’d tasted success, and his audience’s enthusiastic response, he found he enjoyed the applause. Tonight had held the elements of disaster, and yet somehow he knew that his disagreement with Gaspard was not what he would carry with him. Instead, he would remember the warmth of Chastel’s friendship, the look on Jeanette’s face when he sang, and the uneasiness that his life would never be quite this simple again.
CHAPTER 44
Unexpected Visitors
Somehow, Devin managed to catch Jeanette alone in the hallway, while Marcus said goodbye to Chastel and Gaspard. He draped her light cape over her shoulders, his hand lingering first on her arm and then sliding down over the silky fabric to catch her cool, small hand in his. He was acutely aware of Armand’s admonition, even without his physical presence, and yet this was his last night. There would be no more chances to say what he needed to say.
He drew her gently back into the parlor and turned her toward him. Then, the right words failed him.
“Thank you for embroidering my cloak for me. I will always treasure it,” he offered inadequately.
Jeanette’s face lit up as she squeezed his hand gently. “I enjoyed doing it, Monsieur Roché. A bard’s first symbol is always placed in the center of his cloak. Most bards have only one, but I hope that you will amaze us and collect them all.”
He shook his head, flattered by her optimism. “For the first time, I truly doubt that will be possible. Your father was right. There is too much information. If I held fifteen Chronicles in my head, I would be incapable of speech for fear the wrong words would come tumbling out.”
Her laugh was sweet and musical, and he finally had the courage to tell her what was truly on his heart.
“I am afraid, even now, that the wrong words will tumble out,” he admitted. “I wish that, somehow, things could be different between us.”
Her finger touched his lips. “I know,” she whispered. “You don’t have to say it.”
“I want to say it!” Devin protested fiercely.
“Hush!” she admonished. “It can never be. You are the Chancellor’s son and I am the daughter of the Master Bard of Ombria.”
“It shouldn’t matter!” he objected.
“But it does,” she whispered. “Perhaps in a hundred years things will change, but for now, I must marry Adrian, and you must marry the woman your father has chosen for you.”
“Bridgette,” he choked. “Her name is Bridgette.”
Her eyes were sympathetic. “Do you love her?”
“No,” he said miserably. “Do you love, Adrian?”
She shook her head. “No, but he is a good man…a kind man. He will take care of me. He will take care of my father, too, when he is no longer able to walk the roads of Ombria.”
Devin covered his face with his hands. “It’s not fair.”
She gently took his hands in hers and brought them to her lips. “No, it’s not but it is the way of the world and we must adhere to it. I will always remember you.”
“And I will always remember you.”
He drew her forward and felt her melt against him. He cradled her head in one hand, pressing it against his shoulder, memorizing the shape and feel of her body. Bending his head, he kissed her forehead, her eyes, and at last her mouth, regretting a hundred lost opportunities.
“Jeanette, I love you,” he whispered, his hands buried in her dark hair.
Footsteps echoed in the hall and they spun apart. Marcus cleared his throat.
“We were just saying goodbye,” Devin stammered as Jeanette brushed the hair back from her face.
“I can see that,” Marcus replied. “The coach is waiting. I’m sure Armand is anxious to have his daughter home safely.”
The ride home was quiet. Jeanette fell asleep, one hand under her cheek against the side of the coach. The evening air had turned cool. Devin spread his cloak over her and watched as she settled sleepily into its soft warmth. Gaspard had agreed to return tomorrow to Armand’s to gather his things and see them off. So, they hadn’t said goodbye. Devin was glad they would have another chance to say anything that needed to be said between them.
He tried to imagine the next year without Gaspard’s levity and good spirits. He felt guilty that he had spent so little time with him in Ombria since they had been staying with Armand. His commitme
nt to the Chronicles had been necessary but now he wished he had devoted less time to his work and more to his friend.
His heart ached every time he looked at Jeanette. There had been no promises between them, nothing, but the grim realization that they must both fulfill their destinies without the other’s love and support. On this celebratory night of his first achievement, he felt miserable. Life seemed full of missed chances.
He was nearly asleep himself when the coach pulled up before the Bardic Hall. He touched Jeanette’s shoulder lightly, heard her father’s voice, and blinked in the sudden glow of lantern light as the coach door swung open.
“Did they catch you?” Armand asked, his brow furrowed.
“Who?” Marcus demanded.
“The men from Viénne,” Armand explained, helping his daughter down to the street. “They arrived here in the last hour, saying they had urgent news from Coreé. You didn’t pass them on the road?”
Marcus shook his head. “We passed no one.”
“I sent them directly to Chastel’s,” Armand replied. “I don’t understand.”
“Who were they?” Marcus demanded.
Armand shook his head. “They gave no names. They were dressed in uniform. They asked first for Gaspard, and then for you, Monsieur Roché. I can’t think how you could have missed them.”
“They asked for Gaspard first?” Devin repeated.
“Yes,” Armand replied. “I thought it was odd at the time.”
Devin looked at Marcus. “Messengers from his father, perhaps?”
Marcus shrugged.“We need to go back,” Devin said. “Perhaps, something is wrong.”
His head was suddenly filled with catastrophes. Perhaps Gaspard’s father was angry, or something had happened to Devin’s father or mother, or maybe a revolution had started and they had been summoned home.
“I’ll go with you,” Armand said, handing Jeanette into Adrian’s keeping.
Marcus leaned out the door after Armand had clambered aboard.
“We have to go back,” he instructed Chastel’s coachman. “Do you carry a weapon?”
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