“Plenty of stories about blind Bards playing harp.”
“Maybe if I got ink poisoning.”
Malesa smirked. “So he said no?”
“Emphatically.” Actually, what he’d done was swung up onto his Companion and ridden off. And the look he’d given her!
Fit to freeze hellfires, she thought with a shiver.
“What did you say?” Malesa asked.
“ ‘Can I ask you about Daryann?’ ”
“Did you introduce yourself?”
“Not exactly,” she said slowly.
“You just went up and asked him, ‘Hey, about that dead sister of yours. . . .’ ”
“Well . . . when you put it that way. . . .”
Malesa put her head in her hands. “Oh, ’Lia.”
“What?”
“It’s a wonder sometimes that you’re a Bard. You have the tact of a stud in heat.”
Lelia bristled. “It was an honest question!”
“There’s honesty, and then there’s rude. Did you even stop to consider his feelings?”
Lelia scowled and stared at the table. She’d expected comfort and commiseration from Malesa. Not a tonguelashing on the ethics of questioning a subject.
“I just wanted to know,” Lelia muttered.
“So what are you going to do now?”
Lelia thought about it for a moment. “Seduce him,” she said decisively.
“Please tell me you jest.”
Lelia wiggled her eyebrows.
“Well, you have fun.” Malesa stood up, collecting her scrolls. “I’m off to practice the bridge of my stunning piece of genius.”
“Fine, leave me to my misery.” Lelia waved her off, then leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling.
“This,” she said to no one in particular, “is going to be a challenge.”
Lelia was anxious and fidgety all through class and morning chores, most of which involved restringing harps and lutes. The humidity had broken with a brief rain, but the result had been many out-of-tune instruments and much trainee busywork.
At the lunch bell, Lelia skipped the Bardic common room and instead retrieved a bandolier of knives from her quarters and took herself out to the practice salle. Even the Weaponsmaster had to eat sometime, and there was no one outside to watch her as she threw over and over, the handleless blades landing dead center more often than not.
“Nice grouping,” a voice behind her said as she was pulling her last knife out of the wooden target. “Didn’t know they were teaching Bards these things.”
Lelia spun, startled. Standing behind her, his face half in and out of the salle’s shadow, was Herald Wil.
She regained her composure quickly. “My parents are gleemen.” She pushed damp, sweaty hair out of her eyes. “I learned knife-tricks from my grandmother.”
His brows lifted. “I see.”
She tucked the knives away into their sheaths; anything to keep herself from fidgeting. “Um . . . about yesterday.”
“Yes, about that.” He pushed away from the salle. “I behaved coarsely. I . . . apologize.”
She nearly squealed with glee, and had to resist the urge to fall on her knees and praise the Bright Lady. You do exist! she thought.
“Does that mean I can ask you some questions about Daryann?” she asked.
He smiled warmly, turned around, and started to walk away.
“Herald?” she called, her hopes crashing to the ground once more. “Is that a no?”
“I just wanted you to know that I’m not angry at you, and I’m sorry if I acted like a brute,” he yelled back, waving his hand. “Good day, trainee.”
“Wait—” she called desperately to his departing back.
He stopped, looking over his shoulder at her.
“I—” Her mouth opened and closed. “I really need a song.”
“Do what every Bard-trainee does,” he replied. “Write about Sun and Shadow.”
And then he laughed.
He laughed.
She sat down in the grass, watching him disappear.
“Oh,” she said, her eyes narrowing, “I think not.”
Later, as Wil was taking an early evening stroll through the Field with Vehs, he caught a flash of red out of the corner of his eye.
It was the Bard-trainee girl. She was charging toward him as fast as the tall grass and her own short legs would let her.
“What . . . ?” he said.
“Herald!” she yelled. “I just want to ask you a few questions!”
“Good gods,” Wil blurted.
:That famous Bardic stubbornness.: Vehs actually sounded amused.
“Get me out of here,” Wil mumbled, swinging up onto his Companion’s back.
:At your service, m’lord.:
As Wil was coming out of the library after a satisfactory read, he heard the slap of boots behind him.
“Herald!” a familiar voice called. “Herald, just a moment of your time!”
His legs were longer than hers, and in better shape. He outran her, but only just.
Alone in a hallway and coming back from lunch, Wil was startled when the girl popped out from behind a velvet curtain and flung herself on him.
“I just want to know!” she panted as he wrestled out of her grip. “I just have a few questions to ask!”
He managed to escape to his room again, and threw the latch in case she grew more ambitious.
After that, he was on the lookout for any trace of rust-red or boots peeking out from under curtains and tapestries, and quick to avoid the small, persistent girl the moment she came into view.
“I have to question the ethics of this—”
“Question all you want,” Lelia said, tossing her hair and giving Malesa a glare. “He laughed at me.”
“And you’re inquiring about his dead sister. That’s called tasteless.”
“It’s been ten years, Malesa!” She flailed her arms frantically. “Ten! Years! He has to have found peace with it by now.”
“Would you if it was Lyle?”
Lelia flinched, but ignored the question, muttering, “She deserves a spot in the Bardic repertoire.”
Malesa eyed her. “Are you saying that because you actually believe it, or because it justifies your behavior?”
Lelia snorted derisively.
“Besides, even if you think it,” Malesa continued, “he obviously doesn’t.”
“He laughed at me. A Herald!” She pushed her head out of a window and yelled in the direction of Companion’s Field: “Just what kind of people are you Choosing nowadays?”
A passing page gave her a strange look. She growled back, sending the boy scurrying away with a squeak.
“You worry me,” Malesa said.
“Oh, go get Chosen already. You sound like my brother.” Lelia stopped at a door. “Speaking of which . . .”
She opened it and stepped inside. Lyle never did lock his door; he was just so damn trusting, sometimes. Many of his belongings had already been moved to his new suite, but a few things remained. And yes, there at the foot of his bed was a chest, and inside—
Lelia laughed darkly as she pulled out a gray shirt and pants.
“Astera bless a fool,” Malesa moaned.
Wil sat down at a table apart from the others. There was really no quiet place in the common room, but this was far enough away that he could hear Vehs think if he needed to.
He also had an excellent vantage of all entrances. The moment he saw a rust-red figure walk in, he would walk out.
:Why not sit with the others?: Vehs asked.
:I like being alone.:
Vehs gave a purely mental sigh.
Wil was wiping up a large lump of meat and parsnip with a chunk of crusty bread when someone sat down next to him. A voice purred in his ear, “Heyla, Herald.”
He looked to his left, and into the face of the black-haired Bard-trainee. In Grays.
No. Not uniform Grays. Gray shirt and pants, but not Grays.
“Uh,” he said.
“You can call me Lelia.”
:Did she get Chosen?: he thought at Vehs.
:Suuure. And I sprout gryphon wings in the moonlight.:
“Uh,” Wil repeated.
“Tell me your story, Herald,” she said in a low voice. “That’s all I ask.”
“You’re walking a fine line,” he said, nodding to her gray (but not Gray) clothing.
Her hard eyes remained fixed on him. “One story. Won’t take long. I just want to know what happened to Daryann.”
Wil’s blood boiled at the sound of his sister’s name. He pushed away from the table. “Excuse me.”
She made a grab for his sleeve. “Herald—”
He jerked his head to where Elcarth sat several tables down. “One more word,” Wil growled, “and I tell him what you’re up to. Bardic Immunity or not, I doubt very much the Dean would be pleased to see how you’re behaving.”
Lelia released his sleeve, and Wil slipped out.
Wil sat down on his bed and rubbed his eyes. The effort to calm down after his last encounter with the Bardic Pest had left him exhausted mentally and physically.
That damn girl.
:We might be heading back to circuit sooner than anticipated,: he thought to Vehs.
:Poor Chosen. Poor, poor Chosen.:
:It’s nothing to be amused about.:
:Oh, I disagree. I think it’s hysterical.:
Wil sighed deeply. :She’s defiling Daryann’s memory.:
:By writing a song about her legacy? That’s not really defiling.:
:It’s not her place.:
:But don’t you think it’s time you told someone?:
A cold knot crept up from Wil’s stomach to his throat. Memories welled up, unbidden. The acrid smell of herbs and wine—etched lines around dark eyes—the soft shush of hair sliding over crisp linens as her head turned toward him—the gaunt, pale face, whittled to a wax doll parody by pain—
He shoved the memory rudely aside.
:No,: he replied.
He stretched out on his bed, abstaining the covers. He preferred an old, loose shirt and breeches to smothering layers of bedding. Bit by bit, he drifted toward the borders of dreaming, relaxing gently into sleep’s embrace.
It was strange, just how relaxed he was. And his feet—they were nice and warm and—
His eyes snapped open. Someone was rubbing his feet.
He yanked his legs back and sat up. Belatedly, he realized he’d forgotten to latch the door. There was just enough moon-and starlight coming through his windows that he could see an all-too-familiar fine-boned face at the end of his bed.
“That’s it!” he roared at her, swinging out of bed and bearing down on her. “Get out! Leave me alone! Leave her alone!”
Lelia stared at him, her mouth wide open. “I—” she started to say.
“Out!”
She backed away from the murderous rage in his eyes, turned, and ran.
He heard a faint sob as she fled.
Wil slumped back onto his bed.
“Ah, Lord,” he mumbled, rubbing his forehead. “Ah, hellfires.”
Lelia bolted back to her quarters, half-sobbing the whole way. Wil’s anger had been startling—overwhelming—terrifying. The only thing she could think to do was run from it.
She opened the door to her room, reaching for the laces of the gray shirt—Her twin sat in the chair by her bed, his hands folded in his lap. Lelia froze in place, the heat of embarrassment creeping across her cheeks.
“Heyla,” Lyle said softly.
She shut the door, her hand falling to her side.
“That shirt doesn’t fit, you know,” he said, and then sighed. “What’s wrong, ’Lia?”
She shook her head, sitting down on the bed and not looking at him. “Nothing.”
“I’m worried about you,” he said. “So is Malesa. She and I . . . talked tonight.”
Lelia grimaced at the implications of that.
Lyle sat down next to her, putting his arm around her shoulder. “Thy heart is heavy, little songbird?”
The familiar, comforting sound of her childhood dialect crushed her pitiful attempts to shut him out.
“I think I did a bad thing,” she whispered.
“What could be that bad?”
Her words emerged as halting, half-incoherent sentences. She told him her fear of never finishing the song that would make her a full Bard, her days stalking Wil, and the disastrous consequences of intruding on the Herald in his bedchambers; the frightening display of anger that had sent her scurrying for her room.
When she finished, Lyle sat quietly, mulling over the tale.
“In his bedchambers?” he said at last.
She ducked her head. “I didn’t see anything—”
“You violated his privacy.”
She slumped.
“You should apologize to him,” he said.
“I should apologize to him,” she echoed listlessly.
“And maybe I’ll get him as a circuit mentor, and I can explain to him my crazy Bard-sib.”
The word “circuit” crashed down on her shoulders like a lead church bell. In a fit of recklessness, Lelia blurted the words she’d never dared given breath before, “You’re going to die!”
“What?” He knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his. She Felt his concern and love down the line of their bond so fiercely it startled her. “No, Lelia.”
“You’ll be leaving me, at the very least,” she said, half hysterical, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Gods, Lyle, do you know how many stories I know? Do you know how many times I hear about the Heralds who don’t return from circuit? Do you know what happens to a twin when the other one . . .”
She couldn’t finish it. The growing dread in her heart made her feel like she’d already said too much.
“I’m so selfish,” she said, shaking her head.
“Y . . . eah,” he agreed. When she gave him a startled look, he grinned. “ ’Lia, it’s not a bad thing. I see you as my balance. Given half a chance, I’d beat myself to death to help others. I need you to remind me that, sometimes, it’s okay to help myself.” He touched her shoulder. “I worry about you, too, you know. In a few months you’ll be wandering out there on your own . . . who knows what trouble you’ll run into without me around to balance you out?”
“Why couldn’t you have been a Healer?” she asked, not smiling. “Or a Bard? Why couldn’t you be like me? We’re supposed to be twins!”
He laughed, but there was a brittleness to it.
“Bright Lady. Bright Havens.” She crushed his hand in hers. “How I wish you didn’t have to go.”
They sat together in the darkness, holding hands just as they had during thunderstorms as littles. She couldn’t imagine a world without Lyle in it to give her comfort, to bear her through the storms. She just couldn’t.
Lelia got up early the next morning, dressed once again in rust-red. She’d lain in bed all night, struggling to come up with a plan for dealing with Wil and the damage she’d caused.
Before breakfast, she hiked down to Companion’s Field and went hunting.
It didn’t take her long. The Companion she searched for was wide awake; he even seemed to be waiting for her.
“Heyla,” she said, approaching him. “You’re Wil’s Companion, right?”
The stallion tossed his head.
“Well, I know very well you’re probably smarter than me,” she said. “I also know I owe some things to your Chosen.” She reached up and scratched his neck. “So I need to ask you a favor.” And she told him her plan.
Much to her surprise, he nodded in agreement.
Wil didn’t see Lelia all the next day. Or the next.
As the candlemarks passed, his discomfort outgrew his ability to ignore it. By dinnertime he was wrestling with the twin serpents of guilt and anger. Why should he feel guilty? She was the one intruding on his life! She was the one who refused to leave
him alone! She . . .
“Damnit,” he muttered as he sat down to eat by himself in the common room.
It didn’t matter what she had done. He had lost his temper. He had raised his voice. He was better than that.
Or supposed to be. He was the one with a cart-sized otherworldly horse on his side.
Dinner ended quickly, but the self-flagellation remained. He wandered back to his room, lost in the emotional push and pull of anger and shame.
He stopped in front of his door.
A note was pinned to it with one of Lelia’s knives.
He gritted his teeth, took it down, and opened it up.
It read:If you want to see your Companion again, come to the Grove Chapel in one candlemark.
Signed,
L.
He stared for a moment, dumbstruck.
:Vehs,: he thought, :where are you?:
:Oh, Chosen!: Vehs thought back. :Please save me! The evil Bard-trainee has me and—:
:This is not funny.:
:She refuses to play anything but “My Lady’s Eyes”! It’s awful, Chosen!:
“This is ridiculous,” Wil mumbled.
:Ah, gods! She’s invented a chorus to it! Save me!:
“I’m going to kill you both,” he sighed.
Lelia wasn’t playing “My Lady’s Eyes” when Wil strolled up. She was sitting on a stump and playing, but the song she’d chosen was one from his own sector of Valdemar; a piece by the Bard Faber called “Seven White Horses.”
Vehs lingered nearby, a loose bit of rope around his neck. She’d tied him off to a dead sapling he could have snapped without breaking a sweat.
Her strings grew silent as Wil approached. She put the lute in its case, closed it with a snap, and walked over to Vehs, untying him and tucking the rope into her belt. She stood on tiptoe, whispered something in his ear, and then gave the Companion a kiss on one plump cheek.
Vehs looked away. To Wil, he seemed to be blushing.
Lelia approached Wil and looked up at him.
Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar Page 27