Spirit Song

by M C Dwyer

  He had to endure some good-natured ribbing from Alric and his friends about his inability to keep a job, but he bore with it detachedly, hardly registering their remarks.

  After supper, the older woman—Marid, Nepenthe supposed—dismissed him. The princess would not need anything after her return from supper, and he could take himself off until morning.

  Nepenthe gave a mocking bow to this somewhat highhanded dismissal, and left. He stopped first in his room for his cloak, and then went to his balcony. It was cool enough that sitting on the stone bench was unpleasant, but not really cool enough to warrant wearing the cloak. He compromised by sitting on it and piling the excess on his lap. He liked to run his hand across the edging, stroking the satiny fur and letting it ripple through his fingers like water.

  He sat in the cool dark for some time, watching the clouds chase each other across the blue-black sky, then felt the night shift slightly around him.

  “Tad,” he said, glancing over his shoulder.

  Tad gave a low chuckle. “I might’ve known I’d find you here.” He stepped out on the balcony.

  Nepenthe shrugged. “Where else would I be?” He looked at Tad with narrowed eyes. There was only a crescent moon, but it showed the slump to his shoulders, and there was something in the way he held himself that spoke of great weariness. “Long day?” he asked.

  Tad shook his head, but it wasn’t a denial. “You could say that.”

  Nepenthe flicked out an edge of the cloak as an invitation to sit down.

  Hesitating, Tad eventually did, careful to keep a little bit of distance between them. They sat like that for some time in companionable silence.

  Tad was the first to break it. “Do you ever wish you could run away?”

  Nepenthe considered. “I think I did. I can’t remember why, but I’m pretty sure I ran away from something.” After a moment, he said, “I can’t say I recommend it.”

  That got a surprised laugh from Tad, and Nepenthe looked up at him. It was too dark to see his expression, but it didn’t seem like he was making fun, so Nepenthe continued.

  “I can only remember about five years, and in those five years, I haven’t been particularly safe or happy until I came here.”

  Tad merely grunted in response.

  “So,” Nepenthe continued, “unless you know of another kingdom where they give homeless waifs jobs in the palace and teach them useful skills like sword fighting, you’re better off where you are.”

  Nepenthe suddenly found himself wrapped in a pair of strong arms.

  “What?” he asked, confused.

  “I just thought you might need a hug,” Tad said. “And even if you didn’t, after my day, I certainly did. So I’m borrowing you.”

  Glad of the darkness that hid his flushed cheeks, Nepenthe merely patted Tad’s arm. “Would it help to talk about it?” he said hesitantly.

  Tad sighed and released him, turning back around. “Unfortunately, no. But I thank you for the offer. Just sitting here with my Shadow is help enough.”

  Unable to think of a suitable response, Nepenthe simply leaned back and offered whatever comfort his presence could provide.

  Later, Nepenthe was walking back to his rooms, cloak slung over his arm, when he saw a white shape flit across the hall in front of him. He stopped and eased back into shadows, then waited until it moved again. It darted past, a white gown fluttering in the faint moonlight that had made it through the windows. Nepenthe ghosted after it, much more accustomed to slipping unseen through the halls of the palace. The figure hesitated at each turning, obviously unfamiliar with the palace, and Nepenthe began to have a strong suspicion who he was following.

  When the form stopped in front of a set of glass doors that led to one of Nepenthe’s former haunts, the moonlight glinted on pale hair and Nepenthe was sure. No one in the palace had hair that golden or a figure that small.

  The princess tugged the door open and stepped out onto the balcony, then shivered when her bare feet hit the cold stone. She quickly crossed to the railing, and stood looking out over the courtyard.

  Nepenthe was suddenly seized by the fear that she was thinking of jumping, and stepped through the door. His cloak whispered against the frame, and Ingrid whirled.

  “Who’s there?” she whispered.

  “Nepenthe,” Nepenthe said quietly, bowing slightly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  To his surprise and mild horror, Ingrid’s eyes filled up with tears that glistened in the moonlight.

  “I know,” she said, sniffing slightly, “but I just needed to escape for a little bit.” She stepped forward and laid a hand on Nepenthe’s arm. “You understand that, don’t you?”

  Alarmed, Nepenthe jerked his arm away, taking a step back. “Yes, but that’s no reason to cry on me. Besides, if you don’t want to marry the king, use the escape clause. That’s why it’s there.”

  Princess Ingrid’s eyes narrowed slightly and the tears vanished as if by magic. “You know an awful lot for a mere servant.”

  He gave a stiff bow but made no reply. He couldn’t think of any that wouldn’t get him into trouble.

  “Iona needs this match, but I am by no means resigned to it,” Ingrid continued. She shifted slightly, easing feet that surely had turned to ice by this point.

  Nepenthe thought about offering the cloak for her to sit on, but decided against it. He simply waited to see what else the princess would say.

  “I could have my pick of the seven kingdoms,” she went on. “Talus, Alain, Canara; any of them would be possible.

  “Oh, yes?” Nepenthe said politely. “How did your negotiations with Prince Jermain go?”

  The princess stomped her foot and then whimpered when the cold flesh met the icy stone. “Rude boy!” she managed, surreptitiously rubbing her injured foot against the other.

  “You also left out the eastern clans, the Farlan, and Breccia,” Nepenthe said by way of being helpful.

  “That’s what I’m talking about!” Ingrid said, forgetting her injury in her excitement. “The lost prince would have been perfect! He’s young—well, at least younger than Edmun who is positively ancient, AND he’s gorgeous, too!”

  “Isn’t Edmun handsome?” Nepenthe inquired. He still hadn’t seen him, but the general murmur was that he was generally good looking.

  Ingrid made a rude face. “If you like that sort of thing, I suppose. Personally, I prefer lighter hair. Besides, he’s thirty if he’s a day.”

  Nepenthe found that he didn’t mind this more animated princess. She lost her lofty air when she got excited, and forgot to pout. “So why are you even considering marriage with him?”

  Straightening to her full height, Ingrid said, “I am a princess of Iona. I will do what’s best for my kingdom.”

  “Even marry someone old enough to be your father?” Nepenthe asked, genuinely curious. He knew as well as anyone that royal marriages had little to do with personal preference and everything to do with politics, but he was curious as to her reasons.

  “He’s a year older than my mother,” the princess said flatly, “but I’ll marry him for the good of Iona.”

  “But why does Iona want to ally with Alain?” Nepenthe persisted.

  “Because of the eastern clans,” Princess Ingrid said with the air of one explaining something obvious to someone dim.

  Nepenthe blinked, and Ingrid shifted her feet again, warming one while the other froze. “Alright,” Nepenthe said, “how can the eastern clans possibly be any threat to you? They’d have to get through Alain and the Talusian foothills before they’d be anywhere close.”

  “If they united, though, and took down Alain, we’d be easy to absorb.”

  By that argument, thought Nepenthe, they were all susceptible to Canara, but nobody seemed worried about them. Maybe Canara was simply too big and too indolent—and too far away—to be much of a threat to anyone. Nepenthe was skeptical of Ingrid’s reasoning, but didn’t want to stand here arguing in the cold.

  �
��Be that as it may,” Nepenthe said, “I have to go to bed if I’m going to be waiting on you tomorrow. Do you want me to show you the way back to your room?”

  The princess drew herself up haughtily for a moment, then offered a regal curtsy that lost something in a nightdress. “Please do.” She bit her lip then said, “And please don’t mention that I came out here. I’m not supposed to leave without Marid’s escort.”

  Nepenthe bowed, then ushered the princess inside. After returning her to her room, he took himself to his own, yawning the entire way.

  Chapter 17

  He slept straight through training the next morning and had to grab his breakfast on the run to Princess Ingrid’s quarters.

  Not that he needed to hurry, he thought somewhat resentfully. He’d probably spend the day sitting on the stool outside her door again.

  And that was exactly what happened. And the next day, and the day after that.

  The fifth day of her visit, she swept out of her room dressed as elaborately as she’d been the day she arrived and paused in front of Nepenthe. He sprang to his feet, mindful of Marid’s supercilious gaze, and bowed.

  “Boy,” she said, causing Nepenthe to bristle in irritation, “I wish to visit the palace grounds. You will show them to me.”

  Nepenthe thought of and discarded several unsuitable replies, and eventually settled for a mild, “Yes, your highness.”

  Ingrid waved Marid away. “I don’t need an escort. The palace grounds should be safe enough, and the boy will be with me.”

  Marid curtsied briefly. “You’ll still take your guards,” she said, motioning two hulking brutes forward.

  Nepenthe leaned away slightly at their approach. They were truly enormous; at least as big as the yellow-haired easterner Aileron, who was by far the largest person Nepenthe knew. Their hair was also paler than the norm in Alain, one reddish-gold and the other a dark blond that were both reflected in their braided beards.

  Princess Ingrid sighed audibly but did not protest; Nepenthe suspected she knew it would be pointless.

  Motioning Nepenthe to lead the way, the princess and her entourage exited the room.

  “Where would you like to go, your highness?” Nepenthe said cautiously.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Ingrid said, her lips thin and tight. “I just want to go out.”

  Accordingly, Nepenthe led her—followed by the guards—out the front door and into the main courtyard.

  “How do you feel about horses?”

  Something like real interest sparked in Princess Ingrid’s eyes, though all she said was, “That would be lovely, thank you.”

  Nepenthe led the way to the stables and then paused inside the door. “Your guards have to stay here,” he said loudly. “Stable rules.”

  “What about me?” Ingrid asked.

  “I’m bending the rules slightly to let you in, but I can’t bend them that far.” He motioned over his shoulder at the two hulking guards.

  Princess Ingrid’s mouth quirked slightly. “You will stay here,” she said imperiously, and for a wonder, they simply nodded and took up posts by the door.

  As Nepenthe walked away with Ingrid, she murmured, “I’m surprised that worked.”

  “I am, too,” Nepenthe said with a grin. “I’m taking you to meet Jasper.”

  They headed down the aisle, but were intercepted midway by Wyatt, who bowed low.

  “Your highness,” he said. “Welcome to my humble stables. Is there anything I can help you with?”

  Princess Ingrid put her nose in the air. “Nepenthe is taking care of me; thank you.”

  Wyatt glanced at Nepenthe, who shrugged.

  “I will leave you in his capable hands, then,” the stablemaster said with another bow. “Let me know if I can help in any way.”

  “You can keep an eye on those two monsters by the door,” Nepenthe said, surprising a brief giggle out of Ingrid. “She’d rather not be bothered by them at the moment.”

  Wyatt nodded gravely. “Will do. Do be cautious, your highness. My stablehands are all careful, but accidents can happen.”

  Ingrid inclined her head. “I thank you for your concern.”

  He bowed again, and left. Nepenthe continued down the aisle, coming to a stop in front of Jasper’s stall.

  He came to the door eagerly at Nepenthe’s approach, then snorted at Ingrid.

  Ingrid clasped her hands in front of her and breathed, “He’s gorgeous.”

  Nepenthe grinned and patted Jasper’s neck. “Jasper, meet Princess Ingrid. Princess Ingrid, Jasper.”

  The princess swept a deep curtsey, and Jasper nodded his head as if in response. Ingrid giggled, and Nepenthe thought that for the first time, she actually looked like what she was—a twelve-year-old girl. He felt a renewed rush of sympathy for her, which prompted his next comment.

  “You know, there’s a back door to the stables.”

  Ingrid, rubbing Jasper’s nose, looked up in sudden hope that died almost as quickly. “They’d notice. And then I’d be in trouble.”

  Nepenthe considered. “How about a ride in the training yard? Technically, it’s part of the stables.”

  A slow smile spread across Ingrid’s face. “Can I ride Jasper?”

  “Absolutely not,” Nepenthe said. “Stablemaster Wyatt would kill me even if your guards didn’t. But I bet he’d be fine with you riding one of the geldings.”

  Spotting Eli at the end of the row, Nepenthe waved him over and asked his question.

  “I’ll ask,” he said, nodding. “I imagine he’ll say yes.”

  A very short time later, Nepenthe was leading a freshly tacked gelding up to the mounting block.

  “This is Sugar,” he said. “I think you’ll enjoy riding him.”

  “Sugar,” the princess repeated, patting his nose. “I’m not dressed for riding, and Marid will kill me for ruining my skirt, but it will be worth it,” she said, a satisfied smile on her lips.

  She stepped up on the mounting block as Nepenthe held the horse steady and slid into the saddle. Her skirts bunched up comically, and Nepenthe helped tug them back into place as well as he could. When she was as situated as she could be, he led Sugar into the enclosed training yard.

  “He’s already been exercised once today, and he’s generally a sweetheart, so you shouldn’t have any problems,” Nepenthe said, flipping the reins around to Ingrid.

  She accepted the reins and nodded. Chirruping quietly, she nudged Sugar into a walk, then a trot around the empty yard.

  Nepenthe watched closely, perched on the railing that blocked off a couple of benches, but Ingrid seemed to be a competent horsewoman. She took Sugar to a canter, then led him in a figure eight in the arena, changing his lead flawlessly. As she passed Nepenthe, she had an enormous smile on her face, which warmed him as well.

  She dropped back to a trot, then a walk, then came to a rest in front of Nepenthe.

  “Thank you,” she said happily. “You look like you want to join us, though.”

  Nepenthe blinked, startled. He’d been thinking about Aidan, actually, and wishing he were riding along with them on their road survey, not necessarily wishing he could ride. Though now that she mentioned it, he very much would like to.

  He hesitated, and Ingrid held out a hand. “Come on. You can slide on behind me; you’re not very heavy.”

  With reckless grin, Nepenthe took her hand and slid onto the horse, holding the seat of the saddle and gripping with his legs. “All set,” he said, and Ingrid clucked to the horse again.

  They rode for another twenty minutes or so, then Nepenthe slid off so Ingrid could walk Sugar cool. He didn’t know how long the guards would let them alone, but he imagined they were reaching their limit.

  Nepenthe helped Ingrid dismount, then passed Sugar off to a waiting stablehand. He thanked her, feeling a little guilty. Rubbing down the horse should be his job.

  Ingrid cleared her throat, and Nepenthe turned. She was smoothing the creases from her skirt, and gave a quick t
wirl. “Is it too obvious?” she asked.

  “No,” Nepenthe said, “though I’m probably not the best judge of that. And I imagine you smell a bit of horse, but that can’t be helped.”

  “I don’t mind it,” she shrugged. “Uh oh. I think my jailers are coming.”

  Nepenthe looked to where she indicated and saw the guards striding down the aisle. As soon as they saw the princess they slowed slightly, but Nepenthe didn’t think they’d be able to ditch them again.

  He was right; the guards stuck obnoxiously close as Nepenthe took Ingrid on a scenic tour of the palace grounds. He led her down the gravel paths that led to the geese and sheep pens, then back around through the hedge maze. It wasn’t possible to lose the guards here, either, as the hedges were only knee height, but the princess enjoyed wandering among the twisting paths. He returned her to the palace at lunchtime.

  Marid met them at the door with a scowl that promised dire punishments, and Nepenthe left her to it with a slight bow. Ingrid rolled her eyes at Marid where she couldn’t see, and disappeared into her rooms.

  Nepenthe was left kicking his heels for most of the afternoon without even an apple to assuage his hunger, but at suppertime Marid dismissed him again.

  He piled his plate high and ate quickly, famished from his long fast. Neither Alric nor his friends were present, and after supper, Nepenthe wandered out to the courtyard where the Ailerons had restarted their nightly bonfire tradition. He sat on a bench by himself, staring into the dancing flames and feeling them call to the fire of his earring. That was a new sensation, he thought, and not necessarily a pleasant one. The flames seemed to pull him in, and the rest of the world went slightly fuzzy until a hand landed on his shoulder, startling him.

  “Nepenthe,” Drinian said, “Alric’s looking for you.” He gestured with his thumb toward the door where Nepenthe could see Alric skulking.

  Nepenthe shook his head. Alric still couldn’t be brought to believe he was welcome at the fire. He strolled over to him but then slowed when he saw the expression on his face.