The Knight, the Harp, and the Maiden Page 12

  Juilene shook her head. She had never traveled beyond the confines of the district where she had been born and raised. Her only experience with cities was Sylyria, and even that had been confined to the immediate vicinity of her father’s house. She had heard the stories, of course, of the traders and the songsayers who had come to her father’s house, but her life had been circumscribed by her station.

  Mathy cocked her head. “You come from Sylyria, don’t you?”

  “Close by,” Juilene said.

  Mathy shrugged. “You needn’t tell me anything. We all have things we’d rather not speak of—you’re no different from the rest of us in that way.”

  Juilene raised her head. “In that way?”

  Mathy leaned forward, her arms folded around her knees, her toes in their torn slippers peeping out from beneath the hem of her gown. “You’re very different from the rest of us. And you know it, so don’t deny it.” She looked around, over her shoulder, and squinted into the dark behind Juilene. “Look. I don’t want to know you, don’t want to hear your story any more than I want to tell you mine, but you’ve been good for the troupe, and it’s because of you we’ve all earned bigger takes. So let me tell you this much, in exchange for the better money you’ve brought us. Don’t trust anyone. Don’t think of anyone as your friend, because they aren’t. This life isn’t like the one you’ve known—oh—” She held up her hand. “Do you think none of us recognize your accent? The quality of your clothes? They might soon be as shabby as ours, but they aren’t yet. And don’t you think I can see how they were made for you?” She shook her head. “You are an innocent.

  “Eral’s got two things in mind for you. First of all, he intends to use your talent, your skill, to make as much for himself as possible. If we happen to benefit in some way—if you happen to benefit—so be it. But don’t think for a moment he has your best interest at heart.”

  Intuition told Juilene what the second thing Eral might have in mind, but her curiosity was piqued by Mathy’s uncharacteristic communicativeness. “What—what happened to the other songsayer? The one who left the company, before Sylyria?”

  “Left us?” Mathy gave a harsh laugh and shook her head. “Yes, I suppose you could put it like that. No one’s told you? Not even Nuala?”

  Juilene shook her head.

  “She died.” Mathy looked away. “That rat-bastard wouldn’t take the money out of his own hoard to pay for a demi-thurge, let alone one who was also a physician. So she died.”

  “She got sick?”

  Mathy snorted softly. “You could say that. She got with child. And she didn’t want to carry it, you see, so she tried to rid herself of it. And she died.”

  Juilene looked into the fire and down at her lap. Anywhere but to see the naked grief etched on Mathy’s face. Mathy made a little noise that might have been a sob, and rose to her feet. She disappeared into the shadows without another word.

  Footsteps and a low whistle made Juilene turn. Eral emerged from beneath the low-hanging branches of the trees into the clearing. “Greetings, little sister,” he said with an air of surprise. “I didn’t expect to see you at this hour.”

  Juilene shrugged a brief greeting. Mathy’s revelation had only come as a partial surprise. It was obvious that Eral intended to get as much from her as possible. It made her feel comfortable. There was little danger of causing any trouble as a result of the curse. And if he got more from her than he gave, so what? At least she wouldn’t be responsible for someone’s injury or worse.

  “It’s cold,” she said. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Ah.” His white teeth gleamed. “And you aren’t the sort to seek out a body to warm you, are you?”

  She blushed. “No,” she managed.

  He chuckled. “I didn’t think so.”

  He sat down within the narrow circle of the fire’s heat and tossed a leather bag in his hand. “The goddess was smiling on me, tonight, little sister. I won ten aurelles at dice tonight—and a berth for us for the morrow. You won’t have to worry about cold toes for at least a night!” He smiled at her and ran his eyes over her body, and Juilene blushed again. The look he gave her reminded her of Arimond in a way, and yet—he was so different. She didn’t doubt his interest, and yet, in some strange way he didn’t frighten her either. She had too much value to him, she realized with a start.

  She swallowed all the broth, lukewarm now, and got to her feet. “Good night, Eral.” She met his eyes fearlessly. She was beginning to understand, she thought. Was it possible only a few weeks had passed since that terrible night in Lindos’s castle and her frantic flight from her father’s house? Perhaps she would survive this strange new life.

  “Good night, little sister,” he answered with grave courtesy. “The goddess guard your sleep.”

  With another smile and a nod, Juilene turned on her heel and went to snuggle among the blankets, the dank smell of the wool scarcely bothersome.

  Brave slivers of sunlight pierced the lowering sky as the little troupe jolted across the lowered drawbridge of the keep that was only a few hours south of their campsite of the previous night. Juilene held her harp against her, to protect it from the bouncing of the cart, and stared at the grey towers that rose before her. A chill went down her spine. Thank the goddess that no such invitation had come from any of the thanes or thurges closer to Sylyria. There was not a thurge or thane within a week’s radius of the city who would not have known her. And the word had gone out, she knew. News reached them at every stop. The thanes and the thurges of Sylyria were nearly at war. Everywhere they met people fleeing into the safety of the outer districts, and more than once, she had heard her own description given. Thank the goddess her role in the company did not put her face before the public. There was far less danger in her being recognized by anyone as long as she stayed in the background and played according to her cues.

  And the goddess knew she made enough mistakes. Once, someone had the presence of mind to ask Eral if the songsayer was by any chance the runaway lady. And he had laughed, saying, “You heard her play. Was it the playing of the paragon described?”

  And the other man had turned away, nodding in agreement. Juilene had listened from the shelter of the cart, her face burning. But it was her very mistakes that had kept her safe, she thought. At the time she hadn’t thought whether or not Eral might have wondered who she was, but after last night, she was almost certain that he, at least, had guessed her identity long ago. As long as it profited him to keep her secret, she would be safe.

  She leaned outside the covered interior of the wagon and gazed at the faces of the household that were gathering as the cart entered into the inner court of the keep. The people stared eagerly, expectantly. It was far enough past Festival time that a performance would be a treat.

  Eral drove the cart up to the very foot of the stairs leading into the main hall. “Goddess blessings, good people,” he cried, standing up. He tossed the reins to a groom, and grinned that infectious smile that Juilene had seen few resist. “Goddess blessings upon you all.”

  “And you,” said a woman’s voice, clear and soft and deep all at once.

  Juilene looked up. A woman of about forty-five stood upon the steps, her long white dress bordered in a series of complicated designs. A master-thurge, she thought. She had seldom seen a woman thurge, although she knew that in one or two of the other cities of the League, there were more female thurges than male. The woman was smiling at Eral in welcome, her blue eyes vivid and startling in a face pale as milk.

  “Welcome to my house,” she said, lifting her eyes to include the entire company.

  Together, they murmured thanks and greetings. Eral leaped from the cart and bowed low before the woman. “Lady Deatrice,” he said as he offered her his arm, “will you allow us the honor of offering our humble performance for your pleasure?”

  The woman smiled up at him. “I expect your performance will bring me pleasure, my dear Eral. From you, I expect nothing less.” She t
ook his arm with something like a girlish simper and Juilene felt herself blush. No wonder they had been invited to spend the night beneath the thurge’s roof. Behind her Mathy snorted. “His performance, indeed. The rest of us might as well baa like sheep and cluck like hens. ’Tis only the crow of that cock she wishes to hear.”

  Nuala elbowed her with a quick glance at Juilene, and Mathy snorted once more. “She’d do well to understand what he is.”

  “She shows no signs of going the way your sister did,” said Nuala as she shoved aside the flaps of the opening. “You, Maggot, help an old woman down, will you, and stop gaping at the girls. Haven’t you ever seen one before?”

  Juilene stared after Mathy as she scrambled from the cart. So that’s what it was. The songsayer who’d died had been Mathy’s sister. No wonder she was so bitter. She gathered her skirts in one hand and her harp in the other and allowed a groom to help her out of the cart. The people gathered around her, murmuring greetings and blessings, and she smiled in return. There was much about this life she could find pleasant. As long as she remembered that Eral was going to exploit her in any way he could, and that her bread depended entirely upon her own ability to feed herself. As long as she remembered all that she would be fine. The farther they journeyed from Sylyria the freer she felt to show herself before the crowd. And everyone always applauded wildly at the end if she shyly emerged from behind the curtain. More than once, the crowd had called for a song or even two, and Juilene had obliged, while Eral circulated through the crowd, hat in hand, beaming.

  In some ways she was the most valuable member of the cast and they knew it. It meant that her place among them was assured. Mathy caught her eye. “Come on.” She motioned toward the door. “There’s a room for us to rest, and bathe and even change.”

  Juilene extricated herself from the crowd as quickly as she could. She managed to bathe at least twice a week, and even Mathy and Nuala thought her predilection for bathing peculiar. They didn’t understand her reluctance to use water that had been used by others, nor her need to bathe more than once every two weeks. And the fact that she rinsed her underlinen every day, and changed it every night, was a matter for merriment among the entire company.

  And here was a chance to rest, to lie back against a great tub, surely as she had done in her father’s house—she froze, as she remembered the curse. Would her performance be worthy of what she was about to receive? And if not, who would suffer? She shivered. A maid touched her arm. “This way, sister.”

  Juilene followed, biting her lip. In the hall they passed the master-thurge and Eral, where they sat on high-backed chairs and drank wine from gem-studded goblets. Juilene lowered her eyes as the master-thurge glanced at her, but not before she saw the woman’s eyes narrow.

  “You—girl.” The master-thurge beckoned.

  Juilene paused. “Yes, lady”

  The woman motioned her closer. “Come here—closer.” Her head was cocked and she watched Juilene’s every movement. “There’s a taint of magic on you—” She blinked her eyes, as if trying to see more clearly. “Come here.”

  She held out her hand and Juilene reluctantly took it. The woman closed her eyes and squeezed Juilene’s hand gently. From out of the corner of her eye, she saw Eral lean forward, speculative interest in every line of his face.

  The woman gasped and drew back her hand as if Juilene’s touch had hurt her. She rubbed the palm as she stared up at Juilene, an uneasy frown on her face. “You’ve run afoul of powerful magic, haven’t you, girl?”

  Miserably Juilene nodded.

  “What’s wrong with her?” demanded Eral.

  Juilene knew at once what he was thinking. The handsome sum he had no doubt been promised was in danger of slipping away. And every shred of security she had managed to achieve for herself in the last few weeks was about to go with it.

  The thurge leaned back in her chair, still cradling her hand. “That’s for her to say, if she wills. But there’s a powerful spell upon her, placed there by one more powerful than I. More powerful than most, I’d wager—you weren’t wanted by the Over-Thurge, were you?”

  Juilene shook her head, too frightened to speak.

  The woman shook her head. “I can protect my people from you, at the least I can do that. But you’d be wise to be wary, my friend,” she said, looking at Eral. “The spell she carries is of no demi-thurge’s making. The power that binds itself to her is stronger—and of a stranger sort—than any I have felt in quite a while.” She cocked her head, her eyes roaming Juilene.

  Eral looked suspiciously from Deatrice to Juilene and back again. “A stranger sort? In what way?”

  Deatrice frowned. “A spell leaves a certain pattern, rather like a blanket knitted in a particular weave. It should be possible for another thurge to read the weave, so to speak, to understand how the thurge who cast the spell worked the power, so that under some circumstances, especially in the case of a spell as dangerous as this, the magic can be undone by a thurge as powerful as the one who cast the spell. But this—” She shook her head and stared, frowning at Juilene. “Either the master who cast this spell was more powerful than any I have ever met, or—” She paused, biting her lip.

  “Go on,” Eral demanded.

  Deatrice raised her head. Her expression was cold, and Juilene realized that infatuated by Eral as the thurge might be, there was still a great line dividing them. “There are things of which I need not speak to you, my traveling friend.” She beckoned to a maidservant. “Take the girl to her room.” Deatrice rose, her white robes swirling gracefully around her slim body.

  “Where are you going, my lady?” asked Eral.

  “I must consult the grimoire,” murmured Deatrice, her eyes fastened on Juilene. Juilene flushed and glanced at her ring. The sapphire band was a dull blue-black. Whatever the woman intended to do posed no immediate danger.

  Eral grabbed at Juilene’s wrist as she went by, his grip hard and demanding. “We’ll speak of this later, my dear. After the performance.”

  Juilene nodded and followed Deatrice’s servant, wondering what Eral would say if she told him it was his own greed that kept him safe.

  It was nearly midnight when Juilene slipped out onto the balcony. The night was clear and very cold, but the stars shone steadily above, and the Eyes of Dramue gazed in blue beneficence upon creation. Juilene stretched her hands upon the stone balustrade. Her fingers ached, her wrists throbbed. She had played for more than six hours straight as well as at a rehearsal Eral had insisted upon that afternoon. The joints in her hands felt as though they were on fire.

  She rubbed her hands together, trying to ease the ache. The sounds of revelry filtered through the door, and suddenly she felt achingly alone. More than one of the young men in the service of the master-thurge had smiled at her, more than one had approached her, some shyly, some bold, and had spoken to her, offered her morsels, a goblet of wine.

  She had refused everything. It wasn’t safe. How could she know where the limits were? She had watched Mathy flirt with the men who flocked to her side, and even old Nuala had smiled, her ancient face flushed from the attentions of a seasoned sergeant at arms. But Juilene did not dare accept even the smallest offering. She had no way to know what Deatrice had meant when she said she could protect her people. And Juilene did not want to risk alienating her acting companions. The troupe was more than a means of livelihood; they were her way to put real distance between herself and whoever might be seeking for her. Behind her, she heard the door open, then close, and she stiffened.

  “Here you are,” Eral said.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. He had disappeared with Deatrice shortly after their performance. Now he padded across the stones in soft leather boots to stand beside her at the railing. His collar was open, and his linen shirt was rolled up. He stood close enough for her to see the coarse dark hair that curled on his arms and at his throat.

  “You played well tonight,” he said after a brief silence. “Better th
an I have ever heard you play before.”

  She bowed her head. “Thank you.”

  “There was something about your playing tonight that struck me—something one doesn’t often hear in a wandering songsayer, as young as you are.” He waited and Juilene said nothing. “You were classically trained, weren’t you?”

  She sucked in a deep breath and clenched her hands together. “I—I was taught a few things.”

  “More than a few things, I’d say.” He crossed the space between them in two long strides and gently turned her to face him. “Who are you, little sister? What did you do to merit a curse from a thurge—a powerful thurge—so young? And from what do you run?”

  Juilene glanced away, over the balcony to the wide courtyard beneath. A stone fountain stood dry in the center of the garden, the intricate rows of shrubs clipped close in preparation for the winter. Even so far south snow would fall shortly after Year’s End. “I mean you no harm,” she said at last.

  He laughed, his teeth flashing white in the torchlight. “I never thought you did. But come—tell me—what happened? What could a child like you have done to so displease so mighty a master-thurge?”

  She drew a deep shuddering breath and shivered.

  “Come,” he said, drawing her toward the door. “Come inside. You’re cold and tired. You need something hot.”

  She made a little sound of protest, but he ignored it, coaxing her to follow him back inside. He led her past the great open doors of the hall, and down the wide corridor, to a little private sitting room where a warm fire burned in a polished grate, and soft pillows were spread before the fire. On a low table set before the fire, two silver goblets glowed with a polished sheen. “Will you sit?”

  She glanced around. Weariness was overtaking her. It would be so good to lie down before the fire, on the thick rugs, and lay her head on the cushions, let the warmth and the softness carry her away to the time before Lindos, before everything had changed so irrevocably. She swallowed hard and looked at him. “I should go to my room.”