Minstrel's Serenade (3 page)

Danika flicked her gaze over to Bron and the warrior nodded his acquiescence. She buttered a piece of ale loaf with a tiny silver knife. “So be it.”

Troubadir’s lips stretched into a pleasant smile. “My servants will arrange your chambers shortly.” The smile faded as soon as it appeared. “Now, to discuss the urgent matters at hand. We are both aware of the uprising of wyverns, as proven by your witness of Shaletown’s attack.”

Danika glanced over at Nip but the remainder of the ale loaf distracted him.

“I do not wish to sit here and talk of the past.” She raised her eyebrows, gesturing to the soot-covered boy.

“Of course. My mistake.” He sipped his tea. “Let us talk of the future. I propose an alliance between Ebonvale and the House of Song.”

Danika stiffened. Her father had warned her for years not to trust the song spinners. He had due cause for his concerns. They could change a person’s mind with only a few plucked notes. Dabbling with the minstrels was akin to stoking a fire.

She narrowed her eyes. “With such superb defenses, why would you need our alliance?”

“Excellent question, Princess. Why, indeed?” He stroked his beard, the silver and gold strands catching the lantern light.

“We’ve lasted hundreds of years, sequestered within the bluewood forest with not as much as a skirmish with the wyverns. Our songs protect our village, much like the famous archers of Ebonvale.”

The king waved over the nearest server and focused his attention on Nip. “Son, why don’t you follow my friend, Mira. She can show you our collection of leather-bone drums.”

“I’m fine here, sir.” The boy crossed his arms. Troubadir cast a glance at Danika, but the princess didn’t trust these minstrels. Better if the boy stayed with her. She shook her head.

“You are a brave boy.” The king paused, placing a piece of ale loaf on a china plate, untouched. Each plate had five staff lines painted with dotted eighth notes across the rim. Which song did each plate hold? Did the un-played notes bless their food or taint it?

Troubadir sighed. “Our time of peace is at an end. Scouts have come from as far as Brimmore’s Bay claiming stories of a massive Mother-Beast, a leviathan of the sky.”

Nonsense
. Danika shot a glance at Bron. The warrior leaned forward, eyes alert as if the king piqued his attention. Danika ruffled her dress, thinking. If Bron paid these ridiculous claims heed, then she’d sit still long enough to hear him out. She nodded for the king to continue.

“They say her tail spans the length of three warships, her wings spread the size of Shaletown’s borders. Her neck alone stretches farther than any of these bluewoods.”

Danika breathed in to contradict him, but he held up a long forefinger.

“Worse yet, one puff of her breath melts anything in its path within a mile’s radius. Traders from Kilra claim the beast took out the city of Talis within heartbeats.”

His gaze flickered around the shadows, as if the beast would spring from any lantern flame. “Her eggs gestate while we speak. She’s building an army, a massive legion of sky worms capable of singeing this entire continent before any one of my minstrels could complete a stanza.”

So quick to respond before, Danika could not summon a retort. His words stirred a sick current of bile in her stomach, and she regretted gulping down so much ale loaf. The boy sat in silence beside her. She should have sent him away with Mira.

“Do you have any proof of these claims?” Bron’s muscles tensed.

Troubadir spread his arm across the china plates and crusts and gazed down, wearing a sad smile of inevitability.

“Holy Helena’s Goblet.” Danika fell backward and caught herself on her elbows.

Bron jumped up at the same time, and the boy sat wide-eyed, running his hands along the oily surface.

“This isn’t a table,” her voice croaked.

A surface of blue-black, as shiny as a marble and as thick as her leg, glittered with swirls of hidden colors when she tilted her head. They’d eaten their dinner on a single scale--a mere shedding from a mighty beast.

Troubadir wasted no time. “Our only hope is to travel to her isle and defeat her before she lays claim to this land.”

Bron shifted, his leather tunic creaking like an old floor. “Swarms of wyverns with a giant mother-ass viper in charge--sounds like suicide to me.”

Danika gasped in enough breath to recover a partial amount of her wits. “Our soldiers are not equipped to handle such fire. No armor can withstand such an onslaught.”

“Pa’s armor can.” Nip’s boyish voice resonated in the great dome.

Danika stared at him open-mouthed.

Nip stood, looking both proud and sad. “He was pounding a leg shin when the wyverns came.”

“The breastplate.” Danika nodded. “You wore a piece of armor when I first found you.”

Nip swallowed hard. “I wanted Pa to wear it. I told him to, but he placed the breastplate over my head. As I tried to wiggle free, a puff of smoke pushed me backward into the wall. Ma screamed, then the roof came crashing in and everything became so hot, I feared my skin would melt.”

Nip slumped down and Danika reached for him, pulling him against her. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

“And it seems your father has found the answer.” Troubadir bent down to meet the child’s eyes.

“Where did he get the metal? How did he forge it?”

Shivering, the boy hid his face in Danika’s skirts.

“Don’t pester him,” she snapped. “He’s lost so much.”

Valorian stepped in, putting a hand on her arm. “My apologies, Princess, but we must know, and we don’t have much time.”

An entire kingdom rested on the memories of a soot-streaked boy. Danika nodded, wiping away a stray tear on his cheek. She pulled Nip away and knelt in front of him, holding his shoulders in both hands. “Where did your father get the metal? Tell me his secret.”

Nip’s eyes shone bright with fear. He shook his head.

“Please, Nip. We need the answer now more than ever.”

He whimpered. “Deep down in tunnels. The albinos traded the metal for rice.”

“Darkenbite.” Bron hissed under his breath and spat on the floor. “A damned and foul place.”

“Do you think they have more of it?” Danika smoothed over his hair, ignoring Bron. “Do you think they’ll still trade?”

Nip nodded, curls bobbing above his eyes.

“That settles it.” Danika rose from the floor and met Troubadir’s anxious gaze. “We’ll need all the rice you can muster. We’re traveling to Darkenbite at dawn’s break to retrieve more of that precious metal. I’ll employ every blacksmith in Ebonvale to pound it into armor. Once we’re equipped, I’ll send word to your minstrels. Together, we’ll ride out over the Sea of Urchins and battle this untamed She-Beast with the greatest army ever to sail the fourteen seas.”

She extended her hand to the king, hoping an army would be sufficient, hoping he didn’t push for her hand to Valorian as well. “Deal?”

Troubadir raised his head, his thin nose pointing up.

Danika refused to allow herself a glance at Valorian. Who knew the kinds of thoughts smoldering in his head?

“You have yourself a bargain, Princess.”

“Good. Please take us to your guest chambers. Nip is tired, and Bron needs his rest if he’s to drive the carriage in the morning.”

“Negotiations such as these can make anyone tired. Valorian, guide these kind people to their quarters.”

“Most certainly, Father.” Valorian gestured to the entranceway. “Follow me.”

Danika reached for Nip’s hand but he shrugged her away. She’d have to accept Valorian’s arm instead. Slipping her fingers around his wrist, she allowed him to lead her into the night. Bron grumbled under his breath behind her as he and Nip followed. Danika resisted the urge to turn around and give him a look.

Did Darkenbite frustrate him? Or did he find Valorian’s affections annoying?

Surely, he thought of Darkenbite. How could the Chief of Arms, appointed as her bodyguard by her father before his death, harbor feelings toward a princess? Seven years her elder and five ranks below her, he had as much of a chance as a prisoner in their dungeon cells.
Remember that.

Danika breathed in slowly to calm herself. Long journeys such as these blurred the ranks, but they’d return to Ebonvale soon enough. Her throne and all the expectations along with it awaited her.

Valorian brought them to a pair of bluewood cottages set apart from the village, resting in a moonlit glade behind the domed House of Song. “The one on the right is for your counterparts. This one, over here is for you.”

True to his position, Danika’s bodyguard didn’t budge. His dark shadow at her shoulder reassured her.

“Very well, then.” Valorian slipped her hand into his and brought her fingers to his lips. His kiss fell soft on her skin. “Tomorrow then, Princess.” He bowed to Bron and Nip. “Warrior, and son.”

Valorian disappeared into the shadows while a lone flute trilled on the wind.

Bron bowed to Danika and turned to leave. “Come on, little dragon slayer. Best we get some rest.”

The night seemed unfinished, like she’d struck a dissonant chord with no resolution. A sudden longing to speak with Bron came over her, as if the answering note lay with him. “Bron, wait.”

He raised an eyebrow and gestured for Nip to go in without him. The boy scurried to the front porch and slipped in the door. Bron returned his attention to her.

“Yes, Princess?”

“Watch over the boy for me. I do not trust these minstrels. They could have something stuck up their velvety sleeves.”

Bron grinned as though amused. “I was beginning to think you didn’t need me anymore.”

His words hit a chord in her heart and it vibrated along with the distant hum of song. Danika touched his arm and his skin burned hot under her fingertips. “I’ll always need you.”

They stood frozen while a musical phrase swelled and cadenced behind them. She’d said too much and not enough all at once and her emotions ran unbidden as if Troubadir had slipped wine into her tea. Bron’s eyes shone dark with mystery, making her heart beat faster.

“Evening, Princess. We have quite a day ahead of us, and the night’s running its course.”

“Goodnight.” Danika pulled away, embarrassed. She’d guessed wrong. Protection was not love. He was an exceptional bodyguard at most. Biting her lip, she strode to her cottage. Honestly, the more time she spent outside the castle walls, the less princess-like she became. Once this quest came to an end, she’d have to find an appropriate suitor, and Valorian ranked highest on the list.

Cursing her strange emotions, Danika opened her cottage door. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting Bron to have disappeared inside. He stood underneath the moss-draped gable, watching her in return.

Wyvern’s Breath

Bron guarded Danika’s retreat to her cottage, her skirts kissing the blades of grass with each delicate step. Her elegance in awkward situations always impressed him, and she’d handled herself like a queen in the negotiations. Her father would have been proud, and Bron was proud as well. She’d grown into a regal woman with a flair for battle and a spitfire tongue. If only his feelings ended with thoughts of protection and pride.

Danika paused on the gabled porch and turned toward him, as if she heard his secrets on the wind. Her meadow-green gaze brought goosebumps to his skin. A sheer vulnerability weakened him until his legs felt like porridge. He was a veteran warrior, for Horred’s sake. He’d scaled the Fortress of Angst singlehandedly and defeated the dead army of Sill. Now a woman’s gaze threatened to bring him to his knees?

He didn’t think she’d look back. She shouldn’t.

Bron couldn’t break her gaze. He had to make sure Danika entered the cottage safely. Besides, looking away would reveal too much. He nodded slightly, as if he’d meant for her to catch him staring. Danika tore her gaze away and disappeared inside.

He exhaled slowly, calming his nerves. The minstrels’ music taunted him, reminding him of the circus he’d visited with his brother, Hule, on Festival Day. The jesters had leered at him, the bells on their three-pointed hats tinkling as they danced and pounded on drums. They made everything in life a mockery, and their disrespect churned his stomach. The Man of Muscles had earned his admiration. He’d lifted a wheel barrel holding two goats over his head. Bron had wanted to be that man, and here he stood now, guarding a princess as the Chief of Arms.

If only he hadn’t failed her. The memory of the battlefield left a scar on his heart far greater than the one on his right cheek. The deep tones of a bass lute mirrored his regret. Bron pushed the uncomfortable memories from his thoughts, refusing to play into the song’s desperate notes. Music played slippery tricks on his mind, whereas steel made an honest and clean cut. No, this time he wouldn’t fail, even if it meant protecting her from himself. Bron smoothed his fingers over the pummel of his claymore, the golden etching hard underneath his callouses like a forgotten language. He skimmed the night and slipped into the cottage without a sound.

Nip sat upright in bed, straight as a broomstick. He hadn’t even unlaced his boots.

“Cannot sleep?”

“I want to see it.” Nip locked on his eyes, his small mouth set tight.

Bron still reeled from the encounter outside. He collapsed on the cot and pulled off a boot, massaging the sole of his foot. “See what?”

“The wyvern snout. The one you killed.”

The warrior paused and rubbed a hand over his shaved head. Tiny prickles of hair dusted the skin, and he needed time with his dagger and a bowl of water. But the lad seemed determined.

“Won’t it give you nightmares?”

“I already have ’em.” Nip stood and smoothed over his soot-stained tunic. “It’ll make ’em go away.”

“It’s not a pretty thing, child.”

Nip’s voice rose and he stomped his foot. “I’m not a child. Not anymore.”

Bron raised an eyebrow. Surviving the scene that morning would make a man out of a duckling. The boy had a point. But to lay eyes on the dead beast’s head so soon after the attack?

“It’s late. How about we take a look in the morning?”