The Eagle & the Nightingales: Bardic Voices, Book III (29 page)

Nightingale parted company from him quickly after that, since Nob brought word that Harperus wanted to speak with him, and she most certainly did not want to be there when he showed up. She returned unaccompanied to Freehold, resolving to make her journeys hereafter in something less conspicuous in the way of a costume. The Elven silks would pack down readily enough, and she could change in T’fyrr’s rooms, even if that would scandalize young Nob. With the safe-conduct in her hand, the quiet and respectable clothing would do very well for her to pass the gate reserved for those who were higher than servants but less than noble.

But she should think about spending some of her rapidly accumulating monies on other clothing, as well. Granted, she could not lay her hands on more Elven silk, but there were perfectly good seamstresses in the city who would not scorn to sew to her design. She needed something appropriate but less flamboyant than Elven-made clothing. She was a commoner, an outsider, and it would not do to excite the jealousy of the ladies of the Court in the matter of dress. Every time she stepped onto the Palace grounds, she went completely out of her element, a songbird trying to swim like a fish. There was no point in making herself more problems than she already had.

She was uncomfortably aware of speculative eyes on her as she made her way to Freehold, and she was grateful that, although the hour tended toward noon, it was still too early for any of the more dangerous types to be wandering the streets. Pickpockets were easy enough to foil; she could leave broken fingers in her wake without seeming to do more than brush her hand across her belt-pouch. But in this particular outfit, she was fair game for ransom-kidnappers who could legitimately assume she had money or had family with money. And she was even more vulnerable to those looking to kidnap for other purposes.

So she set the
don’t look at me
spell again, all too aware that it would only work on those near enough to hear the melody she hummed under her breath. If she were less tired, she could have included anyone within sight of her
—

But she had just spent all night and part of the morning working the magics of music and the heart, and she had scant resources to spend on herself. She sighed with relief when Freehold loomed into view, and she had seldom been so glad to see a place as she was to see that deceptively plain door.

She took herself straight upstairs; fortunately, word had not yet spread of her Royal Command Performance, and she did not have to fend off any questioners. Only one of the Mintak peace-keepers appeared, silent as a shadow, to take her harp from her—and one of the little errand boys, with a tray of food and drink beside him. Neither asked any questions; they simply followed her to her room, put their burdens down, and left her.

She ate and drank quickly, without tasting any of it; she stripped off her gown and lay down in her bed, still rumpled and bearing the impression of her body and T’fyrr’s, and the faint, spicy scent of his feathers. And then, she fell asleep, and slept like one dead until an hour before her first set of the evening.

She woke with the feeling that she had dreamed, but with no memory of what her dreams had been about. She woke, in fact, a little confused about where she was, until her mind began to function again. Then she lay staring up at the ceiling, trying to sort herself out.

There was a difference, a profound and yet subtle difference, in the way everything felt, but she had known that there would be.

Some of the magic—had not precisely left her, but it had changed. If she sang alone, she would still command the same power—but if she performed with T’fyrr, it was another story altogether. Together they would command more than the magic of two people; their abilities would work together as warp and weft, and the magic they wove would be stronger and firmer than anything she had ever dreamed of.
So T’fyrr shares the Bardic Magic now—or else, I have awakened the magic that was already there.
Not entirely unexpected, but certainly welcome, for as long as the two of them remained partnered.

She shoved that last niggling thought away, with a hint of desperation. She would not think of that. The pain would come soon enough, she did not need to worry at it until it
did
come, and T’fyrr went on his way again without her.

Or until she was forced by circumstance to leave him. The road traveled in both directions, after all.

The other changes within her were precisely as she had expected—except for the depth to which they ran. She did not particularly want to think about that, either.

But she wouldn’t have to; there was a performance to give. T’fyrr would probably not be able to come—he could seldom manage two nights in a row. A brief stab of loneliness touched her, but she had expected it, and absorbed it.

I have been lonely for most of my life; I do not expect this to change.
That was what she told herself, anyway.
Being lonely has never killed anyone yet, no matter what the foolish ballads say.

And with that thought to fortify her, she finally rose from her bed and prepared to face another night of audiences.

###

She made her way across the city with far less of a stir this morning than she and T’fyrr had caused yesterday. No one would look twice at her, in fact, in her sober and honest clothing. The bundle at her back could be anything; unless you knew what a harp case looked like, there was no reason even to think she was a musician.

She presented herself and her safe-conduct at the Bronze Gate; the guard there scarcely glanced at it or her, except to note the size and shape of the bundle she carried and to order her to show what it was she had. When he saw it was only a musical instrument and a small bundle of cloth, he became bored again and passed her through.

She found a page to show her to T’fyrr’s rooms, in plenty of time to use his bathroom and change into the gown she had brought with her. He was pacing the floor when she arrived, and turned to greet her with relief and disappointment.

Another sign of how we are bound, now; I know his feelings without needing to try to interpret his expression.
The relief was because she was early; the disappointment he made clear enough.

“Theovere hasn’t changed,” he said as she asked him how they had been received yesterday. “He still hasn’t done anything any differently. I don’t understand
—
”

Before he could say anything further, she seized his hand and drew him into the bedroom, away from the odd devices she recognized as Deliambren listening devices. She did
not
want the Deliambrens to know about the Bardic Magic—at least, she did not want them to know that she was exercising it. They already knew there was something like it, of course, and they knew, from the results she got, that she used it. They might put “magic” and “harpist” together and come up with “Nightingale.”

“Don’t be impatient,” she told him as his tail feathers twitched a little from side to side and he shook his wings out. “Even with the Magic, this is going to take
time.
For one thing, we didn’t have the chance to select songs that would channel his mind in the direction we wanted it to go. For another, we are trying to change something that took several years to establish; we aren’t going to do that overnight.”

He opened his beak, then shut it abruptly, as if he had suddenly seen what she was talking about.

“Besides, you aren’t in the special Council sessions,” she continued. “You have no access to the one place where he actually gets things done and issues real orders. You have no idea how he is speaking or acting within them. If I were the King
—
”

She let the nebulous thought take a more concrete form, then spoke. “If I were the King, and I began to take up the reins of my duty again—I would know that I would have to be careful about it. The Advisors aren’t going to like the changes we’re trying to bring about in him, and they are powerful people. He can oppose them in small things successfully, but
—
” She shook her head. “He was a very clever man, and I don’t think that cleverness is gone. He was also a very observant man, and he must realize what has been going on. If I were the King, with my sense of duty reawakened, I would start working my will in very small things, taking back my power gradually, and hopefully by the time they realized what I was doing, it would be too late. And I would be very, very careful that I didn’t
seem
to act any differently.”

T’fyrr nodded then. “In a way, since he has let the power slip from his hands, Theovere has less power than any of them. Is that what you are saying?”

“More or less.” She moved back into the other room with its insidious little listening devices. “Well, more to the point, what are we performing today? If you have anything that I don’t know, I can probably pick it up with a little rehearsal.”

“Which you have cleverly provided time for by arriving early.” His beak opened in that Haspur equivalent of a smile, and she warmed with his pleasure in her company and
her
cleverness. “Well, here is the list I had thought we might perform.”

He brought out a written list, which was thoughtful of him, and was what she would have done in his place. Armed with that, she was able to suggest alternatives to several of the songs she did not yet know, which left them enough time for her to pick up the melodies to the most important of the rest.

This time, she was no longer so tired that the white marble corridors blurred, one into the other, like the halls in a nightmare. She had a chance to make some mental notes as she walked beside him, his talons clicking oddly on the marble floor.

Did I have a nightmare involving these halls last night? Something about looking for T’fyrr in an endless series of corridors, all alike, all filled with strangers? Yes, and I kept finding single feathers, broken or pulled out at the roots—could you actually do that with feathers that long and strong? But I never found him, only rooms full of more strangers staring at me and saying nothing.

She didn’t care much for the statuary, though. It all had a remarkable sameness to it, mannered and smug, beautifully carved and lifeless.

Rather like the Guild versions of our ballads, actually.

Was there a sculptor’s version of a Bardic Guild? From the looks of these statues, she suspected there must be.

Theovere wasn’t responsible for this, though; she had seen his suite and knew for a fact that he had better taste than to order anything like this statuary.

Huh. A Deliambren has better taste than this.

Some other High King—or more likely, some other servants of some other High King were responsible. The King had probably waved his hand and ordered that the austere corridors be decorated, and lo
—

There were statues by the gross.

He might even have done it for the simplest of all reasons; to keep people from becoming lost. Certainly Nob and probably everyone else navigated the endless hallways by the statuary. If that was the case, the statues didn’t need to be inspired, just all of the same theme. They could have been ordered like so many decorated cakes.

Let’s see, we’ll have a dozen each—High Kings, nymphs, shepherds, famous women, famous men, famous generals, famous warriors, famous animals, dancers, musicians, saints—what did they do when they ran out of obvious subjects?
She amused herself, thinking that somewhere there was a corridor decked out in the theme of Famous Village Idiots, or Famous Swinekeepers.

Each with his favorite piggy at his feet—
She smiled to herself, holding back a giggle, as they reached the door of the King’s suite.

Well, once more into the fray.
That was enough to sober her.

There was another potential problem, as if they did not have troubles enough. She had not told T’fyrr about a thought that had disturbed her own dreams last night. She did not
know
that there were people other than the Bards and Elves who could detect Bardic Magic at work, but there might be. After all, those who used Bardic Magic could detect other Magics than their own. She did not know if the High King had someone with him or watching over him with the intention of catching anyone working magic on the King in the act. But it was a real possibility, and it was not likely that anyone would bother to ask
why
they were weaving spells if she and T’fyrr were caught at it.

As they waited for the guards to open the doors now, there was the chance that she had been detected yesterday, and that they were not going in to a performance but a trap.

But in all the years she had practiced her art, no one had ever accused her in a way that made her think they had proof she used magic. Nor had anyone else among the Gypsies. Churchmen, village heads, and Guildsmen told wild tales, but never with any foundation.

And never with any truth—that was the odd and interesting part. In all the times that Free Bards and Gypsies
had
worked magic, there had been no hint that anyone, even their worst enemies, had a notion that anything of the sort had been done. It was only the unbelievable stories that were spread, of how impressionable youngsters were turned to demon-worship, immorality, or suicide by one or another particular song. They accused the
song,
and not the singer, as if it were the song that held the power.

What nonsense. These are stories created by people who want to find something else to blame than themselves for their children’s acts.

How could words and music, lifeless without the life given to them by the performer, ever influence anyone against his will or better judgment? Books could suggest new possibilities to an open mind, yes, so music could, too—but people were not mindless and they had their own wills, and it was the mind and the will that implemented decisions. The mind that made the decision was ultimately the responsible party.

She had to assume that would hold true now; had to, or she would be too apprehensive to perform the task she had sworn herself to.

She had sworn herself, knowing that this might take years, that it might cost her not only her freedom but her life if she were caught at it. She would not take back her pledge now.