The Singers of Nevya (59 page)

Kai laughed. “Soon everyone will be able to see for themselves!”

Isbel said, “But why, Kai? I bathe in private, and wear my tunics loosely.” She caressed the swell of her belly.

The ancient gesture, made by one of the gifted, a full Cantrix, made Sira squirm in her chair. Even though it was Isbel, her beloved friend, she could not deny the shock she felt at the sight of it, the sense of wrongness–and of waste.

“Isbel,” she said. “Have you not seen the women of the House close to term, how they strain their tunics? You are approaching your last weeks, and you will not be able to hide it.”

“And besides,” Kai said, “we’re only putting off what must be done. My family will make room for us. And when the Magister and the Housekeeper get used to the idea, they’ll see to it we have an apartment of our own, like other new families. I work hard for my House, and it’s my right to have my own home.”

Sira doubted it would be so easy, but she held her peace. In her mind she heard,
Amric will be famous for this all over the Continent!

Zakri had been lounging near a table where Yula had placed refreshments. Every time Sira looked at him, his mouth was full. She cast him a helpless glance now as she rose and answered Kai. “Perhaps you are right, Houseman. But I think perhaps it is best if I talk to Magister Edrus first. I will try to explain.”

Isbel said, “I must do that myself, Sira. When I am ready.”

And then you had better be ready too, Singer Sira!

Sira shot Zakri another glance. She could see by the sparkle in his eye and the cheerful creasing of his cheeks that he was enjoying himself. She could not see the humor, but still, Zakri was right. When Isbel revealed her secret, Sira would be forced to step into the Cantoris herself, to serve with Cantor Ovan.

Isbel left her seat and followed Sira to the door. She whispered, “I am so sorry. I know I have caused great trouble for you.” She embraced Sira, her cheek smooth and warm, her round, taut belly pressing against Sira’s hip. Sira held her tightly for a moment, and kissed her lightly on the forehead. Unexpected tears welled under Sira’s eyelids and she closed her eyes to suppress them.
Be careful, my friend,
she sent.

Isbel nodded, and went back to Kai, waiting for her by the window. They stood a little apart from each other. Kai never touched Isbel in Sira’s presence, but still, she fought a feeling of revulsion. She was aware of the irony that she, the great rebel, had such difficulty accepting the very human thing that had happened here. Magister Mkel would be amused, she supposed. Zakri came to stand beside her, and she knew that her feelings were open to him. It was obscurely comforting to know that at least someone understood her, though it changed nothing.

As they left Isbel’s apartment, she sent,
Someone must tell Magister Mkel as soon as Isbel has made her announcement. Perhaps there is something they can do.

What I heard was clear
, Zakri answered. His eyes had gone dark and he was no longer smiling.
At Lamdon, they said there are no Cantors to spare unless they send someone away from Conservatory. Even there they are short of staff. The youngest class is suffering from it.

Sira lifted her hands in despair.
It falls to me, then.

Zakri bowed to her.
Yes, Cantrix Sira. It falls to you.

Isbel went alone to Magister Edrus. Sira and Kai watched her go, a small figure walking away from them down the corridor, then they went into the apartment to wait. Sira sat looking out into the blankness of the snow-filled landscape, willing herself to stay away, not to listen as Isbel made her confession. She could not bring herself to speak to Kai. He too was silent, pacing the apartment like a
tkir
on the prowl.

More than an hour passed. The tension grew in layers, like the snow drifting outside. Sira gripped her hands together until they hurt, and Kai occasionally groaned from the pressure. A second hour was almost gone when Sira heard,
Sira! You had better go to Isbel!
Zakri, in the urgency of the moment, forgot both their titles.

In a flash Sira was on her feet, striding from Isbel’s apartment. Kai followed closely, asking, “What’s happened? What is it?” but she had no time to answer him. She cast her mind ahead, to find out what had alarmed Zakri.

Even as she heard Cantor Ovan berating Isbel, she reached Magister Edrus’s door and threw it open. Zakri, running from the other direction, entered close behind her.

Isbel was crouched on the floor. Ovan’s fury assailed her mind, an assault such as only one of the Gifted could make upon another. It was cruel beyond belief, a mental screaming that rang inside Sira’s own skull. Sira knelt beside Isbel, and added her shielding to Isbel’s weak defenses.
Leave her alone!
she flared at Ovan.
There is no good to be had from this!

Little whore!
His sending was like a shout.
Slut! You are worthless, a traitor, you should never have been allowed into my Cantoris! I will see you exposed in North Pass and forgotten! You
—

Zakri joined Isbel and Sira, and they combined their energies to form a wall of psi to shut out Ovan’s ravings. Isbel fell to one side, and sobbed brokenly where she lay. Sira looked up at Ovan’s pinched face, the lips and nostrils white against the darkness of his skin. He was shaking so, she wondered how he could stand. Magister Edrus bent over a table, his face in his hands. He would have heard nothing of Ovan’s attack.

Sira spoke aloud. “Cantor Ovan, I know you are frightened and tired. But there is no excuse for such brutality toward your colleague, however grave her error.”

Edrus looked up. “What is happening here?” His gaze found Isbel collapsed on the floor. “Cantrix Isbel! There is no need for this. You mustn’t . . . Cantrix Sira, she says she is—” He trembled, too, his hands unsteady as he pushed himself to his feet. “What will happen to my House? What will we do now?”

Sira left Isbel in Zakri’s and Kai’s care, and came to stand before Edrus. “We will see that no harm comes to your House. We have been doing that, in truth, Singer Zakri and I.”

Ovan’s eyes flashed. “What do you mean by that? Who is this young man, and how dare you say such a thing?”

Sira held up a commanding hand. “Let us be calm. Anger and accusations are pointless. The important thing is the Cantoris, and the security of the House.”

Magister Edrus indicated a chair for Sira. Before she took it, she turned to where Zakri was helping Isbel to her feet, either ignoring the tabu, or not caring. Kai was on Isbel’s other side, a protective arm around her.

Zakri,
Sira sent,
please help Isbel to her apartment. Explain to Kai what has happened, and I will see you there as soon as I can.

Zakri looked at Ovan as he answered, and his eyes were darker than she had ever seen them.
I will. But I wish you luck with him.
Zakri made no attempt to shield his sending, and Ovan fairly ground his teeth as he heard him.

Zakri and Kai drew Isbel, now sobbing weakly, out the door, and closed it behind them. Sira sat down then, as did the Magister. She rested her hands on the table, palms up. “This is a tragic circumstance, Magister, but it is not the first time it has happened on the Continent.”

He nodded heavily. “Of course you’re right. But I have my House to think of. And I’m fond of Cantrix Isbel, and so is my mate.” His eyes slid involuntarily to Ovan. “She brought something to our Cantoris that we’re going to miss.”

“Did you tell her that?”

“I had no chance. Cantor Ovan was—understandably, I know—very upset.”

Ovan stepped up to the table and banged his fist on it. “Upset?” he grated. “I am devastated, and Conservatory will be equally so. I must say, Sira—” His emphasis on her name, without any title, was a deliberate insult. “There must have been something seriously wrong with your class, that two of you have failed so miserably. Conservatory will have to answer for that! And now we must ask them for yet another Singer to replace these incompetents!”

Sira’s breath came quickly as she strove to control her own anger. “It is most interesting, Cantor Ovan,” she said evenly, “to hear you speak of incompetence.”

Ovan sucked in a breath, and his face grew so dark she thought he might collapse at their feet. “How dare you, you—”

Edrus drew himself up. “Yes, Cantor Ovan, we will ask Conservatory for another Singer. But I fear they have none to give us. Can you manage alone for a time?”

Sira watched Ovan, her scarred eyebrow lifted in a challenging arch. His bravado faded before her regard, and his face seemed to fall in upon itself as if some inner support were collapsing. He looked, all at once, like an aged and frightened man. “It . . . it would be difficult, Magister,” he faltedred. He sank into a chair. “It is hard for any Cantor to work alone, and Cantrix Isbel has been unable to fully support me for some time now. I thought, naturally, it was her youth, or perhaps . . .” His voice trailed off.

Magister Edrus turned his gaze to Sira. He folded his hands before him, and waited.

“I see you already know what we must do,” she said. Her back was to Cantor Ovan, and she did not include him as she spoke. “I will help in your Cantoris, as your Cantor’s junior. I ask only that I be allowed to go on with Singer Zakri’s training while I am here, and that you send your request to Conservatory as soon as possible.”

“That is generous of you,” Edrus replied. He turned to Ovan, and said with much meaning, “Are we agreed, then?”

There was only a moment of hesitation before Cantor Ovan gave one reluctant nod. Sira rose and bowed to Magister Edrus. There was nothing more to be said.

Only when they were in the corridor outside the apartment did Ovan send to Sira.
You have not heard the last of this. Your slut of a friend will pay for what she has done, and the price will be high.

Sira met his black gaze.
Shall I speak of your own weakness, then? Or shall we try to work together, we two, for the good of your House?

With a derisive grunt, the Cantor turned away and hurried down the hall. Sira followed at a slower pace. This would be even harder than she had thought. She dreaded the
quirunha
she and Ovan would perform together, the Cantoris hours they would share. Being junior to such a Singer, joined with his mind, would be an odious thing.
Thank the Spirit
, she thought,
for Zakri
.

Chapter Twenty-nine

It felt strange to Sira to bow before an assembly once again. She had been absent from the dais a long time. Cantor Ovan gave the House members no explanation of her presence, and behind the benches reserved for the ruling members of the House, men and women in colored tunics shifted in their seats and whispered to each other.

Ovan stated a melody in
Iridu
, a simple thing, safe and dull. Sira’s
filhata
felt heavy and warm in her hands. She held back at first, harmonizing Ovan’s tune, watching him from beneath lowered eyelids.

Then she modulated, shifting to
Aiodu
before Ovan understood her intent. The new mode made dissonance of his melody, and his voice faltered, searching. Sira let her own voice rise above his, transforming the melody in
Aiodu
, reshaping it into something more graceful, and more interesting. She widened its range beyond the capabilities of Ovan’s voice. Her psi leaped ahead of his as well, and the
quiru
flared dramatically out from the dais, an abundance, an extravagance of warmth spilling into every corner of the House.

Sira disliked being joined with Ovan. His mind was flawed and distorted by anger and fear. She cared nothing for that. Her own anger was a powerful force she barely restrained. Since the day before, Isbel had cowered in terror and pain in her apartment. Sira spared no energy on sympathy for the Cantor, as he had spared none for Isbel.

When they were finished, Ovan’s eyes glittered, and his mind closed like a fist. Sira stood tall and looked down at him. She bowed deeply, once, as to a senior, but then jumped down from the dais and preceded him out of the Cantoris, spurning protocol.

Zakri caught up with her in the corridor.
Quick work. You must be in a hurry.

The less time I spend joined with that man’s mind the better.
They reached Isbel’s rooms and went in, finding Yula in the center of the room with a tray in her hands.

“Oh, Cantrix Sira,” she said, paling but standing her ground for once. She held up the full tray for Sira to see. “Cantrix Isbel hasn’t eaten a thing since yesterday morning!”

“I see that, Yula. I will go in to her now.”

Zakri relieved Yula of the tray and took it to the table. The Housewoman backed out of the apartment, muttering to herself, and Sira quietly opened the bedroom door.

Isbel lay on her side on her cot, her knees drawn up, her trousers rucked around her ankles. She clutched the bedfurs to her throat, and her eyes were tightly closed.

“Isbel?” Sira whispered. Isbel opened her eyes, and they were too brilliant, glistening in the renewed light of the
quiru
. Sira stepped closer. “Are you all right?”

Isbel said in a feverish way, “He is screaming at me still. He will not leave me alone.”

“But that is not possible, truly.” Sira spoke in as soothing a tone as she could. “He has been doing the
quirunha
. We did it together. And now he is at the mid-day meal.”

“But I hear him,” Isbel said. “Over and over. I cannot hear anything else, not the music, not your sending. He tells me I have betrayed my House, he calls me names.” Her eyes flew open, and she stared at a point past Sira’s head. “He says my Gift is ruined.”

“His own Gift is not much better. Has he always been so weak?”

Isbel only went on staring at nothing. Sira smoothed the furs over her, tucking them around her bare feet, then slipped out of the bedroom, drawing the door softly closed behind her.

Zakri looked up from finishing the last of the
keftet
Yula had brought for her mistress. He licked his fingers and wiped them on his trousers.
We must get her away from this House.