The Singer's Crown (24 page)

“Why should I listen to such defeatist rubbish?”

“You still don't understand.” He lowered his voice now, dark eyes shining. “We are not doomed as long as Kattanan lives, but only if you consent to make him a king in fact, not just in name. Teach him, let him see, let him understand. When we reach Lochdale, let him ride before a victorious army, the true heir returned to his home. Give your people a king worth fourteen years of oppression.”

“He is little more than a child and will never be much more than that.”

“You are saying that because you have never heard him sing.”

Shock sprang to her features, and Kattanan's as well, as he dropped the mug at last. “Sing?” the duchess snapped “What has that to do with anything?”

“I have heard him fill a hall with nothing but himself. I played until I thought I'd bleed, and I could neither outlast nor outshine him.”

“That was the past. His voice, his singing—all past,” she said flatly.

“That is not the point. Yesterday at court you were horrified to see him rush to aid a prince you have always called your enemy. He confronted you to save a man who was his friend. You see a child who disobeys you, nothing more. I saw courage, honor, loyalty, compassion, righteous anger—everything I would want from my king.”

Slowly she said, “You did not stand forward yesterday because you mistrust me?”

“No.”

“And last night, you ordered the guards to deny my entrance…?”

“Out of respect for my king,” Fionvar replied.

Kattanan glanced from one to the other. Summoning every ounce of her authority the duchess sat deadly still, face betraying nothing. Fionvar, taller, no less proud, challenged her across the table, but there was no anger. His eyes begged, his hands hovered, empty, and his breath escaped in small, hopeful bursts. When she turned from him, Kattanan saw the exultant smile that flared briefly across Fionvar's face. She examined her grandson, and he lifted his chin a little higher, stilling his hands at last.

“You have been highly praised by one who does not flatter.”

The chin lowered, but just a touch.

She crossed her arms and frowned. “I, too, will speak with your Prince Wolfram, when the surgeons allow it. And we will speak of your marriage—but now, I think, may be the wrong time.” She tilted her head. “You told me that this man did not like you.”

He glanced back to Fionvar. “I had no idea,” he replied faintly.

“You seem to be ignorant of many things,” she observed, “but youth and inexperience may explain that. And both of those are things we shall overcome. It seems my grandson and I have much to discuss. No doubt you have other duties, Captain.”

He did not heed her gesture of dismissal, but turned to Kattanan. “Your Majesty requested a report on the circumstances surrounding the capture of the prince.” At the young man's nod, Fionvar continued, “Their boat ran aground on the Bernholt side of the island. They surrendered quickly and were taken to the captain. The guards I spoke with said there was a new man with him, someone they hadn't seen before, and it was he who recognized the prince. He was also responsible for the beating. The stranger claimed to be a friend of my brother's and insisted on being called ‘Sir'—Majesty, are you ill?”

What little color had returned to Kattanan's face drained away, leaving him pale and trembling, shaking his head vaguely. “Is he still here?”

“No one seems to know. I have several men looking for him, but with no luck so far. This man is known to you?”

Kattanan shut his eyes and swallowed. He nodded once, but would say nothing of it. With a frown, Fionvar went on, “The former captain refuses to speak to me about his part in this. Perhaps Your Excellency can get something out of him later. The four guards directly involved genuinely believed they were acting with the full authority of this regency; and I don't believe they harbored any particular ill will. The prince himself may provide more of the missing pieces. When they found him, he was carrying a diagram of a tunnel system under the castle, as well as a map showing both sides of the river.”

“Did the Liren-sha reveal us?” the duchess demanded.

“No. He returned just a few hours ago, and knew nothing of this until I started asking questions.”

“We had best move quickly. Bernholt will be in disarray over the succession; any delay will give them more time to come to their ally's aid.”

Fionvar agreed and glanced up at Kattanan. “There was another matter, Majesty, which I had discussed with the duchess some time ago. My sister, Lyssa, is in Lochdale, serving as a journeyman sculptor. I had planned to go fetch her before we march on Lochalyn. Jordan will probably ride with me. I did not anticipate being captain of the guard here. Gwythym duLarce can serve as captain in my stead, if you give me leave to go.”

“This Gwythym is a friend of yours?” The duchess arched an eyebrow at him.

“My first lieutenant—the man who spoke to you last night outside the king's chamber.”

“I see.”

Kattanan gave a tiny smile. “You will return quickly?”

“Yes, Majesty.”

“If there is nothing else…?” The duchess gestured toward the door.

Fionvar looked to the young king, who whispered, “You may go.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I will take formal leave at morning court.” He rose, bowed briefly to the duchess as well, and left, shutting the door behind him.

Fionvar slipped into court a bit late, after briefing Gwythym on his duties. His face lit for a moment when he saw that Brianna was in attendance, seated at the very front, her eyes upon the king. A man was reading the rolls of the loyal barons, with estimates of their readiness, and Kattanan was clearly doing his best to look interested, but without much success. At last the speaker droned to a close and was dismissed. The herald stood to announce the next business, and Fionvar shifted to be ready when his name was called.

Instead, Brianna stepped forward. “I have business with the king.” Dressed in her finest, her attention focused on Kattanan alone, she walked carefully and dropped into a small curtsy. “May I approach?”

Fionvar leaned forward, as intent upon her as she upon the king, and his throat felt dry.

With an uncertain gesture, Kattanan invited her. The duchess watched her granddaughter gravely as she came. Brianna bent as if to kneel immediately in front of the throne, then slipped a hand behind him for the little dagger he always wore. Before he could flinch away, she had cut a lock of his hair and rose again, her face a blank mask. “I choose you, and I will bear the sons of no other but you. This is what our family has asked of us, and I do it freely, Your Majesty.”

“Don't,” he whispered, too late. “Don't do this.” His eyes glistened, his hands trembled.

“It is done,” the duchess said firmly, letting a smile touch her lips. “Let it be proclaimed to all our allies that our king shall have a bride.” She raised Brianna's hand before them.

A cheer went up in the chamber, and Fionvar sat rooted to the spot even as the other courtiers rose to congratulate the king. He remained still as the room was cleared around him. The courtiers trickled out until only a handful of people remained—the three by the throne, Fionvar, still as stone, and the wizard looking on without comment.

The duchess, still gripping Brianna's hand, did not lose her smile as she said, “I wish that you had told me.”

The lady looked away. “I have made my choices, Grandmother. Perhaps, at last, I have made the right one.”

Fionvar found his voice at last, rising, his hands fisted at his sides. “Why?” he blurted.

His love, his light—another man's betrothed—Brianna rose up from her knees. “Fourteen years, we've dedicated ourselves to this. There was a time we could not be sure it would happen.” She darted a glance back toward Fionvar, and as quickly looked away. “In these few days, I have…reexamined my part in the kingdom that is to come, and I know where I am needed.”

“You would marry without love,” Fionvar murmured, no longer caring who heard or who knew. He felt as if he might collapse to the floor, as battered as the prince and as bereft.

Brianna faced him then, a hint of color rising in her cheeks, his band no longer upon her wrist. “Love is a fine thing, my lord, a wonderful thing. But it is not everything.” Then her eyes returned to Kattanan's bowed head. “I hope you can see it is for the best,” she whispered.

“I can't do this,” said the king, and Brianna fled the room, a hand pressed to her mouth.

The duchess replied, “You will find a way to do this, or Brianna will be dishonored before the court. Would you do that to her?” She gazed a long moment at Fionvar, turning when the far door opened.

“I am ready,” Jordan said. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, I didn't realize you were still here. Or you,” he added, glancing toward the wizard. His eyes lingered on her a moment, brows slightly raised.

When the guise of the old man had fallen away, it revealed her, hair newly trimmed, wearing a simple but well-made blue dress. She smoothed it self-consciously. “Brianna helped me.” She looked back at Jordan. “I stayed to wish you both well, and safe journey.”

Fionvar's head turned at this, but he said nothing.

Jordan nodded to her. “Thank you, my lady.”

The wizard smiled brightly.

Sadness darkened Jordan's features as he looked to Kattanan. “Time is of the essence, I know, so I cannot beg an audience. I will return swiftly, and I hope you will hear me then.”

Kattanan nodded briefly and rose to cross the floor toward Fionvar. “My lord,” he began, his true voice sounding out of place, “this is not as I would have it.”

Fionvar met his gaze with dark eyes. “Your Majesty, my heart's desire has left me, but you are still my king. I will return to serve you as long as I am able.” He rose to take his leave and found himself facing the duchess once more.

“I look forward to your sister's return and wish you every success.” Her smile looked sharper, as if her fangs could at any moment be revealed. “You may go.”

He looked to Kattanan, whose eyes were still lowered, but found nothing to say and turned away toward the door.

“Tell Wolfram I am profoundly sorry for my part in what happened, and that I wish him well.” Jordan shared another glance with the silent wizard, then followed Fionvar to the hall.

Here, Jordan paused and laid a hand on Fionvar's arm. “Under any other circumstances, I would be overjoyed to help you bring back Lyssa.”

Fionvar shook his head. “The only woman I have ever wished to marry has just accepted another, and he cannot deny her.”

“He will find a way.”

“You don't know him anymore!” Fionvar said forcefully, starting down the stairs. “He hasn't the strength to resist the duchess, especially not with Brianna now on her side.”

“At least he will not be completely alone,” Jordan said, picking up the pace.

Fionvar gave him a curious look. “What do you mean by that?”

“The wizard will be watching over him.”

This almost brought a smile to Fionvar's lips. “The Liren-sha allows a wizard to look after his friend. Perhaps you should have asked Prince Wolfram to be his bodyguard.”

“I would. Don't laugh; you haven't spoken with him. Even as wounded as he is, he would keep Kattanan from harm; even if that meant taking it onto himself. As to the wizard”—Jordan paused at the corner of the stables—“we have reached an understanding.”

“Ever the dreamer, Jordan.” Fionvar sighed. “I have no heart for dreams today.”

“Speaking of which, do you think your sister would be willing to marry me now?”

At this, Fionvar did laugh. “As much as she is willing to marry any man, my friend. She's been flirting with one of the younger princes and looking forward to refusing him.”

“A lady of fire.”

“Of stone—I've yet to meet the artist who could carve a place in her life.”

“I'm told the same was once said of you,” Jordan replied softly.

“The fiddler who hates to dance. It seems we are both without hope this time.”

The Liren-sha shrugged. “I've learned to live with that. So long as I am without hope, I know I have nothing to lose. It's what makes me so good at my job.” He gazed into the sky for a moment, then brought his attention back to the task.

“I do have one small hope,” Fionvar offered. “I hope I don't have to lash Lyssa to my saddle in order to bring her home.”

Jordan laughed aloud. “Then you'll need my help after all.”

“I'm glad of the company. Four days' ride through the mountains can get lonely.”

“Ask me about the walk from the castle sometime.”

Fionvar gave him a half smile and unbolted the gate. “At least we'll have a joyous greeting at the end of this journey.”

FOR TWO
days, it rained, and the wizard gazed up toward the mountains with a little sigh. Brianna, stitching at a favor not far away, looked up at her. “I have only heard that sound from ladies in love, and it wouldn't be either of those two.”

“What?” The wizard resumed the comfortable chair where she had been reading. “I don't understand you.” Her yellow eyes held steady.

Brianna bent over the embroidery. “Whenever we are here together, you look out that window and sigh. In other ladies, it is a sign that you are awaiting a loved one.”

“You may be, perhaps, not I.”

“I am betrothed,” she declared, pushing an escaped lock of hair back under her veil. “I have had my childish fancies, but I am happy as it is.”

“This love you speak of must be a truly fickle thing.”

Brianna put aside her work, gaze lingering on her bare wrist. “It is better thus. Stronger bloodlines, the better to cement our ties with our allies and perhaps to convince those who remain uncertain. This is what I've been raised for—what I have lived for.”

“Of course,” the wizard replied, “Your Excellency.”

Brianna shoved herself out of the chair. “That was uncalled for! I brought this up to see if you needed a friend, not to offer myself for judgment!”

“Wait, please,” the other said, also standing, one hand gripped in her dress. “It's just…I've learned a great many things, but never how to still my tongue. I need—” She looked down at her too-large hands. “I have not had a friend in so very long that I no longer recognize the acts of friendship. You don't know what it is to live as I do.”

The lady hesitated. “I forget, sometimes, that you were not brought up as I.”

They faced each other for a long moment, then the wizard began tentatively, “You said I am like a lady in love. I would not know love if the Goddess Herself brought it to me.”

“I used to think that's what She did,” Brianna replied, her voice tinged with a sadness accentuated by the redness of her eyes.

“Can you…? What I mean to ask is, do you know how I would know, if I were, I mean?” She frowned.

A giggle burst from Brianna's lips as her brow wrinkled. “That didn't make much sense, but I think I understand you.” She sat very still for a moment. “I thought the world seemed so much clearer when he was near me. I started to do things I thought would please him. I worried at every step what he would think of me.” She sighed, hugging herself. “I was such a fool.”

The wizard shrugged. “I have done nothing out of the ordinary.”

Brianna gestured with one hand at the dress the wizard wore. “Then I restitched that for nothing? I was certain someone had caught your eye.”

Shaking her head, the wizard crossed to the fire.

“You are taking me too seriously for simple curiosity's sake. You can tell me, if you wish,” Brianna offered. “I am excellent at keeping secrets.”

“As you said it could be neither of those two.”

“Fionvar is no friend of wizards, and the Liren-sha, well”—her eyes widened—“the Wizard's Bane?” She nearly laughed again, but held back when the wizard turned to face her, chin held high. “That cannot be!”

“No,” the wizard agreed, “it cannot be.”

“But how? When?”

“There is nothing between us. We were chained together when we escaped the castle, and he—I was able to say things I cannot say to any other. It made me feel ordinary, for once.”

Brianna came to stand beside her. “You know that he has asked Lyssa yfSonya to marry him?” she asked gently.

“As I said, it is of no consequence to me. I have heard her described as the nearest thing to the Goddess walking. And he is the Wizard's Bane, the one man before whom I can be nothing but this, before whom I am nothing.”

“Don't say that.”

“It's only truth.” She held her hands out to the fire, rubbing as if she could not get warm. When she went on, she spoke as if to herself. “Have you ever felt as if you found what you want above all else, and it is the only thing in the world denied to you?”

Brianna covered her face with her hands, shoulders heaving as if she struggled to breathe.

The wizard saw but made no motion until a knock on the door summoned her from her reverie. She glanced at Brianna and went to answer it.

“The prisoner asked to speak with you,” said the guard outside.

“Me? I doubt he asked.” She cast another glance at Brianna, then shut the door behind her and followed the guard back to the king's chamber.

Neither Rolf nor Kattanan was in the visitor's chair, so she sat down and watched the former prince's face, obscured by one bandaged eye. “I was told you had asked for me.”

“I'm not allowed to read or write, so I must amuse myself somehow.” He smiled faintly.

“Where is the king?”

“With the armorer. They are preparing for some great battle that I am not to know about, and it is to happen sooner rather than later.”

She returned his brief smile. “I was also told that they have not managed to keep much from you yet, though no one speaks with you openly.”

“It's no great feat,” he responded, his voice soft as his gaze. “You do not count yourself among them.”

“I have no part in this quarrel aside from a few tasks I was hired to perform.”

“Like giving my father an illness that does not exist.”

“You nearly gained a kingdom from it, and now have lost everything because it is no more. And me, well, what is this king or that one to a wizard?” She casually lifted a glowing crown from her own head and cast it aside where it once again vanished.

“I doubt you are so neutral as you pretend. You took a great risk approaching my father at the outset, and a greater one to come into the castle. No, you have a grudge against Bernholt, somehow.” He took a few labored breaths.

“Not against you.”

He stroked the cloth binding the cut on his neck, and the faint smile returned. “Only against my neck.”

“I used the available means to save my life, and the injury to you was slight. I did not come there with any malice toward you, nor do I have any now.” Lounging back in her chair, she watched warily.

“Then I forgive you.”

“I had a knife at your throat,” the wizard pointed out.

“You needed a hostage. If you had known how little my father valued me, you might not have bothered.”

“I don't understand you, Highness.”

“My name is Wolfram. I should like to know why your apprentice didn't do it himself.”

“Because I wanted to.” Her eyes narrowed. “Is that what you wanted to know?”

“Among other things.” Wolfram took a sip from a nearby mug.

“He asked me to teach him the skill to carry out the deed; part of my price for the apprenticeship was that I do it myself, a partial repayment for what your father did to me and my friends. Both of them still owe so much. Is that all?”

“I would like to know,” he said softly, “what the hounds saw when they killed my friend.”

The wizard met his eyes, her face set. “I would tell you if I knew. I did not, and I would not have done that.”

“Orie will be king.”

“He will do everything in his power to be, yes.” She studied the prince quietly.

“You are proud of your apprentice,” he whispered, eye shut.

“As proud as you are of your father, perhaps.”

“He is a strong king; he has done so much for his people,” Wolfram replied, his fingers wrapped tightly in the blanket.

“He has done so much to his people, don't you mean? He has been a tyrant when he could, neglectful of the Lady's Law, and cruel to you among others. It amazes me that you can still think of him as a hero.”

A tear sparkled at Wolfram's eye and trickled down his cheek.

She watched him a moment longer, frowning. “You may have even more reason than I to hate the man who wears that crown.”

“A man cannot hate his own father.”

“I wouldn't know; I've never had a father. But for all he's done to you—” She gestured toward his shoulder.

“I was a bad son and a worse prince, and I would have been a pathetic king. He had every right to disown me. Sometimes I wish I had been what he wanted.”

“A lying, murdering bully,” the wizard supplied, “who uses children to barter for favors and supports the false claims of other murderers. An admirable king indeed. If that is your ideal, I should have left the arrow there to rot!”

He opened his eye. “You are not as neutral as you would have me think.”

The wizard started as the door was thrust open behind her, and Rolf tensed instantly. “Stay away from him!”

“I asked her here,” Wolfram said, with a curious smile. “I may ask her back again if she is willing.”

“I may even come.” The wizard rose. “But for now I will let you rest.” She gave a little bow, out of habit, and walked to the door, leaving Rolf to puzzle in her wake. Once there, though, she turned and met Wolfram's gaze. “I can heal you, if you allow it.” She did not wait to listen to Rolf's loud protest as she shut the door between them.

 

THE RAIN
persisted through the fourth night when Fionvar and the Liren-sha at last faced the walls of Lochdale. Huge doors leaned on either side of a vast arched doorway, not yet fitted to their place. At the left, the castle wall gaped open for workmen to haul carts of stone for the construction.

“If she's still as taken with her work as her last letter implied, then she'll be here,” Fionvar said. Indeed, they heard the ringing of blows from within; as they approached, hammer strikes echoing into the night.

“I wonder how the neighbors feel about that,” Jordan said, with a smirk.

A pair of guards flanked the door, leaning on their pikes, heads down against the rain. “Good watch there, men!” Fionvar called out, dismounting as he came up to them.

Both men leapt to attention, protesting. “Halt! Tell me how you are called.”

“Fionvar duNormand, a weary traveler,” Fionvar said, smiling as he fingered his damp hair. “My friend and I are coming to visit my sister, who is a stonemason working on this temple; we arrived a bit later than expected.”

“Yer sister wouldn't be a red-haired vixen, would she now?”

Both travelers laughed. “That would be her. I see you've met.”

The other grinned. “So which brother are you?”

“The eldest, possibly referred to as ‘that tyrant who ran the house after Da's death,' or ‘the wretched fiddle-player.'”

“Sounds like her, but her term's not up for a while. Any special reason for the visit?” the second guard inquired.

Fionvar glanced to his companion. “This poor fool wants to marry her. Somehow he thinks that their having been parted four months will have softened her resolve.”

“Ye're welcome to the effort,” the guard replied, “but I don't envy you the response. Go on in and dry off. Horses, too, there's room inside for hitching.”

They passed under the arch, then into the torchlit space that was being slowly molded into a church. Wide ribs soared up to support the great span of the roof, but much of the walls between were still stacked to the sides so that the structure resembled a huge spider crouched over them. Leaving the horses, they wandered farther in, seeking out the source of the hammering. A scaffold rose at the side, surrounding one of the great pillars of stone. High up, they caught sight of a figure, absorbed by the rhythm of her blows against the chisel. A dusting of white powder drifted down upon them. Jordan coughed and shook back his hood to squint up, then rapped on the rods supporting the scaffold.

The blows stopped, and the figure peered back at them. “Halloo! Who's there?”

“Lyssa, light of my heart,” Jordan called back. “Come down and marry me!”

Gales of laughter followed, but she rose nonetheless and made her nimble way down, brushing even more stone dust into the air. Her bare feet appeared first, followed by legs clad in loose trews, with a skirt hitched up through her belt. The hammer was tucked in as well. A fitted bodice, grubby with sweat and dust, topped the curious garb, sleeveless to provide for the swing of well-muscled arms. She had bound her hair with a scarf but now released it to flow over her shoulders as she embraced her brother. Jordan, she eyed for a moment, shaking her head; then she embraced him also, a stunning smile lighting her features. “I've come, but not to marry. Is that why you traveled all this way?”

Fionvar took her arm and guided her over to a great block, where he sat down wearily. “It's time,” he said simply, meeting her bright eyes.

Immediately she lost her smile. “No. I have important work here, Fion.”

“You should be able to return and finish later, but you cannot stay here when—”

“I just said, ‘No,' didn't I? Is it so hard for you to understand? I will be in no danger.” She crossed her arms, regarding him.

“You cannot stay, or you may find yourself an unwilling guest,” Jordan pointed out.

“They wouldn't use me as a hostage,” she scoffed. “I don't think they are bright enough for that, even if they knew about my involvement. All I need to do is claim ignorance and smile. I have put in enough work here to convince them that I have nothing against the royal family.”

“If I cannot be sure of your safety,” Fionvar replied, “I will be in no fit condition to serve my king. I have enough on my mind that that might just edge me into madness.”

Lyssa scowled at him. “Why? What's happened that I should throw away my vocation to play war with you?”

The sigh returned, and Fionvar rubbed his tired eyes. “I have lost the trust of the duchess by supporting some reckless actions on the part of the king, and Brianna has just declared for another man.”