Chapter Two
T he melody pulls me down the hall. Upbeat and lively notes float past us, but the singer’s voice tells another story. The musician is still too far down the hall to decipher the lyrics, but his smooth, raspy tone hints at a long, haunted life of disappointment after disappointment. As my silent slippered feet pad down the last bit of hallway, I don’t spare another glance at the brightly colored tapestries lining the walls, knowing they paint gruesome pictures of Hadeon’s glory. The Human King who was able to take down the entire court of Fae before us. Instead, I’m pulled as if in a trance toward the great hall, where this bard must have the entire court hanging on each note he drops.
“That music—” I whisper as Licia’s hand closes around my wrist.
“Oh. He’s just recently arrived at court.” Licia’s head tilts to the side, assessing me. “Are you alright?”
I shake off the odd hold the music has on me. Clearly, I’m exhausted from traveling. “Yes, of course.” But the need to join the room full of music overcomes me.
As I close the distance between myself and the great hall, the lyrics become clearer. Not surprisingly, he belts out another ballad about conquest and a people saved. But unlike the hundreds I’ve heard in this hall before him, I can tell there’s something different about this song. I just can’t put my finger on what exactly. This old soul of a voice, so rich in knowledge of the world and many lives lived, dances around me, tugging me closer, tugging at an unknown part of me.
More lyrics spill out into the room, telling of bravery and hard choices. The words and melody list through the air in a way that can only be described as joyfully melancholy. So bright with truth that he paints such vivid pictures.
I swallow a scoff at the thought. Everyone knows there is little truth in the words of a bard, especially one so lucky as to grace the court of King Hadeon. There’s clearly nothing here but pomp and praise to an old king whose seen better days.
Licia and I round the corner into the great hall, waving off the callers. Even after all this time, I can’t seem to arrive when I’m supposed to and we don’t need them to draw attention to it. We cling to the fringes of the room, my hand still tightly grasped in Licia’s as she expertly weaves us unseen through the crowd toward the high table.
I can’t yet make out the bard. The crowd is heavy tonight, no doubt to get a peek at the poor widow’s return, but in my mind’s eye I’ve already cast him as a man so worn with age and travel. His bright, resonant voice is haunting in the way he hints at all the hardships lived and many loves lost.
The cold of the marble pillar leaks through my thin dress as I try to find a good vantage point of both King Hadeon and the bard.
“You should hear all they’re saying about him.” My eyes widen at Licia’s whisper when I take in the scene before us.
“All who says?” She gives me an impatient look and I realize how absurd my question is. Licia always places herself in the middle of conversations at court. She’s always the first to hear something, so much so that even before I left, Killian started looping her into some of his more local strategy meetings and asking her what conversations about the realm she’s heard, especially when the people at court are involved. So, I try again, “What do your song birds say?”
“Most importantly, it sounds like he’s a real monster between the sheets.” A knowing smile plays across her lips as I try desperately to turn my laugh into a cough, causing those closest to us to cast disapproving glances over their shoulders. I missed her frank bawdiness. “For another, he’s dangerous. There’s just something about him that isn’t right.”
Bouncing on the tips of my toes, I try to move just enough to fully view this man with a voice of such sticky physicality that I can barely stand still, but I can't picture someone with such a beautiful gift to be bad.
From here, I can see Father and Mother seated at the high table. The king and queen look, for the most part, unchanged. The king, my father, still has an air about him that whispers of his past as a conqueror, but court life has softened him. Tristana has retreated further within herself, even in the way she sinks into her chair, trying to appear invisible to the crowd before her.
It shocks me to see that the king does not have the same reaction to the bard’s alluring words. Instead, Hadeon sits tall in his seat, his hawk eyes moving from courtier to courtier, not missing a single interaction, and evidently not even hearing the melody before him. My mother is beside him, wilting into the shadows. Even more so than the last time I saw her.
Before we move to join the king and queen, along with our brother, Killian, and his small family, I finally have the right vantage point to the singer who holds everyone else within his spell.
Blinking at the man before me, I try to reconcile what I see with what my mind has already decided of him. The bard is not old and definitely not weary. Quite the contrary.
The man singing and strumming along on his four-string is in his prime. My eyes must be playing tricks on me because the voice is so powerful and expressive—deep with an agile sadness, but the man himself—well—he is not old nor weary. In fact, the only word that comes to mind at the moment is beautiful.
I gasp audibly; my courtly ability to hide my every thought completely forgotten after all this time away.
Licia nudges my shoulder with her own as we settle into our seats. “He’s fairly enchanting, hm?”
“He’s beautiful,” I manage to whisper as I drink him in.
The way the candlelight dances across his deeply bronzed skin only serves to further entrance me. And the manner in which his hair twists around itself and is pulled back by a thick headband so it doesn’t fall into his eyes while he plays embodies an artist full of soul—and maybe full of himself as well. I miss his last few lines, but as his lyrics spin a new tale, one of darkness and shadows, his eyes drift up to the crowd.
My heart flutters. Something I thought was impossible after all these years of stamping all the feeling out of it. Yet I float with hope his glance will fall on me. And it does. He doesn’t even sweep the room. He looks up as if there’s a question on his lips, and I am the answer. He continues his lyrical ballad of darkness, but his eyes travel over me, searching for an answer I can't give. As a glint sparks in his pale green eyes and the corner of his mouth lifts in the hint of a smile, I realize I’m not only staring, but my mouth has fallen open. I quickly close it and try to dissolve into the marble behind me. Only to remember Licia and I have taken our place at the high table already and the eyes of the entire court will soon fall to us. Instead, I focus on trying to steady my breath before anyone notices.
Notices what? That I’m late? That the bard’s tale moves me? I look around and can tell his words have ensnared many in the crowd. And many others are just as lost as I am in his looks as well.
My lips curve into a smile, surprised that I can even still have feelings. I suppose they just don’t dissolve into nothingness, but it seems like maybe they should’ve. It’ll be easier if they do after all this past month has shown.
I shake off the memories before they surface. Now is not the time.
Killian, on my other side, clears his throat to draw my attention. It’s been too long since I’ve seen my brother. I tear my gaze away from the bard, expecting to meet Killan’s expressive eyes filled with dreams and ideas for the realm. The same eyes I would watch as they pored over the tales he’d read me when I couldn’t sleep and found him in the library. His big arms would scoop me up without hesitation, placing a contemplative finger on his chin, pretending to select the perfect book that would carry me into sleep.
Instead, his kind eyes have sharpened into something else. Deep frown lines appear at his brow, making his disappointment at my late arrival clear. I pause my hand mid-air, almost clasping it atop his own in a subtle way to say I missed him. But I quickly place it back into my lap, my smile replaced to mirror his formal facade.
As the singer strums his final chords, the crowd erupts with cheers. I put all my energy into clapping for him, glad for the distraction. The servants swoop in with trays and full flagons of ale before the crowd calms. As everyone turns toward the food in front of them, the bard swaggers into the shadows, already forgotten by those around him .
“How does it feel to be back?” Licia motions to the crowd before us dancing and eating. I turn in my seat to fully face her, putting my back toward Killian’s chilly greeting.
She seems content, so I try to show the same. “It’s really something. It’s so different from how it used to be. But I suppose that’s just me.” I shrug, hoping my response is adequate.
It is good to be back, even if so much is unknown at the moment. For this small time before my father decides my next fate, I’m here with Licia, and being together again feels like home.
Home . It’s strange to call a place I haven’t seen in over ten years my home. But sitting here with Licia, that is what I feel. Even the first few happy years with Avicii never felt like this. Licia has always been easy.
Dinner passes slowly and uneventful. I use this time to reacquaint myself with court life. The sounds alone are so much more than I’m used to. Avicii and my small estate, if one could call it that, was well out of the way of anything and more than a day's travel back into Merula. While Avicii always described our house as an estate, I always described it as cottage-like, painting its size and location as a magical place. I loved the way the rolling hills peaked just as our home came into view, nestled snugly between two hills and lined with tall conifers on either side of the sand-colored pebbled path. And the way the Perriserrat Peaks pierced into the clouds in the background. As we first traveled up the golden path the garden appeared small, just visible. But over the years, I learned much and expanded across the side yard and into the back. Avicii always said it was too much for the two of us, but I enjoyed sharing with surrounding neighbors, always hoping it would soon be more than just us two there.
Until the hope disappeared, of course. Until I knew it could never be .
The thrumming celebrations abruptly bring me back into the present. I have a hard time focusing on any one conversation before my attention is pulled elsewhere. Thankfully, very few people approach me at the high table. From the few darting glances I receive, I wonder if people are unable to place me.
Am I that changed? A quick glance down and, yes, perhaps I am.
My sun-kissed skin is even darker from the hours upon hours spent in the garden. My hair, from years of not having to bother with it, is now curly and unruly, and despite Licia’s earlier efforts, flows loosely down my back. Doing a quick sweep of the room, maybe Licia should have pulled it up more in the latest court fashion rather than just out of my face. Instead, I’m left sticking out like an overgrown weed in a bed of roses.
My thoughts, and thankfully also the surrounding chatter, are suddenly hushed by mellow strums. The bard strides back to his perch in the center of the room and continues his songs on his four-string, gaining listeners as he does. As the servants make one last sweep, gathering empty plates and filling empty mugs, the bard begins his evening with a slow, moving ballad.
He plays incredibly well. Especially since he can’t be more than forty-years-old, yet the speed in which his fingers dance across the strings is something I’m sure only the most experienced musicians master. He, on the other hand, makes his level of skill look like something he was born with rather than spent a lifetime trying to acquire.
When the words spill from his lips, his bright tenor resonates somewhere low and deep within me. I can’t help but focus on his features. Besides being younger than I’d first imagined, and more attractive, his features have a sharpness to them that echo Licia’s earlier warnings, which I dismiss as soon as the thought comes because he’s a bard for goodness sake. How dangerous could a man with a four-string possibly be?
Just as I attempt to stifle a laugh while imagining the man in front of me fighting off a dragon with only his lute for a weapon, he looks up, and his pale green eyes find mine once again. In that instant, I am no longer laughing. Far from it.
A strong jolt yanks at me, and at the same time, I am rooted deeply in place. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, but it's what I imagine my seedlings feel when I take them from their small cups in my warm windowsill and replant them into my garden at the beginning of each spring.
An unmistakable feeling of familiarity winds its way around me, yet even as I think it, I dismiss it. Impossible. But his eyes are still on me, and while the pull isn’t as strong as it first was, it's still there, like the bees who buzz around the periphery of the garden while I work on.
His eyes are questioning, searching my face while he continues his musical tale of the stars only know what, as if he feels it, too, which is absurd. I shake the thought off before it's able to take root.
His song ends and before he begins another, he looks toward King Hadeon who stands and raises his glass. The strumming falls quiet and the crowd follows. The sea of faces all turn toward the high table and Hadeon waits expectantly. When silence falls, he waits a beat more until he knows every eye in the room is on him.
Licia is positively vibrating beside me. Here comes the announcement she’s been waiting for. It’s finally her time. I clasp her hand and squeeze, just as excited for her as she is.
“Tonight, we gather here to welcome my daughter, Rowandine Aeronwick, home as well as help shoulder her burden of losing her husband, Lord Avicii Sintinell, too soon. As we all know…” As he sweeps his cup to include the onlookers in his ramblings, I can’t help but tense when he mentions my late husband, someone it took entirely too long for me to realize was nothing more than the king’s dark blade but I quickly shrug off the thought when Licia’s grip tightens on my own and I can’t help but wonder why Father hasn’t mentioned her yet. “The best way to ensure moving on is to continue forward with your duty. Let’s all raise our glasses in celebration of second chances. Rowandine will surely prove a successful match this time to our neighbors to the west, in Etos.”
Beside me, Licia chokes on her wine, quickly bringing a napkin to her mouth to catch what spills out. Clearly we both thought she would be next.
My eyes slide sideways. Her eyes find mine. The incredulity that this was Father’s big announcement written plain in the tilt of her eyes and the way her mouth is slightly open.
Ten years have gone by and there’s already a wedge before I can mend the chasm of time. I smile politely at the crowd but I hope my shock is clear to her, because with all eyes on us, there’s little else I can do at this moment.
Etos? He’s shipping me off as soon as I’ve arrived? Nothing good can come from a match with Etos. From what I hear, it’s even worse off than Nefaria was before Hadeon trampled his way into Everguard. Or the rumor he’s a complete monster. Pick any of the stories, none paint him in a positive light.
Everyone raises their glasses and I belatedly realize they’re waiting for me to join in. I try to control my shaking hand as it reaches toward the full cup in front of me. Rather than gracefully scooping it up to join my family in celebration, the glass tumbles over. I look up to meet my father’s eyes and am met with a hint of rage at my inability to meet even the simplest request .
Before I have a chance to apologize, a servant places another glass before me, taking time to even wrap my fingers around the stem before stepping away. Their attention to detail is admirable. As I raise my glass, I silently toast the nameless servant standing at the ready behind me, instead of my supposed second chance.
A collective exhale fills the room as everyone takes a sip and returns their glasses. The wine tastes sour in my mouth but I dutifully swallow it, outwardly showing my support for the king’s plans.
He seems satisfied and continues. “Lysander Sturdevant is crossing the Caldertasi Sea as we speak. Unfortunately, as spring surrenders to the autumn storms, his crossing becomes unpredictable. We’ll have a better idea of his arrival in the coming weeks. Until then, we’ll begin preparations for the wedding of the year.” His voice booms across the table and hits me like a physical blow. His words reverberate through my body, causing me to wince. As I catch myself, I almost miss the unreadable look between Licia and Gryphon, who is seated at an honored table just beside ours.
Distracted momentarily from my impending marriage, I look between the two of them, trying to read their communication. The look on his narrow, bright face is unreadable in response to Licia’s shoulder shrug. Is she angry? Relieved?
Just the fact that I can't read the silent conversation between my sister and my best friend speaks volumes. Before, it was always Gryphon and me with Licia joining in only when she could find nothing better to do. But now, it seems, I’m the one on the outside.
As the crowd’s cheers fall quiet and the chatting resumes, the king nods for the bard to continue. The jovial tune doesn’t match the maelstrom forming within me. But I smile and tap along to the beat as thoughts drown out my surroundings. How could he already have planned this? My new match is already on the way? I have little hope now of returning to the healer’s wing. My thoughts race and realization dawns that there was never a chance Father would let me retire to the healer’s ward. I still hold a purpose for him, and until I’m successful, he’ll continue pushing onward.
Licia leans against me and whispers, “This night is for you.” I take comfort in the solid weight against me but not in her words. She doesn’t seem angry with me, but how can she not be? All she’s ever wanted was to marry and get out of Merula. But the weight of her against me allows my breathing to slow and the feeling of drowning in a crowd of people slowly subsides. I reach for her hand under the table and she squeezes it in solidarity.
The tune slows and the bard begins another. As he begins, his face is unreadable, stoic even. My mother forgets herself for a moment and moves to embrace this song with a dance, but quickly settles back into her seat with a scowl from my father.
I sit back in my chair, enjoying this new melody. Familiar in a way that a passing smell reminds you of a particular moment from your past, but you just can’t put your finger on it.
He sings again of conquest. How original. I almost let my thoughts wander again, but his words pull me under, forgetting the new turmoil within and instead focusing on the bard and his story.
In days of prosper, a tale was told,
Of a treasure hidden, shining gold.
Through valleys deep and mountains high,
Brave souls sought it 'neath the sky .
With hearts of courage, they did roam,
Through forests dark and fields of loam.
Guided only by their hopes and dreams
They journeyed on past peaks and streams.
At last, the treasure came to sight,
A beacon in the darkest night.
They shared its light with all they met,
A gift of hope, no soul to forget.
“Oh that’s clever.” Licia leans in close. “To paint Merula as a treasure Father has shared with everyone. That’s a new one.”
I smile, but I can’t pull my eyes off the bard. After the last chord, I’m left dazed and exhausted. Even though I haven’t left my seat in hours, I feel as if I’ve just journeyed across the realm and fought an Ancient for my life. That whole song sits awkwardly within me, like a garden bed with uneven rows—knowing that something must be done here but not quite sure how to go about fixing it all.
Oh, he’s good. And how many cups of wine have I had? After the big spill, I thought I’d barely touched it throughout the night. But suddenly, my legs are heavy and I can't keep my eyelids open. The bard moves to the side as another takes his place.
It’s rather late, and the day has been long. I glance toward Licia, but it looks as if she’s taken the opportunity to slip off. Is she truly okay with how the evening panned out, or could she really be cross with me? But the rest of the crowd now sways and taps their feet along with the next musician who takes the floor. I decide no one will miss me if I retire for the evening, rising slowly to keep unwanted attention at bay.