Chapter Five #2
“She’s from the same house as the prince,” I murmured. “What do you think that means?”
Finnrey pointed to the balcony, and I looked up to see the prince step through the door.
He had changed into a gold coat with large jeweled blue cat heads on either side of the fastenings.
His coat was exactly opposite of the one he’d worn earlier and the mirror of that of Omira.
“Taio of the First House of Zulen,” the guard announced.
As we all watched, Taio and his companions descended the stairs and entered the throne room.
They kept close together, their gazes darting about, seemingly taking everything in.
I saw Omira point to the wolves, who were watching the proceedings from either side of my father’s throne, and then whisper to Taio.
He said something back. The four of them kept close together, all the courtiers keeping out of their way.
None of us knew how to behave with foreigners.
None save Old Ceba had ever seen someone from one of the other kingdoms before today.
The Zuleniis stood rather awkwardly on the far side of the U-shaped table.
They spoke amongst themselves, and we watched them.
I glanced at my father, hoping he might do something to ease the tension, but he seemed at a loss as well.
I think we all sighed with relief when we heard the thumping of Old Ceba’s walking stick.
He entered the throne room from the door behind the throne, followed by Lord Ashe and the historian-in-training.
Old Ceba bowed to my father, and my father spoke to him.
Then the Court Historian straightened and turned to address the throne room.
“Welcome to all,” he said, then presumably said the same words in Zulenii.
In his hands he held a sheet of parchment, which shook, and which he glanced at before he spoke the foreign tongue.
Perhaps he had written out the translation.
“Soon we will begin the banquet, and Lord Taio will have the opportunity to speak with each of the eligible princesses.” He then repeated this in the Zulenii tongue. “But first, we hoped you might indulge us in some entertainment.”
I glanced at Finnrey, but she looked as confused as I.
We were a warrior people. Our entertainment was the occasional drinking song between bouts of training.
But then Old Ceba’s grandson moved forward, and I noticed he held a wooden object about the same size as his chest. It was shaped somewhat like an hourglass, though the indentation in the middle was not so pronounced.
It had a long handle and lines of thin metal running from the top of the handle to the middle of the hourglass, where there was an opening.
Old Ceba indicated the object. “This is a guitara.”
Guitara. The word was one I had never heard, and the novelty of it excited me. The word was not of our language, but when I glanced at Lord Taio, he was smiling and nodding. Was this something from Zulen?
“We would be honored if you would play for us,” Old Ceba said, gesturing to the guitara. Perhaps this object was a toy if it was to be played with. Others near me murmured and whispered, and a few were frightened. I had the urge to move closer now. I wished I could hold the guitara and touch it.
The Zulenii looked at each other. Did they know what to do with this object?
They spoke quietly, and then Lord Taio pointed at the shorter man with the brown hair and face markings.
He turned and moved toward the dais. The honor guard tensed, but my father raised a hand to stay them.
The Zulenii man, Yung, reached the dais and joined Old Ceba.
He took the guitara in his hands, holding it cradled in front of him.
Clearly, he had held one of these objects before.
His hands closed on it comfortably. Old Ceba indicated a three-legged stool one of the guards brought to the dais, and Yung perched on the smooth wooden seat.
He balanced the guitara on his knee, placing one hand on the long handle and draping the other across the front of the object.
Then he passed the hand at the front of the object over the metal lines. A sound erupted, and we all gasped.
People around me, huddled together, clutching at each other or placing hands on the hilts of their daggers.
I stared at the guitara, enraptured. Yung did something to the handle.
I squinted and noticed there were small knobs on the side that he turned.
He passed his hand over the metal lines again and again there was the sound.
He did this several more times before he seemed satisfied.
“He will play music,” Finnrey murmured to me. She looked pale but not ready to flee. “That must be some sort of musical instrument.”
By then I had figured this out myself. The Zulenii were known as artists and musicians.
Old Ceba was giving the contingent the opportunity to show us an element of their culture.
Yung looked up at us, smiled, and then began to move his hand quickly over the metal lines.
His other hand moved up and down the handle of the guitara, and the sound he made was unlike any I had ever heard.
For such a small instrument, the sound seemed to fill the entire throne room and even echo off the walls.
The sound rose and fell in what seemed a predictable fashion.
After a minute or so I could anticipate what sound the guitara would make next.
But then just as I felt comfortable with the sound, it changed, and Yung played something different.
This too seemed part of the same song, but it was not of the same pattern as before.
I shook my head, marveling at this change, and then Yung went back to the first pattern again.
This was music. I knew drinking songs and lullabies for babies, but I had never heard anything like this.
I had not known sounds like this existed in the world.
Was this sort of music something the people of Zulen enjoyed often?
Did all of them know how to play? I closed my eyes and imagined a place where music like this was common.
I could picture the people dancing and singing and thriving.
How brave they must be to make so much noise.
Deep in the castle throne room, surrounded by thick rock walls, we were safe from the acute hearing of the Hollows.
And yet, I could tell the people around me were uneasy at the noise and uncomfortable with these new sounds.
I, on the other hand, was enchanted. How foolish I had been to mock the Zulenii people as mere artists.
I had not known art could be like this. I actually felt my eyes sting from tears.
I would not cry, of course. I never cried, and I was embarrassed by the impulse.
I looked away from the guitara and the man playing it, trying to focus on something else until the emotion passed.
My gaze slid over everyone in the room. All were staring wide-eyed at Yung.
All except one.
Lord Taio was watching me.
The moment our eyes met, I felt the shock of it, as though he had physically touched me.
I hadn’t been trying to look at him. I had just been averting my eyes to compose myself.
But the prince watched me. How long had he been watching me?
Had he seen how I was almost brought to tears?
Shame rose up in me, and I felt my cheeks burn.
The last person I wanted to see me vulnerable was this foreigner who had the impudence to come to my kingdom and demand one of my sisters for a prize.
I scowled at him, glad to feel something besides whatever emotion had been elicited from the guitara.
Now I felt anger and rage, and I tried to convey that with a glare at the Zulenii prince.
But he didn’t look away from me or seem intimidated in the least. Instead, he tilted his head, like one of Papa’s wolves did when she was curious about something.
He seemed to be trying to figure me out.
Well, he could certainly try. He had better hurry, though, because tomorrow one of my sisters would kill him.
I was certainly giving the prince death glares, but his gaze on my face never wavered.
He seemed unperturbed and almost...amused?
His lips curved in what might have been a slight smile.
Strange to see a man of his age without a beard of any sort.
Did he shave it? Why? The absence of facial hair did make it easier to see his lips and the flat planes of his face.
He was definitely royalty. That blade-straight nose and that defined jaw seemed an indication of careful breeding—not that I knew much about breeding.
Still, it was something I had heard my mother and father speak of from time to time.
The sounds of the guitara ended, and Lord Taio looked away from me.
I realized then that our eyes had been locked together for quite some time.
I also realized I had been holding my breath.
I let it out now and had to gulp in air.
That was when the Zuleniis put their hands together and began to clap them.
I put a hand on my abdomen as I sucked in air and tried to understand why they were clapping their hands like this and making so much noise.
Once again, Old Ceba moved forward. “In the Zulen culture,” he said, “clapping is a sign of appreciation.”
Now there were nods of understanding, and most of my people also put their hands together and made a clapping sound or two.
We made quite a noise, and I’m sure everyone was thinking that clapping outside of the walls of Highcastle might not be such a good idea.
Such a sound would almost certainly attract Hollows.
Was that why we had no musical instruments?
Since the coming of the Hollows, had we learned to keep quiet to stay alive?