Chapter Thirty-Four #2
“Don’t even think it.” I pull Raph a little closer to me.
“We’re going to help them and stop all this forever, I swear to you, Raph.
I will stop this.” I look back to the portcullis in time to see the music troupe emerging.
Sure enough, I recognize them. “Those are the players from Dreamsong,” I breathe.
“What?” Raph looks as well. “Those traitors,” he snarls. “How dare they—”
“Stop.” I clutch him tighter before he can run off in a rage. I kneel down and look him right in the eye. “Remember, we keep our wits about us and think through every action. Can you do that for me?” Raph swallows hard and nods several times. “Good. Now, tell me, can you play any instruments?”
“The drums, a little.”
“The drums it is. Come with me.”
“What are we doing?” He stays at my side even though he is clearly uncertain about what prompted me to march along the main street.
“I’m going to talk to them.”
“I don’t like this; I don’t like any of it. This is a terrible idea.” He folds his arms.
That’s an understatement. None of this is going as I’d hoped. I’m exhausted, pushing my limits; my brain is running out of good ideas. Maybe it ran out a while ago. I guess we’ll find out.
We trail the performers to an inn not far from the castle. As soon as they go inside, I hear the band strike up again and I breathe a sigh of relief. At least they didn’t immediately retreat to their rooms. It will be easier to get a word with them this way.
I stop Raph. “You’re going to stay here, okay?”
“What?” He blinks several times in shock as he watches me remove the glass pendant from my neck. “You can’t—what’re you—”
“If I don’t come back out, you find a safe way out of here and you go.
You take this as far away as you can, and you hide it somewhere no one will ever find it.
” Guilt and sorrow are companions of desperation as I stare down at the small boy, the fate of his people resting on his little shoulders.
“Wherever you hide it, you take that secret to your grave. Anyone who might know you have it will do the same—I will do the same. Keep yourself and the magic of Aviness safe.”
“I can’t…” He grabs my hand with both of his. “I can’t do this without you.”
“I hope you won’t have to.” I pat his hands with my other one. “But if things go badly in there, this is the safest way. So tell me you understand what you must do.”
He reluctantly nods. “I understand.”
“Good.” I face the inn, suck in a deep breath, and march across the narrow street on the exhale. Before I inhale again, I’ve opened the door. There’s no turning back now.
The troupe isn’t so much performing as sitting and strumming together. The first floor of the inn is a tavern, empty at this time of day. I can smell the herbaceous aroma of something cooking in the back—the owners no doubt getting a head start on the dinner rush before the sun is even up.
Because the tavern is so empty, all eyes are on me as soon as I enter.
Instruments fall silent. I head straight for the musicians, weaving around the vacant tables.
My eyes meet the man who I assume is the head of the troupe, the man with the raven hair and markings on his brow whom I played with in Dreamsong.
We simply stare at each other for several long seconds. He recognizes me instantly—they all do; I can tell by their demeanor. We’re silently sizing each other up, waiting to see who’s going to act first. The muscles in my legs are tense and ready to run.
“You look weary, traveler.” The leader hooks a chair with his toes and kicks it toward me. “Take a load off.”
“I’ve come a long way.” I sit. “I heard the king has something truly special planned for the end of the autumnal celebrations.”
“Can’t speak for the king, but we’ve heard whispers of the like.” As their leader speaks, the troupe members exchange wary glances. I see the flash of steel as one of them moves. Bards who live on the road would be armed to the teeth.
“Must be nice, having the opportunity to see those celebrations inside the king’s halls.”
“It’s certainly something.” The fact that he doesn’t agree—that none of them immediately called the Butchers at the sight of me—gives me hope.
“Do you play for royalty often?” I have to be absolutely certain where their loyalties lie. How they can go from playing for the people of Dreamsong to performing for Boltov’s inner circle in a few short days is beyond me. But if I’m to work with them, I need to understand.
“Only when we’re summoned. The king has a good ear for music; he appreciates quality.”
That must be why they’re afforded some freedoms. They must’ve cut a deal with the king—or at least reached an understanding. Is what I have to offer enough to sway them from the security they’ve managed to procure?
“Do you think he would appreciate the quality of my playing?”
“As I said, I can’t speak for the king.”
That’s not a no. “It would be an honor to play for the Fae King.”
“Would it, now?” He arches his eyebrows.
“I desperately want to see inside the castle.”
“And why is that?”
I bite my lower lip, weighing my next words carefully.
We’re both sizing each other up, now. “There is something—someone—within his walls that I would very much like to see. But alas, the Butchers keep the place well guarded and I’m not of high enough standing to gain entry, so there’s no way I’ll be able to get in on my own. ”
“You want to play your way in, is that it?” His directness is promising.
“If that’s what it takes.”
The man holds out a hand to one of his fellow performers. She hands him her lute without question. The leader presents it to me.
“Then, play for it.”
“Pardon?” I take the lute, and he picks up his fiddle from where it leans against the chair.
“A duel of the strings.” His fingers pluck up the neck of his fiddle. “I play, then you play, then I play, then you, until one of us is bested.”
“And how do we know when one of us is bested?” I’m already tuning the lute.
“We’ll know; that’s never a problem.”
The other minstrels settle into their chairs.
They wear smiles as if this is all a game, as if the fate of the fae wilds doesn’t hang in the balance.
Maybe it is just another amusement. Maybe, for them, life is about finding one burst of inspiration or entertainment after the next.
They have no loyalty or fidelity to anyone but the muse of music.
Perhaps it’s their lack of loyalty to anyone that means I can trust them. It makes them simple and straightforward. I’ll always know what they stand for: themselves.
“If I win, you let me and my friend join your troupe for the next performance inside the castle, yes?” I ask carefully, knowing I need to be mindful when bargaining with fae.
“You and your friend?”
“He can play the drums.” I consider this, knowing the musical aptitude of the people I’m speaking to. “Or he can be like a jester, dancing about. He’s small and can be quite silly.”
The leader exchanges a glance with another woman. She chuckles and says, “I think I’d like to see her little assistant.”
“Very well, then. You’ve a deal.”
No sooner does the leader say it than his fingers begin to move. He starts off slow, dancing around single notes, plucking one string after the next, before they evolve into chords. It’s a shrill, short little ditty, almost like a wordless limerick in music form.
The second he stops, I begin to play. I take the same line he laid with his notes and give it even more robust embellishments. When he plays next, he harmonizes my chords, bow in hand this time and blazing across the strings.
I’m in as much awe watching him play now as the first time. Inspiration makes my fingertips itch. The music soothes away my troubles. It puts the world on hold. I can’t stop myself. I don’t wait for my turn.
I begin playing in harmony and then in creative dissonance to him.
The leader gives me a glance and a smirk, but he doesn’t tell me to stop.
I grin slyly at him as well and play faster.
We egg each other on with glances and clever notes.
The troupe begins to stomp and clap. And once we reach our crescendo, we both finish with a flourish. Breathless.
We share a smile as only two musicians can.
“All right. You should get some rest. Because tonight, you come with us to play for King Boltov.”