Chapter 6 Araphi
Araphi
The last thing Araphi should be thinking about now that she’s settled back into her luxurious inn on the far side of Kingfisher, miles away from the Pearl and the Grit, is the dimple in Sage’s cheek.
Gods help her, though, that’s what her mind keeps coming back to. That damned dimple and the challenging half smile on the ranger’s face as she told Araphi about the mission.
I can’t imagine you’d prefer it to wedding preparations, but…
Araphi shifts in her chair and pours another glass of wine from the bottle in front of her. Her dinner of roasted pheasant, jewel-bright vegetables, and a decadent lemon tart, delivered on a silver tray hours ago, sits untouched on the table.
It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? To think that she—the newly appointed Clauneck heir, who’s never spent a night camping without a silken tent and a veritable army of staff to bring her food and wine—would even consider setting off on a weeks-long journey to the northern wilds of Harrow.
And yet, every time she does think about it, visions of her and Sage arise in her mind.
In one, they’re sitting beside each other at a campfire—no, closer than that, laughing together.
In another, the two of them are walking through a forest when there’s a rustling on the path ahead.
Sage pushes Araphi behind her, pulls her daggers, and…
Araphi flushes with heat as she imagines the ranger boldly facing down whatever comes thundering out of the woods. Tying her silk robe even tighter against her body, Araphi stands so she can pace around her enormous room.
Ten steps take her from the bed to the window, which opens onto a view of the ocean.
Ten more take her to the marble-filled bathing chamber and gilded bathtub where she’s just spent over an hour, her hands busy between her legs as she replayed their fake flirting in her mind.
Another ten steps take her to her three trunks, which her attendants must’ve sent on after they got her note.
Her lute rests on top of them, looking entirely out of place.
Araphi runs a finger lightly over its strings.
A soft thrum fills the room, sending a thrill of anticipation through Araphi, as it does every time.
Araphi had always loved music, but she only had her first real lesson by accident, ten years ago, when she was twelve.
On that particular afternoon, she’d run away from her tutors with a book in hand, preferring it to the dreadful math lessons required so that she could one day “participate in the family business if needed, or at least run a household.” She’d also grabbed some scones from the kitchen, and so spent a few hours curled up on the window seat in the family’s music room, reading.
Although no one in the house had played much music since her mother gave up her career as a court composer to be a mother and wife, families of their station all had music rooms. Araphi adored theirs, with its violins, lutes, a harp twice as tall as she was, and a piano.
After her book was finished, she got up to stretch her legs and wandered over to the harp.
The story she’d been reading was about a brave princess who’d run away from her life to ride dragons.
There were no more dragons in the world, but it was the kind of story Araphi loved precisely because it was so very different from her own life.
Feeling especially brave, she ran her fingers over the harp’s strings, softly enough that only a whisper of sound shimmered in the air. The harp had always intimidated her, but it was the lute beside it that really called to her.
Looking over her shoulder to make sure she was still alone in the room, she’d carefully picked up the lute from its stand.
She cradled it to her chest, resting the belly on her own.
Tentatively, she placed her left hand on the lower strings, and her right hand on the upper ones.
She plucked a note, loving the way it hung in the air, like a drop of water waiting to fall.
Her fingers gained confidence with each new note, but something still felt off. Was she doing it wrong?
If only she could go into a tavern and hear a real bard…but her parents would never allow that. There was music at their parties, of course, and at the balls her Aunt Menorath and Uncle Baremon hosted, but never at home, when it was just her mother and two fathers and her younger siblings.
“If you’re going to play the lute, you need to hold it correctly,” a genteel voice with the hint of a Swamplands accent said.
“Mother,” Araphi said quickly, hiding the lute behind her back (or trying, since it was nearly wider than she was). “I’m so sorry, I was just—”
Her mother, Brenna Clauneck, held up a hand. “No need to explain. Music is in your blood, and I always wondered if any of you children would find your way into this room.”
“Why don’t we ever come in here as a family?”
Her mother shut her eyes as if she was in pain. “It reminds me of who I used to be and who I could’ve been. Which isn’t always a welcome feeling.”
“Do you miss being a court composer?” Araphi had wondered this for years, but never dared to ask.
“Not worth considering,” her mother said with a shrug.
“What about Grandma and Grandpa? They were bards, right? Why didn’t you become one too?” Araphi had never met her maternal grandparents, who passed away before she was born, but she’d long wondered about them. The small tidbits her mother let slip only made her more curious.
“I wanted something different for my life than what I grew up with,” her mother said, shrugging her elegant shoulders.
“But bards can do spells, right?” Araphi persisted, her curiosity getting the best of her. “Even if they’re not natural casters?”
In Harrow, some people were born with reservoirs of magic, while others—like everyone in the Clauneck family, including those who’d married into it—had to make bargains with their patron to receive any measure of magic.
Araphi wasn’t a natural caster, but she longed for some kind of magic that didn’t require talking to her family’s cantankerous patron.
When she was at boarding school and then later at Auximia, she’d learned the basics of magical history, but what she really wanted to know more about was the bard magic that ran in her family.
Her mother nodded, her expression tight.
“Bards can indeed cast spells, but only if some higher or lower power can be enticed to listen, and only if that entity lets a little magic leak through the planes. Plus, bard magic isn’t highly regarded in the kingdom.
People think it’s fickle and frivolous.”
People like them, her mother meant.
“Could I call on bard magic now? Here?”
Her mother had laughed. “Of course not. If that were the case, then every person who picked up an instrument or hummed a tune in the bathtub would be magical. Bards need to be at places of transition, where the barriers between the worlds are weakest. Places like taverns or crossroads or rivers are best. Then the bard plays certain songs or notes that call upon the deities and—if they’re lucky—get a bit of magic in return. ”
“That sounds wonderful.” Araphi couldn’t keep the longing out of her voice.
Her mother shrugged. “For some, perhaps. But bardic spells, songs, and note patterns are closely guarded secrets. They’re nearly impossible to discover unless you train with another bard, and you have to study for a long time to learn them.”
“Do you know any?”
“I did once, but I’ve long forgotten most of them. I wanted the world of the city, high society, and the queens’ court, not sawdust-covered taverns.” Her mother made a face and brushed an invisible speck of dust from her flawless dress.
“But you don’t even play music anymore, Mama.
Why is that?” It seemed like such a terrible thing, to have had music once and then abandoned it.
How could her mother live like that? Araphi might not be able to play, but she’d been humming to herself ever since she could remember, composing her own child-songs in her mind.
Her mother offered Araphi a small smile. “I am what I am, and that is all. Now, remove the lute from behind your back and I’ll show you how to play it.”
She repositioned Araphi’s hands and taught her a simple melody. “Practice that,” her mother said. “Every day, for as long as you can—but see that it doesn’t interfere with your real studies—and then I’ll teach you more.”
True to her word, her mother had taught her a dozen new songs by the end of the year, and Araphi practiced until she heard music in her dreams. By the time she was thirteen, she’d managed to convince her parents to let her study with Ashaway’s finest musicians.
As a social boon for the family, of course.
Still, it was the secret lessons with her mother where she learned the most—especially when her mother taught her two simple bardic note sequences meant to charm and settle an audience.
Araphi practiced those over and over. Her mother had even given Araphi her own lemon-scented charm—something that had once belonged to Araphi’s grandmother—to serve as an amplifier for the magic connected to her music.
Araphi’s mother had used it for years when she’d played for the royals and their audiences.
“You’re very good,” her mother had said just last month. “But you should know, we have to stop these lessons. You’re getting married soon, and tavern music isn’t for nobility.”
“But you played for nobility!” Araphi had protested, even as she’d suspected this was coming. “You were playing in the Golden Court when my fathers met you.”
“Proper compositions,” her mother corrected, “and only until I turned to the business of becoming a Clauneck.”
Well.
That may be the case, but in the last twenty-four hours, Araphi has played in two different taverns and charmed very different crowds.