Bardess of Rhulon Page 11

  She opened the soft velvet bag and there were ten gold lions! Such generous alms were unexpected.

  “All that gold for a few songs?” Digby guffawed. “That would buy my foodstuffs for a month!”

  Bolstered and intrigued by the mystery and her success, Rose smiled up at Digby. “Good for business, though.”

  Chapter Nine

  Rose and Meg savored Becky’s sweet pecan loaf and strong hot coffee during a rare afternoon respite in the tavern’s kitchen. Rose stacked two pillows on the high backed wooden chair so she could sit at the table without feeling like a three-year-old.

  “Has Digby adjusted to your nightly performances?” Meg asked, pouring a second cup of coffee.

  Rose grinned between bites. “He sullenly accepts the deviation of my duties, but as my performing has improved both patronage and coin, his grumpiness is all for show.”

  Meg stirred cream into her coffee, nodding. “Digby was born grumpy.”

  “I’m grateful to them, and to you, Meg. Starting a new life in a foreign country is more difficult than I ever imagined. And it’s not just my lack of stature.”

  “Change is difficult, especially if you hadn’t planned to alter your life so abruptly. Starting over from scratch is hard. I did it myself. I journeyed here alone from Juraca about ten years ago.”

  “That is very far away. Were you escaping wedlock too?” She said it lightly as a joke, but noticed Meg briefly frowned and looked down at her coffee cup.

  “No. I ran from a broken marriage–a broken life. It’s a long story and it was years ago.”

  “I’m so sorry. My tongue is cursed sometimes.”

  “It’s all right, Rose,” Meg grinned and cut another slice of pecan loaf with swift accuracy. “It’s only the past.”

  “ROSE!” Becky cried, abruptly cutting off Meg’s confession as she waddled into the kitchen, clenching a scroll with a dark blue seal.

  “Goodness, what’s wrong, Becky?” Rose jumped down from the cushions and guided her to sit down.

  Becky plopped into the chair, flushed, breathless. “Imperial soldiers are here. They have come for you with a special invitation to the palace!”

  “For me?”

  Meg handed her a cup of water and Becky gulped it down. “One of the soldiers handed me this. He said it was for Mistress Rose Greenleaf only!” She extended her plump hand clutching the scroll. “

  “That’s the royal seal,” Meg confirmed, examining the image of a lion in blue wax, carefully extracting it from Becky’s quivering fingers and handing it to Rose. “I think you better open it.”

  Rose cracked the wax seal with the butter knife and unrolled it. Her eyes scanned the contents and she almost fell into Becky’s ample lap. “It’s an invitation commanding that I sing at the Imperial Court tonight, to celebrate the betrothal of Prince Darius!” She thought of Karta again, whose dusty wings of fate touch people in strange ways.

  Meg plucked the scroll from Rose’s shaking fingers and read it. “It’s an official summons from the palace alright. They want you to sing at a royal banquet tonight.”

  Meg smiled and exclaimed, “You’ve been performing for large crowds for the last couple weeks, but the customers here are usually locals, rough seaman and dock workers, not aristocrats. No offense, Becky.”

  “None taken,” Becky laughed. “Our patrons are common but good folk.”

  Meg squinted in thought. “Remember that first night you sang here? Those two richly dressed gentlemen and one was Rhulonese and gave you that bag of gold!”

  “Yes,” Rose brightened. “Digby still pouts over that generous tip.”

  “One of them must have praised you to someone powerful,” Meg said.

  “Oh, that’s such good news!” Becky cried. “Our little Rose will sing for the Emperor!” The old woman wept with pride, dabbing her eyes with a dish towel.

  “The invitation clearly states Bardess Rose Greenleaf is invited to entertain at the official betrothal ceremony of the Crown Prince, Darius. Why does the letter refer to you as Bardess?” Meg remarked with an arched brow.

  Rose looked at the invitation again. “It’s just an ancient title for female bards in Rhulon’s history and legends, but the word fell out of fashion long ago.” Rose explained. “Odd, I thought I was the only one who knew that rare fact.”

  Meg hugged her friend. “Well, I’m proud of you, Bardess!”

  Becky’s eyes widened with terror. “Oh dear, you can’t go before royalty like that! You must have a proper gown. The Emperor and his kin will be seeing ya’ sing, girl! You need some satin or brocade! There’s no time for that anyway. They’re waiting outside to take you to the palace now!”

  “Now!” Rose gasped.

  Rose looked down at her simple grey skirt and tunic of white cotton. “I’m not dressed for royalty, but it must do.” Her lack of velvet and jewels were overshadowed as her hands flew up to her head as she spun around to Meg. “But my hair is dirty!”

  “Just take a deep breath and relax,” Meg told her calmly. “This mysterious patron must know of your humble surroundings. Nobles have the world at their fingertips and I think can provide you with proper attire, even for a tiny dwarf bardess. You will be amazing. You’re singing makes songbirds jealous! You could wear a potato sack and it still would not matter. You’re a Bardess, remember? Just do what you do best!”

  Rose hugged Meg and poor, sobbing Becky. “I’ll just get my lute. Wish me luck!”

  A sudden revelation startled Becky. “Oh dear, what do I tell Digby?”

  “Tell him he can do the singing tonight,” Rose replied dryly.

  “Oh dear, that would be bad for business,” Becky moaned.

  * * *

  The minute Rose stepped from the lavish coach a bevy of beautifully gowned women swept her away to a large, elegant suite where she was bathed head to toe with exotic smelling soap and oiled up like a lamp. She was quite capable of bathing herself and tried to resist, but they only giggled and ignored her. It did not help that they were twice her size. She feared she would drown in the deep copper but the water was joyfully hot and bubbly. Still, it was unnerving having strangers wash her hair.

  The chamber was opulent with golden brocade drapes and elegant furniture. The large bed with the blue silk coverlet was unnerving. She hoped this mysterious patron did not expect anything improper! Perhaps she was expected to spend the night because it would be so late when she finished her performance and she would be driven back in the morning? But who summoned her here?

  Rose’s distress regarding her humble wardrobe dissolved when a fine outfit was laid before her. She could not believe it. There were even under garments, which made her blush, made of pure ivory silk! The outfit was a proper bard ensemble for court performances, like those she read about in books. A suit of dark blue velvet finely made in the traditional bardic fashion for court wear. The trousers were comfortable and laced in the back easily. The fitted jacket had tiny copper buttons and was snug around the upper arms and widened into hanging sleeves, revealing the inner snowy linen shirt. Short black boots were extravagant, being constructed of soft brushed velvet and fit her as though made just for her.

  The women who dressed her made much her, as though she were a doll to be played with before tea and cakes—and she so needed some tea and cakes! She was hungry from nerves and rattled by the unexpected. The constant chatter about how cute Dwarf maidens were tested her reserve, however, she remained mute. The women did not engage her in actual conversation; they just groomed her like a horse for auction.

  They gently led her to a wall mirror when they finished. She gasped at her reflection in the polished glass set in elaborate gold. She looked pretty. The bardic outfit was finely made and her hair dressed in simple fashion, swept back into a loose braid that draped over her left shoulder and tendrils of chestnut hair curled around her face.

  Rose refused the expensive lute with a jeweled strap they tried to offer her. She insisted she would play the
lute of Belenus! It may be scratched and old and the strap worn, but she treasured that instrument more than any fancy lute in the world. In the mirror, she noticed the coat of arms embroidered on the jacket. The embroidery was so delicate and intricate her mother would have been envious, but it was more than that. She recognized the two grizzly bears with double–bladed battle axes that crossed, and the red rose woven at the center where the blades met, with a golden crown above.

  “This coat of arms belongs to the royal house of Ironheart!” Rose exclaimed.

  “Wonderful! I knew I was right to choose you,” an unfamiliar male voice commented.

  Rose spun around. It was the man with sharp blue eyes and the generous bag of gold.

  “How long have you been there!” she asked, blushing.

  “Not long enough, I fear,” he quipped.

  Seeing his rich attire and knowing he was indeed her mysterious benefactor, she curtsied, recalling her mother’s lessons, sensing that this man from her home country was more than just a courtier. The women had flocked together like shiny hens, beaming at their fine handiwork. They all fell silent and curtsied deeply as he approached.

  “You may leave us, ladies. You have done excellent work,” he commanded. “Thank you!”

  “No, please stay!” Rose begged as they fluttered out of the chamber and closed the double doors, feeling a knot of fear in her belly. After they were gone, she bravely faced him. “Forgive me, but I am confused.” She dared to look up at him. He was quite tall, easily over four and half feet. “May I ask who are you, sir?”

  “Well, you recognized my family crest.”

  “Your family crest?” Rose gasped. “That means you are an—”

  “An Ironheart,” he finished. “It is permissible to speak it aloud. The gods shall not smite you.”

  “I didn’t think they would, being as they have better things to do,” Rose retorted.

  She bit her tongue, but he only burst out laughing. He approached, ever bolder, but did not touch her. He bowed deeply. “Allow me to introduce myself, fair lady. I am Prince Culain Ironheart, youngest of my father’s vast brood of royal children. I am the official Ambassador to Tirangel. Welcome to White Thorn Palace, Bardess Rose.”

  She curtsied again, for lack of knowing what else she should do and she silently cursed both him and her ignorance. “I am honored to meet you, your Highness. I did not expect to meet someone from my homeland in Tirangel, much less a prince.”

  “We are a bit aloof, but even the Rhulonese have trade concerns in the world,” Culain replied. “I do love Tirangel. White Thorn is the jewel of the Kingdom. My homeland is equally glorious, but alas it is too stifling for me there. I much prefer to be here where my expectations are low.”

  He poured two glasses of wine and handed her one. She accepted it, not wanting to refuse a prince, but did not drink. “Do they demand much of you in Rhulon that you seek the sanctuary of a foreign kingdom?” she asked carefully.

  “There are few demands actually,” he replied. “That is the trouble with being the youngest of fourteen children. They do not know what to do with us all.”

  “Fourteen!” Rose exclaimed.

  “Yes, my dear mother, Queen Fiona, is so fertile they are thinking of deifying her as a fertility goddess. But in all fairness, twins do run in the family.”

  “My awe of your mother has just doubled as well,” Rose gasped.

  He laughed at that and drained his wine glass and poured another. “Yes, my brothers and sisters could start their own country. They are from oldest to youngest—Wulfgar, the oldest and crown prince and from childhood always first to push my face into the mud at every opportunity. Amber and Milka are twins and they are married to some noble dwarves in the eastern counties and have born twins of their own. Armon is general of father’s royal army and very serious. Elgar and Dirk are twins as well, but they are quite different in temperament and look. Elgar is blonde and light of mood, whilst Dirk is dark and broody. Bathilda is very pious and serious; looks more like a forlorn horse than a sister, hence her piety. Eldora is the beauty in contrast and looks just like mother, only not as bright. Osrik is very scholarly and Valdis can think of nothing but glory and battle. Frida and Olga are so identical that only mother can tell them apart. Father just flips a coin and guesses. And then there is me, the wild card. I was a surprise gift from the gods. Mother thought she was done with childbearing, so I was quite a shock to her. The royal posts at home have been taken by my older brothers and sisters, and their children. So I am here enjoying the sun and warmth only the south can provide.”

  “I can only imagine what the holidays can be like with a family so large.”

  “It involves heavy drinking and violence ensues before the Solstice gifts are even opened,” Culain replied dryly.

  “Your name, Culain, rings from the northern provinces,” Rose said.

  “Yes, most of my clan was given the more common southern names of our land. My mother, Queen Fiona, is a northerner though and through. She insisted her last child be baptized with a proper northern name.”

  “Culain was an ancient hero in legends,” Rose commented.

  “You know your literary references. Good. My heroics are just a flair for diplomacy and an eye for troublesome situations that can threaten Rhulon, so my father sends me to other kingdoms to act as ambassador or to broker trade treaties.”

  It occurred suddenly to Rose she was speaking with a Prince of the House of Ironheart as though she were speaking to a common man! “Why did you send for me? I’m just a poor girl working in a tavern. A simple maid finding herself in a palace is not always a good thing.” Maybe she was too blunt, but she needed to know where she stood.

  “You’re many things, Bardess, but simple is not one of them.”

  “You know nothing about me.”

  “Ah, but I do. I have many eyes and ears that work for me, Rose. The benefit of a royal purse and an inquisitive mind. I also recognize potential and talent. You’re from Stone Haven, a quaint but unimportant village in the southern part of our country. You are almost eighteen and ran away to escape an arranged marriage. Your father is a blacksmith and well respected in your tiny hamlet. Your letters have made it home by the way.”

  “How did you know that I—”

  “I know you made it all the way here only to be abducted by slavers, and then you were miraculously rescued by the Rangers. One of them, Commander Meg Sparrow, helped secure you employment at a popular tavern called the Red Boar. A marvelous establishment, as I have taken to enjoying their ale, at least when Digby doesn’t water it down.”

  “It’s just cheap ale, he doesn’t water.”

  Culain laughed and asked, “But your skill on lute and your voice are well trained, lady. Where did you learn? Your knowledge of tale and song are very impressive.”

  “Belenus Aylecross taught me,” she replied proudly. “He chose me as his pupil when he moved to our village. Many a mother dragged their son to him to be taught, but he picked me.”

  “I remember Belenus,” Culain said fondly. “A crusty and irreverent Bard! It does not surprise me that he decided to teach a girl. He was revered and honored for decades in my father’s house. He was wild of foot too, living in the lands of the tall folk like me. I always liked him. I like him even more now.”

  “So I am here to sing for the Emperor?”

  “Yes. There is a special banquet honoring the betrothal of Prince Darius and Princess Lilias Rhodan of Uragon. We use the word honor rather than celebrate due to the recent death of Prince Justin, as celebration would be too cheery, Darius is also my friend. So you will be performing before the imperial court. As a student of Belenus Aylecross, I am counting that you will do him proud.”

  Her heart began racing, a combination of desire and fright in one great assault. “I’m relieved, Your Highness, I was afraid that, well, I mean, that your expectations of—”

  Mercifully, he put up his hand and she stopped trying to phrase her quest
ion that she feared asking. “Your virtue is not in danger, so you may relax. My plans for you are more cerebral.”

  “Then I shall strive to make Belenus proud of me this night.”

  “Excellent. Should you prove pleasing to the royal audience, you will be in my employ as Bardess Rose Greenleaf and a part of my official household.”

  The opportunity seemed too wonderful to be true. A bard with an official patron of royal blood was a dream. Her wishes were being granted with such swift promise she felt a prick of suspicion. She reminded herself to curtsy again in gratitude. “Thank you, Prince Culain. It’s unusual you know the female rank for Bard. I didn’t think anyone knew that but me?”

  “It’s been an ancient and unused title for far too long. There is more you must learn of course. What I also need from you is a good ear and strong wit. From what I heard about you, you may fit quite nicely.”

  “I do not understand,” she whispered with care.

  “Oh, you will soon,” he smiled, and poured more wine. “Now let us discuss the protocol for the banquet and your choice of music and stories to amuse this noble lot.”

  She listened, but all the while in her mind, deep in her thoughts, the black wings of Karta whispered to her to beware.

  Chapter Ten

  The spectacle of royal festivity was astonishing in its unvarnished reality. Chandeliers blazed above long tables covered with white linen. Guests in garish finery drank from jeweled goblets.

  There must be hundreds of candles burning in this room tonight. And I’ve never seen so much food!

  Guests gobbled freely of the exotic food provided by servants dressed in somber black. Towers of sweetmeats and nuts graced every table. Luscious berries swimming in rich sauces were spooned onto plates of shining silver. Most of the guests just looked pompous and did not impress Rose, though she pitied one elderly nobleman in a curly brown wig too young for his years. He longingly gazed at the confections spread before him, but only soaked his bread in wine to soften it before nibbling at it.