Bardess of Rhulon Page 12

  Poor old gentleman can’t even enjoy a sweetmeat.

  Succulent roasts and fowl on salvers garlanded with flowers were delivered to the tables of greedy courtiers. Rose found it humorous until the tragic sight of a white swan; its former glory forever frozen in death with feathers intact, stuffed and propped up on a huge platter carried by two helpers. It saddened her. Rose loved swans. She could never imagine eating one. She lost her appetite.

  A discreet group of musicians played in the shadowed background during supper. Rose would not perform until after the main meal was finished. That was only proper. No singer who valued her voice would ever perform in such pandemonium.

  The Imperial family and chosen guests dined separately at a private table overlooking the hall. Emperor Aristide De’Ruarc was an austere figure amid the forced gaiety of his court. His silver hair cropped very short beneath his gold crown and his black damask coat was plain. Empress Isabeau was regal in black satin, her dark blonde hair pinned into an elegant chignon that complimented her aristocratic beauty. They dined with genteel manners and took frugal bites of the rich food.

  At least they look and act royal, Rose judged.

  Her eager judgments of the guests paused. The dark-haired man sitting next to the Emperor was the young man with the sad grey eyes who kissed her hand that night at the Red Boar. So this was Prince Darius De’Ruarc! She remembered that gentle kiss, which was her only kiss, even if it was on the hand. Simon never even kissed her hand–not that she ever wanted him to. Next to Darius must be Princess Lilias of Uragon, his betrothed. Flaxen haired, blue-eyed, and delicately beautiful–just like every princess she read about in fairy tales as a child.

  Why must they always be blonde?

  Unlike the others at the imperial table who wore dark colors, her satin gown was pink, embellished with pearls and trimmed with snowy lace. Darius and Lilias sat awkwardly together, picking at their food and avoiding eye contact. Rose was strangely satisfied at their discomfort together, though she could not fathom why.

  Sitting next to Princess Lilias was the most exotic woman Rose had ever seen. She reminded Rose of a mortal embodiment of Tarani, the elemental goddess of love and hate. Her flawless beauty was unearthly and her green eyes watched the guests with a thinly veiled contempt. She wore no jewels and her sleeveless red silk gown must be of the Uragon fashion, for it was void of flounces, hoops, or laces. Her only accessory were long black gloves.

  Prince Culain joined Rose in the hall and observed her study of the royal table.

  “Who is the woman seated next to the princess?” Rose inquired softly. “She’s certainly not old enough to be her mother.”

  “The ravishing brunette next to the Princess Lilias is Lady Thera Sule, and she’s far more dangerous than any mother. She is the guardian of the Princess’s virtue until Lilias is properly married. Lady Sule is also rumored to be King Krell’s official mistress.” He looked at Rose curiously. “How did you know it was me coming up behind you?”

  “I recognized your perfume,” Rose commented. “Don’t your friends at the party miss you?”

  “My only true friend is Darius. Alas, he is occupied with his future bride.”

  “Have you met the princess he is supposed to marry?”

  “Twice, but she is a flighty creature.”

  “There is something odd about her, but I can’t explain it.” She rubbed her temples. Rose was also getting a headache. She put it down to nerves.

  “Her beauty is disconcerting to most women,” Culain commented dryly.

  “That’s not what I meant, Your Highness,” Rose replied coolly.

  She gritted her teeth and returned to her surveillance of the feast. “Look at all of them. Eating like pigs at a trough. No. Pigs are neater. Are these nobles always so crude? I’ve seen better manners at the Red Boar.”

  “Disillusioning, isn’t it?” remarked Culain, leaning against the wall.

  “There must be hundreds of people in that banquet hall.”

  “Free food and drink attract the court parasites like flies to a honey jar.”

  She was speaking boldly, but Rose reminded herself to take care. He’s an Ironheart, from an unbroken dynasty dating back centuries, even if his clothes are frillier than a woman’s. Yet Prince Culain seemed to encourage her honest speech without rancor.

  “They are not what I expected, that’s all,” Rose shrugged.

  “True. But not everyone at court is what they seem. That is your first lesson.”

  Rose whispered, a little shaky, “What if my voice cracks or a string breaks on my lute?”

  “Fate did not bring you this far to fail. You will perform as a true bard, the way Belenus taught you. I have faith in you Rose; else you would not be here. I’m returning to the feast now. Be ready to enter at my signal,” Culain warned.

  “I will,” Rose answered. “And I will do Belenus proudand you.”

  Yes, Fate did bring her to this place. This was a dream she often wove over and over while sitting beneath her favorite oak tree at home. This was now her reality. She was grateful for this chance Culain offered her. She just wished he was not so exasperating!

  Indeed, as the hour passed, by the time dinner ended and the servants cleared away the plates, she was anxious to run into the banquet to sing and get it over with. She breathed deeply, remembering Belenus’ tutoring. She smiled to herself when she recalled his advice on performing for royals, his gruff voice vivid in her mind.

  All men are born the same. Naked. Fancy velvets or rough homespun do not measure a man’s worth.

  Prince Culain rose from his chair, which was in an honored place at the end of the Emperor’s private table. He signaled the musicians. They ceased their soft music and the chief drummer banged the drum in rhythmic beats until the guests fell silent. Culain walked to the center of the hall and bowed deeply before the Imperial family and the guests. “Tonight, I have arranged a great treat for you in honor of my good friend’s betrothal to the pearl of the east, Princess Lilias of Uragon,” he announced, bowing to the young couple. “I too possess a rare jewel, unseen by all until this evening. Her remarkable voice will enchant you. Her stories will enthrall you. In my kingdom, she is known as the beautiful Rose of Rhulon.”

  Beautiful? He’s exaggerating that pitch. And he does not possess me!

  “I now present for your pleasure the legendary, Bardess Rose Greenleaf!”

  At least I am legendary.

  A wave of cautious applause followed as she entered the hall. She was keenly aware of the amazed expressions and heard a few passing whispers. A female Rhulonese bard was not common. She must make that work to her advantage. She first curtsied deeply before the Emperor and his wife. A court musician placed a small stool for her to sit upon. She was grateful for the strong repertoire she learned for Belenus, for Prince Culain’s requests were very specific and not easy songs either. A lesser trained bard would have been awash in panic, but Belenus had been a hard task master. She knew all of these songs by heart.

  Rose immediately dived in, fearing any pause would freeze her voice and fingers forever. She played upon the lute a delicate but brief introduction to transition before she began with a song about the first Emperor of Tirangel. It was a rousing song of epic battle and conquest. The song recounted how the first Emperor rescued his stolen princess from an eastern warlord and defeated his enemies to found an empire. This established a dynasty that still existed to this day. With satisfaction, she noticed the song drew a slight grin from the stony emperor.

  Rose smiled with a twinge of triumph as her tune reached its climax. Stronger in confidence, she strolled among the court, keeping within range of the royal family, and sang a traditional welcome song familiar to those of the southern lands, a cheerful ditty to lift the mood. Rose followed with several famous ballads. She then drew gasps when she sang a frightening fable about the goddess, Karta, and her judgment of forbidden lovers fleeing dark enemies in her sacred forest. She followed this with
a traditional hymn about the mystical Garden of Valhalum, the sacred place ruled by the goddess, Ishar. She sang about the Vila, the elusive fey women who weave fairy rings in the forest.

  She finished her last number and the applause resounded in her ears. Then the Emperor spoke directly to her!

  “Excellent, Bardess Rose. Your talent is impressive. I commend Prince Culain for finding such a notable talent. I do have a request. Are you versed in the traditional heroic poem about your famous King Gregor Ironheart? I relish a strong war poem and the Rhulonese do their king’s legend better than our tall folk. Can you perform it, Bardess?”

  Rose was both petrified and ecstatic. The Ironheart war poem was her favorite. It was also not in the repertoire chosen by Culain. She bowed deeply and glancing at Culain, who for once looked surprised. “Your Majesty, I shall be honored to recite it for you.”

  Rose placed her lute upon the small stool and began the tale of Ironheart. The hall was silent as she spoke, bringing to life the heroic battles and the terrifying demons. Her memory was solid as she recalled each line. She let the adventure, victory, and tragedy carry her through each stanza. She forgot about everything but this moment as she recited the tale of her favorite legend and king, Gregor Ironheart.

  During her precise oration, an eerie feeling pricked at Rose’s nerves. It sent shivers down her spine. She continued her performance, but found her eyes scanning the great hall for any clue to the darkness she sensed. The poem’s performance took nearly half an hour, but when she finished the poem, she closed her eyes and bowed her head. The vast hall was silent as a grave for a heartbeat until an enthusiastic applause boomed.

  Rose opened her eyes and breathed, beaming at her audience with newfound confidence. The dark presence had not diminished, but she pushed it away. She focused only on the happy faces cheering her performance. Even the Emperor and Empress hailed her. When she dared to glance up at Prince Darius, a gentle smile lit up his face as he enthusiastically clapped. Princess Lilias applauded; however, she yawned openly. Her guardian, Lady Thera Sule, studied Rose with green eyes as she sipped red wine from a crystal goblet.

  Culain stood up, loudly applauding, and at his designated signal, Rose bowed and departed the banquet.

  After she passed through the curtains, only then did her nerves strike her down. Rose had never been anxious about performing before. Her knees felt like water! Singing and poetry was as natural as breathing to her. But something other than stage fright unsettled her in that great hall. She was unsure of the source. Was it the boredom of Princess Lilias? The calm scrutiny of Lady Thera Sule? A foreshadowing of something unknown? It felt strange and ethereal, like a whisper of darkness.

  Rose did not see Culain after the performance, but a young maid was waiting for her in the hall. She led her back to her room, where a nightdress was laid out for her on the bed. A supper tray waited for her on the table. Rose was famished and could not wait to dig in. She was feeling better but still had a slight headache; she hoped some food would help.

  “His Highness says he will see you in the morning,” she told her. “Enjoy your dinner.”

  “Thank you,” Rose answered softly and carefully put away her lute.

  “Shall I undress you for bed, Mistress Rose?” the maid offered.

  “No thank you,” Rose replied. “I can do it myself. And just call me Rose. What’s your name?”

  The maid looked to be around Rose’s age; she had dark curls peaking from her cap. She smiled and curtsied. “I’m Sally.”

  “Good night, Sally.”

  “Good night, Mistress–I mean Rose.”

  Rose was relieved Sally did not insist on undressing her. How do royals endure such intimate attention, especially when they are so distant in everything else? Rose was frantic with pent up energy. She was too excited to even finish her meal, though she sampled generous portions of tonight’s delicacies arranged on the lovely platter on the dining table.

  Was Culain pleased with her performance? What would be her fate now? Why did she feel so anxious? It was as though a Vanth, a herald of death and bad luck, touched her with her black scythe.

  Despite her exhaustion, the combination of excitement and ominous feelings tormented Rose. She barely slept, tossing and turning on the downy bed and punching the fluffy pillows scented with lavender. Near dawn, she gave up on sleep. Rose had been too mesmerized by her new situation to notice until now, but she realized that not only the bed, but all the furnishings in the room, were scaled to her smaller size. This must have been a suite for a Rhulon noble perhaps?

  A raven’s sharp caw at her casement window drew her attention. A black raven perched on the windowsill as though waiting. It did not fly away when it saw her, but remained on the ledge, gazing at her patiently. The raven was Karta’s messenger, so she should honor her. Rose grabbed a chunk of bread from the food tray. “I best offer you a bite of food to thank Karta for last night,” she said.

  She opened the window and carefully placed her gifts on the window ledge. The raven was not threatened by Rose and inspected the bread. Deciding her food worthy of consumption, the raven cawed loudly, scooped up the morsel in its beak and flew away. She watched the bird fly away, hoping it was a good sign of her destiny rather than a warning. With Karta, you never knew!

  In the twilight, Rose saw a lone figure in a purple cloak running across the grass. It was not a gardener or servant, for even at a distance, the cloak looked expensive. A large hood concealed the identity of the wearer and a flash of petticoat was the only clue it was female. The figure stopped suddenly right beneath her window–and looked up at Rose. She shivered, for the purple figure’s gaze was almost a deliberate challenge. She could not see the face, only hooded shadow. She sensed something ill from the mysterious woman.

  It was the almost same foreboding Rose experienced at the banquet when she performed for the Emperor. It sent an icy shiver down her back, it was not the same feeling, though it had a malevolent touch. That weird tingle of darkness she experienced was different. It still haunted her, and Rose retreated behind the curtains. After a few seconds, Rose dared to look again, but the cloaked stranger had disappeared.

  * * *

  Fallon Gansis observed the banquet that night. His enchanted mirrors revealed more than the opulence of the Emperor’s court. A young girl who sang intrigued him. He sensed something within her. A seed of something unborn, but waiting eagerly to sprout. He was rarely curious, and knew there was something special about Rose Greenleaf. He needed to know more.

  He knew the changeling would need to renew its human shape again tonight. He doubted Crimson could maintain the same guise for much longer. The last weeks of constant metamorphosis were becoming an agony and that would make Crimson a liability. The changeling was also becoming unstable. Fallon knew the cost of keeping a particular human shape for too long; it required complicated magic that was draining on the changeling. If the victim died, Crimson would lose the ability to hold that human form and its memories. She risked exposure if that happened. He could kill the changeling, but then he would lose his amusement.

  Fallon waited for her before the mirror. Crimson soon appeared as he expected, her face only partly human now, a hideous duality. He touched the mirror, and the changeling saw what he intended–the image of her goblin king.

  Crimson groveled. “My Lord!”

  “You’re taking too many risks, Changeling,” Fallon warned.

  “I do all for you,” Crimson whimpered, cowering. “I live with smelly humans. I eat their bland food. Wear strange clothes. I go to their chapels with their foreign gods and pretend to pray. I kill, which I enjoy. Thank you for that. I run to this ancient boneyard and weave my magic to keep this human form, all for you.”

  “You should find another victim. Let this one perish.”

  Crimson stripped away the black gloves, revealing her true hands of grey mottled skin and long wiry fingers. “I know the human is slowly dying in the cocoon. Soon, soon, I will
cast off this silly false form and be Crimson again. I have news, dread lord. Please forgive poor unworthy Crimson, majestic ruler of darkness. The ancient enemy of your blood is here. There is an Ironheart at court.”

  “Tell me more,” his thunderous voice commanded.

  Fallon Gansis grew bored as he listened to Crimson’s ecstatic report. He was not interested in an Ironheart, but knew they would eventually have to be dealt with. The goblin clans did despise the Ironhearts. The goblins had sent their changeling slaves to several key kingdoms, but they were becoming too disruptive, too fast. He would have to put a stop to that until the time was right.

  It was not Culain Ironheart, but the dwarf maiden, Rose Greenleaf, that intrigued him. He had watched the imperial banquet to keep an eye on Crimson. Something sparked within Fallon’s core when he observed Rose Greenleaf through his mirrors. Her singing unveiled a fragment of untapped magic so uncommon she was not even aware of it. He did not sense she was a witch. Could it be? The glam rhapsodé was rare. Not even Fallon could be sure she had it unless he examined her personally. Such a young woman could be valuable–if turned to the shadows and tutored by him.

  Rose had detected his scrutiny of her as she performed. That intrigued him further.

  Fallon’s used his sorcery to maintain his image of the goblin king in the mirror, but soon that would change, at the right time of course. Being a giant red-skinned goblin was becoming tiresome.

  Crimson bowed. “What do you command?”

  “There is a new bard at court named Rose Greenleaf. “Capture and cocoon her for safekeeping.”

  “You want me to take her place?” Crimson nodded eagerly. “So we can kill Ironheart?”

  “No. I want you to bring her to me in this catacomb of bones. I will handle the rest. In time, Prince Ironheart will die, as will the rest of his family. I demand the girl first.”