Part 9 (1/2)
The silence rang with it for a moment.
Two pairs of brown eyes snapped open.
He had to help them to stand, Singing gentle Songs of comfort to them as their bodies spasmed and they moaned in terror. Lost and confused, they turned to him. He stroked them and calmed them and rea.s.sured them that the stiffness would pa.s.s. They were like children, his children, and he felt the familiar rush of love spill out over into his Song.
”All right, I know yer in there. Drop what yer holdin' and step outside where I can see ya.”
A guard. He should've known there'd be a guard. These tombs were an open invitation to looters. He murmured a brief prayer of thanks to whatever G.o.ds were listening-had the guard shown up before he'd finished the Song... Leaning heavily on his staff, he led the way out into the night.
The guard snorted when she saw him, brows nearly disappearing under the padded edge of her round helm. ”Well, yer old enough to know better, Gramps.” A wave of her loaded crossbow directed him to one side. She glared into the tomb. ”The rest of ya can get out here, too. Yer not gonna make me believe this old geezer was workin' a... G.o.ddess protect us, yer alive.”
”Nooo.” The taller of the two young men fought to pull air in and then push it out in the shape of words. It wasn't easy as he no longer needed to breathe. ”We... are dead.”
She swallowed and backed away a step, obviously wanting to run, forcing herself to stay. ”But yer, yer standin'. Yer movin'. Ya gotta be alive if yer movin'.”
The second young man lurched forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with his cousin. His mouth worked, but no sound came out.
The guard had seen death in many forms before. She'd picked it up in pieces after the food riots of eighty-seven. She'd dragged it frozen out of the gutter every winter. She'd held it when her son had been taken, the healer standing helpless to one side.
These men were dead.
Her finger tightened on the trigger. The crossbow quarrel slammed quivering into the dirt at the cousins' feet. She stared at it, then slowly lifted her gaze to their faces.
These men were most certainly dead.
And they knew it.
Another step back. Then another. Then, biting off a scream, she turned and ran.
Halfway through the first verse, Karlene realized she should never have agreed to sing a love song. His Imperial Highness, Prince Otavas had pulled his cus.h.i.+on close, drawn one knee up to his chest-not an easy thing to do with any modesty considering the short style of kilt currently favored around the Imperial Court- and was staring at her with his heart in his eyes. Although at seventeen, he was a strikingly handsome young man, with his father's dark coloring and the heavy bones of his mother's northern heritage, those dark, intense eyes were his most devastating feature and he knew how to use them to their best advantage. He was also charming. Intelligent And very, very young.
If anyone had told me when I left Shkoder that the hardest part of serving in the Empire would be keeping a love-struck princeling at arm's length, I'd have laughed in their face.
It wasn't that he was rude, or pushy, or even particularly imperious about his infatuation-he was just persistent. Without appearing to be following her about, he always seemed to be where she was. Had he not been an Imperial prince, a gentle Bardic Command could have cleared up the problem in short order, but as it was, she could only dance around his feelings and try to convince him that certain gifts were inappropriate.
The worst of it was, the prince's attentions had caused a fascinatingly beautiful lady of the court to politely-or perhaps politically-surrender the field. Nor did it help that the only other bard in the Havakeen Empire thought the whole situation incredibly amusing and had already written a not-very-funny song about it. Could be worse, I suppose. At least with the prince's involvement so obvious, he can't sing it anywhere.
She sang the final verse with less emphasis than usual on the ”Love conquers all,” but as the prince's expression remained besotted, she suspected she needn't have bothered.
A babble of voices rose as the last note faded. Karlene smiled and inclined her head. Pus.h.i.+ng her heavy, blonde braid back over her shoulder, she set her quitara to one side and stood.
”You must be thirsty.” Prince Otavas stepped forward to claim her before any of the others could. ”Would you care to join me for a drink? They've chilled lime juice tonight, I think. I remember you saying once how much you like it.”
Those beautiful eyes looked so hopeful, she couldn't deny him. Besides, she was thirsty. A pity he'd read a deeper meaning than intended into the ritual response. ”It would be my pleasure, Highness.”
”I wish you'd call me Tavas.” Beaming, he fell into step beside her.
”That's what your family calls you, Highness. I couldn't presume.”
”They wouldn't mind. They like you.”
Smothering a sigh, Karlene fell back on the standard Imperial response. ”I'm
honored, Highness.””Tavas.””Highness...” She turned to face him. ”While I am...” Well, there really isn't another word for it, is there? ”... honored by your attention, I feel it only fair to tell you again that I have no interest in men in that way.”He shrugged and grinned. ”I'm not men. I'm me.””And that I'm eleven years older than you are.”
”You don't look a day over...”
She could see him rapidly examining ages, discarding them, and finally settling on:
”... twenty-one.” He bowed deeply, one hand keeping the back of his kilt from riding up. ”Maybe twenty-two.”
Impossible not to laugh.
Flas.h.i.+ng a triumphant grin, the prince straightened and extended his arm.
Shaking her head, Karlene laid her hand on his wrist and allowed herself to be
led to the refreshment table.
In warm weather, the Imperial Court spent its informal evenings in a second-floor room with more window than wall. This evening, the three wide pairs of louvered shutters to both the east and west had been folded back to allow the pa.s.sage of cooling breezes delicately scented by the night-blooming flowers in the gardens below. As always, refreshment tables had been set up at the narrower, south end of the room to either side of the arched entranceway. Karlene often wondered how the guards could stand so close to such mouthwatering bounty and be able to resist throwing themselves on the food.
She bowed slightly as Prince Otavas handed her a goblet of juice, ignored the not-entirely-hidden, indulgent smile of the servant who'd poured it, and nabbed a skewer of spiced chicken before any more of it disappeared. At the far end of the room, a low dais made it possible for her to see the Emperor and the Princess Verika involved in a spirited discussion. Probably about hawking, Karlene decided, studying the hand motions. It wasn't that difficult a guess as they were both crazy about the sport and could argue for hours over the relative merits of one bird over another.
The prince sighed as he followed her gaze. ”They were talking about water rights at the last council meeting and ended up in a shouting match about marsh hawks.”
”It's nice that the Emperor has someone to share his interests, Highness.”
”It does take the pressure off the rest of us,” Otavas admitted with a smile. He turned to face her, smile broadening. ”And while I don't mind accompanying them occasionally, I personally have a deeper interest in mu...” A gust of wind tore the rest of the words from his mouth and nearly knocked him over. Fighting for balance, he stared at the bard being buffeted back and forth by a swirling column of air. He tried to reach her, was flung away, and could only watch helplessly as she staggered and almost fell.
Somehow, Karlene managed to get both feet firmly beneath her in spite of the surrounding kigh. Long, pale fingers clutched at her clothing and hair. Above the wind-sketched outlines of elongated bodies, thin and sharply pointed faces wore nearly identical expressions as each of the kigh tried desperately to get her attention. By the time she found her voice, there were ten, maybe twelve pairs of stormy gray eyes trying to peer into hers.
”Gently, gently,” she Sang although only the kigh could find words in the pure tones. ”It's all right. I'll take care of it. Gently, it'll be all right.”
She continued Singing rea.s.surance as the whole cl.u.s.ter slowed, made one final circuit around her, then sped out through the same window they'd entered, their pa.s.sage throwing an elderly courtier hard against the tiles and extinguis.h.i.+ng the torches that lined the balcony.
A babble of voices rose into the silence that followed. The prince, taking advantage of both rank and proximity clutched at the bard's arm. ”Was it the air spirits?”
Brow furrowed, Karlene nodded.
”What were they so angry about?”
Tugging her tunic back into place, she turned to face him. ”The kigh weren't angry, Highness. They were terrified.”
”What could trap the kigh, Gabris? That's the question.” Karlene walked to the window and stared out at a distinct absence of kigh. Three or four kigh- different kigh, the same kigh; no one could tell- usually hung about the windows of the bardic suite. Today the skies were clear. The kigh she'd called had fled the moment she'd released them. ”I mean, even the most powerful of bards can't compel the kigh to do something they don't want to.”
”Can't or don't?” asked the middle-aged man yawning up at her from behind the scribe's table that dominated the room.