“Joyous Solstice, love,” Aurian said to Forral. “Joyous Solstice, Anvar.”
And to Anvar, for the first time in two years, it truly was.
They sat together round the table and, to Anvar’s embarrassment, Forral told Aurian about his impromptu concert. “Truly, love, it was amazing,” he said. “Anvar here played that guitar like—like you handle a sword—all rhythm and fire and flow. I wish you could have heard him.”
“So do I,” Aurian said. “It sounds wonderful. Wherever did you learn to play like that, Anvar?”
Because Anvar felt so happy, and because the wine had loosened his tongue, he found himself telling them about Ria teaching him music, and how his grandpa had made instruments for him that he had lost when he came to the Academy. Tears filled his eyes as he spoke of the two people he had loved so much, who were both dead now,
Gently, Aurian reached across and brushed a tear from his face. “Don’t be sad, Anvar, They’re still with you, in the gift of music that you love so much. They’ll always be there—in your hands, and in your heart.”
She exchanged a look-with Forral—a look filled with such depths of love and sorrow that Anvar, suddenly understanding, became uncertain whether his tears were for himself, or for these two who had been so kind to him, and whose love was doomed to someday end in tragedy.
Their glasses were empty, and Aurian got up a little unsteadily to fetch some wine that she said was perfect for a special occasion. “Miathan gave me this for Solstice,” she said, uncorking the dusty bottle. “It’s one of his special vintages. He would have fifty fits if he found out who’d been drinking it!” The two men chuckled, and thanks to the Archmage’s gift, the party soon cheered up again.
The three of them sang together, unaccompanied and softly, because the hour was late. A fleeting thought of having to get up to serve breakfast crossed Anvar’s mind, but he ignored it. How could tomorrow ever come? This night was held forever in a timeless web of delight. Aurian’s contralto voice thrilled him. He’d never known that she could sing. By the time they reached the bottom of the bottle they were back to bawdy ballads and silly children’s songs, and all three were laughing helplessly.
“Oh, dear,” Aurian gasped, wiping her streaming eyes. “I haven’t had such a good time in ages!” She tilted the bottle to refill their glasses, but only a few drops trickled out, “Bat turds!” She muttered Finbarr’s favorite curse. “That’s the last!”
“I should go anyway,” Anvar said, struggling to his feet. “I have to get up in the morning to bring you lazy lot your breakfast.” He had spoken thoughtlessly, confident for once that his words would not cause offense, but Aurian’s face fell. “Oh, Anvar, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking . . .”
Forral frowned, “Look, lad,” he said, “you know it’s not Aurian’s fault. She can’t release you from your bond, and my hands are tied. I’d have this bondservant business stopped tomorrow if I could, but I’m outnumbered on the Council. Don’t think I haven’t tried. And why blame poor Aurian? She didn’t make you a bondservant—she only tried to help you. Does she treat you like a slave? She’s been worrying herself silly over you these last months, did you know that? She’d like nothing better than to free you if she could, and this is no way to treat her in return!”
That was too much, “I know that!” Anvar cried angrily. “But how would you feel if you were in my place? You don’t know what it’s like to have nothing—no freedom, no future, no hope! To always force yourself to be respectful, to watch each word lest you’re punished for speaking out of turn, to always be at someone’s beck and call. You and the Lady Aurian have a place in the world. You have respect; you have each other to love, and to love you. Can I ever hope for that? I’m a bondservant—I’m not free to love. Can you imagine how lonely that can be? For the rest of my life I’ll have nothing to look forward to—nothing and no one of my own!”
“Oh, Anvar.” Aurian’s eyes brimmed with sympathy. Going to Anvar, she took his hands, “I wish there was something I could do,” she said sefcty.
Anvar, already ashamed of his outburst, felt guiltier than ever. “Lady, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to sound as if I were complaining about you. Why, you’ve been so kind to me . . .” He struggled to find the words. “I wouldn’t have missed tonight for all the world.”
“Nor would I,” Aurian assured him, and he knew his apology had been accepted. She dug into a drawer and produced a small packet of herbs which she tucked into Anvar’s pocket. “Make that into a tea in the morning,” she said. “It’s one of Meiriel’s cure-alls—wonderful for aching heads. I’m sure I’ll be in no state tomorrow to attempt any Healing! Sleep as late as you want, Anvar, and when you get round to it, bring enough breakfast for three.”
Anvar assumed that Miathan must be breakfasting with Aurian and Forral, and suddenly the evening was ruined. With a sigh, he turned to go. But Forral detained him, putting an arm around his shoulders. “We understand, lad,” he said softly. “Both of us do. I don’t know if we can influence the Archmage, but maybe next year we can try to get you down to the Garrison. I know you said that Aurian has been teaching you a bit of swordplay. If you look like you can learn, and it suits you, maybe Miathan would let you join my troop. You’re too good a man to waste your life drudging for bloody Mages—begging your pardon, love,” he added quickly, glancing at Aurian and covering his mouth in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean you, of course.”
To Anvar’s surprise ^Aurian, far from being angry, was delighted. “Forral, what a splendid idea!” She hugged the swordsman fiercely. Anvar felt as though a heavy weight had been lifted from his heart. In an excess of gratitude he hugged Forral too, joining in the general embrace, his face cracking in a grin so wide it almost hurt.
Then Aurian was hugging him, and Forral suddenly said: “Here, you haven’t given Anvar a Solstice kiss yet. Fancy forgetting that!”
“Goodness,” Aurian said, “you’re absolutely right!” She put her arms around Anvar’s neck and he felt her lips brush his cheek, light as a butterfly’s wing.
“That’s pathetic, lass!” Forral roared. “Can’t you do better than that? Go on, it’s Solstice. Kiss him properly!” And she did. Not a kiss of passion, such as Forral had received, but a gentle, generous kiss nonetheless, and to Anvar, strangely precious. Once again, he felt his heart pound unsteadily, the touch of her soft lips on his making him tremble.
“That’s more like it!” Forral said, and suddenly Anvar remembered his presence. “You’ve brought back his smile, love,” the swordsman said to Aurian.
“Well, I should hope so!” the Mage replied. For an instant she looked deep into Anvar’s eyes. “You should smile more often, Anvar—it suits you. Well, if things work out, maybe you’ll have more reason to smile in the future.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Forral said. “Oh, curse it—we can’t!” So they said their good-nights instead. That night Anvar’s bed seemed less hard and cold than it usually did, and his dreams were sweet.
Anvar paid for the previous night’s celebrations on Solstice Morn. His head was pounding fit to fall off, and he wished it would—anything to be rid of the pain. But Aurian’s remedy worked wonders, and soon he felt able to get her breakfast tray ready, though the smell of the food gave him some queasy moments.
As he carried the tray up the tower steps to Aurian’s door, Anvar heard the sound of hurrying footsteps behind him and turned to see the Mage herself, cloaked and booted for a trip outdoors. She was out of breath and carried a large, flattish wooden box in her arms. He wo’hdefed where she had been so early, especially if she felt as delicate as he did. As she approached, Anvar saw that she looked rather tired and drawn, but the cold had brought a glow to her cheeks and a little of last night’s sparkle back into her eyes. Snowflakes were melting into brilliant diamond drops in her wind-tangled hair and the spicy, musky perfume that she favored was overlaid with the fresh, invigorating scent of the snowy open air.