“I’m supposed to write a song,” she said, looking more than passably worried. “And—”
“Can’t write it?” A knowing look lit his face.
“Mm. And I know it’s going to affect the Bardic Council’s voting on whether I should be made a full Bard.”
She shrugged, focusing all her fear and frustrations into this one thing. This song. This damn song.
She said, “You think if I threw myself in the river and caught pneumonia I wouldn’t have to perform?”
His smile changed to a smirk. “I think some Herald would jump in after you, the Healers would stuff you to the gills with foul-tasting potions, and the Bardic Council would ask you to play from your bed.”
“Drat.” She flopped back onto her pillows and closed her eyes, then forced herself to ask the question she least wanted to know the answer to. “So when do you go on circuit?”
She heard him shrug. “Don’t know. There are only a few Heralds ready to head back out into the field. If I had to guess—and if I’m lucky enough to be one of the first picks for my internship—I might get to go with Herald Wil when he heads out again.”
Lelia’s eyes snapped open.
“Go with who?” she asked.
“Herald Wil?”
She sat up and eyed her brother.
“Uh,” he said. “What?”
She smiled. “Wishing you had that Mindtouch Gift, don’t you?”
“Dear sister,” he replied somberly, “I wish for that when I’m around any woman.”
“That’s him,” Lyle said, pointing across the common room and speaking as quietly as he could manage amidst the din.
“Where?” Lelia asked. “The brunette?”
“No, the blond.”
“Oh.” She squinted, and then brightened. “Ooooh. Havens! He’s not much older than us. Bwahaha.”
“You honestly frighten me sometimes.”
“Any idea where his quarters are?”
“You still haven’t told me why you—”
Just then, a knot of Lyle’s year-mates—all dressed in sparkling Whites—came flowing into the common room. One spied Lyle, and instantly he was surrounded and carried off. From the sound of things, they were all intending on heading into Haven to celebrate.
No matter. Lelia had her own work cut out for her. She eyed the exits, took the one closest to Herald Wil’s table, chose a shadowy corner to stand in, and then stood vigil on the door until he strolled out, a book tucked under his arm.
She let him get a little ahead of her, and started to follow.
The sun was setting when she emerged from the Collegium, the humid air heavy with the promise of rain. Her quarry was advancing toward Companion Field, a white shape trotting out to meet him.
Lelia slowed to a stop, gnawing on her lower lip. Vexing. Very vexing. She couldn’t shadow him, not with this much open land between them. He’d see her coming. And then—
What? She blinked, realizing she was being stupid. He’s a Herald. He has to like you. She lifted her chin. Go talk to him, ask him your questions, and write your song!
Yes, that was exactly what she would do.
Herald Wil leaned with his back to the fence, his arms folded over his chest and his eyes half-shut.
“It’s hot,” he confessed.
:Rain’s coming,: Vehs replied.
“Good. This weather is giving me a headache.”
:Bard’s coming.:
“What?” He opened his eyes fully to stare at his Companion.
Just then, he heard the crush and rustle of someone walking through grass. Turning his head, he saw a small form in rust-red walking toward him.
:Worse than a Bard,: he thought at his Companion. :It’s a Bard-trainee.:
“Pardon me, m’lord Herald,” the girl said. She was short and fine-boned, with straight black hair and dusky skin. Her voice was surprisingly low and mellifluous. “Can I ask you about Daryann?”
Wil stared at her for a moment, dumbstruck.
Then he gave her the best answer he could come up with on short notice.
Malesa looked up with a raised brow as Lelia stomped in and sat down.
“No song?” she asked.
Lelia growled inarticulately.
“I had to go back and rework a couple lines on mine,” Malesa admitted, patting the parchments spread out on the Library table. “I found I used ‘light’ no less than five times in the first six verses.”
Lelia mumbled and snarled.
“Silly error, really, but that’s what happens when you write something fast—”
“I found Herald Wil,” Lelia said.
Malesa blinked. “Herald Who?”
“The brother of Herald Daryann.”
“Bright Havens! Where?”
“He’s back from circuit,” Lelia continued through gritted teeth. “I spotted him in Companion’s Field.” She was omitting some truth by phrasing it that way, but she didn’t think Malesa would care that she had been stalking the Herald. “I went up to him and asked a question.”
“And?” Malesa asked, chin in hand.
“He said no.” Lelia looked down at the brown-and-gray quill Malesa had been using. “Do you think if I stabbed myself in the eye with that thing—”
“Plenty of stories about blind Bards playing harp.”
“Maybe if I got ink poisoning.”
Malesa smirked. “So he said no?”
“Emphatically.” Actually, what he’d done was swung up onto his Companion and ridden off. And the look he’d given her!
Fit to freeze hellfires, she thought with a shiver.
“What did you say?” Malesa asked.
“ ‘Can I ask you about Daryann?’ ”
“Did you introduce yourself?”
“Not exactly,” she said slowly.
“You just went up and asked him, ‘Hey, about that dead sister of yours. . . .’ ”
“Well . . . when you put it that way. . . .”
Malesa put her head in her hands. “Oh, ’Lia.”
“What?”
“It’s a wonder sometimes that you’re a Bard. You have the tact of a stud in heat.”
Lelia bristled. “It was an honest question!”
“There’s honesty, and then there’s rude. Did you even stop to consider his feelings?”
Lelia scowled and stared at the table. She’d expected comfort and commiseration from Malesa. Not a tonguelashing on the ethics of questioning a subject.
“I just wanted to know,” Lelia muttered.
“So what are you going to do now?”
Lelia thought about it for a moment. “Seduce him,” she said decisively.
“Please tell me you jest.”
Lelia wiggled her eyebrows.
“Well, you have fun.” Malesa stood up, collecting her scrolls. “I’m off to practice the bridge of my stunning piece of genius.”
“Fine, leave me to my misery.” Lelia waved her off, then leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling.
“This,” she said to no one in particular, “is going to be a challenge.”
Lelia was anxious and fidgety all through class and morning chores, most of which involved restringing harps and lutes. The humidity had broken with a brief rain, but the result had been many out-of-tune instruments and much trainee busywork.
At the lunch bell, Lelia skipped the Bardic common room and instead retrieved a bandolier of knives from her quarters and took herself out to the practice salle. Even the Weaponsmaster had to eat sometime, and there was no one outside to watch her as she threw over and over, the handleless blades landing dead center more often than not.
“Nice grouping,” a voice behind her said as she was pulling her last knife out of the wooden target. “Didn’t know they were teaching Bards these things.”