“It seems an odd sort of party for a lady of the court to throw,” Leoff admitted.
Gilmer reached for a passing tray and snagged them two cups of wine.
“Let’s walk a bit,” he said. “Have a look at your hammarharp.” They moved toward the instrument, which was still across the room.
“These families here are the backbone of Newland,” Gilmer said. “They may not have noble blood, but they have money, and they have militias, and they have the loyalty of those who work the land. They haven’t been happy with the noble families for a generation, but things are worse now, especially since what happened at Broogh. There’s a deep canal between the royals and the people out here, and it’s getting deeper and wider every day.”
“But Duke Artwair—”
“He’s a different sort, and as the lady Gramme said, he’s been sent away, hasn’t he? And the emperor don’t turn his eye here. He don’t hear us or see us, and he don’t help us.”
“The emperor—” Leoff began.
“I know about the emperor,” he said. “But his mother, the queen—where is she? We’ve heard nothing from her.”
“But she—” He stopped, unsure if he was allowed to mention his commission.
He sipped his wine. “What is this, then?” he asked. “Why am I here?”
“I don’t know,” Gilmer replied. “But it’s something dangerous. I only slipped in to warn you. I’ll be leaving as soon as I see my chance.”
“Wait. What do you mean, something dangerous?”
“When the nobles court the landwaerds like this, it’s not usually just to be friendly. Especially when no one seems to know who is really in control of this country. The lady Gramme has a son, you know—he was standing just next to you. I suppose you know who his father was.”
“Oh,” Leoff said.
“Auy. Take my advice—play something on that hammarharp and then get out of here.”
Leoff nodded, wondering if Alvreic would take him back if he asked.
They had reached the instrument. It was beautiful, maple lacquered a deep red with black-and-yellow keys.
“What are you doing, now that your malend is burned?”
“Duke Artwair arranged a new position,” Gilmer said. “One of the malends on Saint Thon’s Graf, near Meolwis. Not too far from here.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
He settled on the stool and glanced back up. Gilmer was gone. With a sigh he touched the keyboard and started playing.
It was an old composition of his, one that had pleased the Duke of Glastir very well. He’d once been pleased with it, too, but now it felt clumsy and childish. He pushed on to the end, adding variations in hopes of making it more interesting, but when he was done, it felt hollow.
To his surprise, the final notes were greeted by applause, and he realized a small crowd had gathered, Lady Gramme among them. “Enchanting,” she said. “Please play something else.”
“Whatever you would like, milady.”
“I wonder if I could commission a piece from you.”
“I would be pleased to do so, though I’ve already agreed to one commission I must complete first.”
“I was rather thinking you could invent something for this occasion,” she said. “I’m told you can do such things, and I’ve made a wager with the Duke of Shale that you can make an impromptu that pleases.”
“I could try,” he agreed reluctantly.
“But see here,” said the duke, a puffy man in a jacket that looked too tight, “how shall we know if he is inventing and not playing some obscure older piece?”
“I think we can trust to his honor,” Gramme replied.
“Not where my purse is concerned,” the duke huffed.
Leoff cleared his throat. “If it please you, Duke, hum a snatch of some favorite tune of yours.”
“Well . . .” He considered for a moment, then whistled a few notes. The crowd murmured laughter, and Leoff wondered exactly what sort of tune it was.
Leoff spied Areana in the crowd. “And you, my dear,” he said. “Give me another melody.”
Areana blushed. She looked around nervously, then sang:
She had a sweet soprano voice.
“Very well,” Leoff said, “that’s a start.”
He began with Areana’s tune, because it began with a question: “How will I know my lover, good mother? How will I know my true love?” He put it in a plaintive key, with a very light bass line, and now the mother answered, in fuller, more colorful chords, “You’ll know him by his coat, which has never known a needle.”
He separated the two halves of the melody now, and began weaving them through each other, and as counterpoint added in the duke’s whistle near the top of the hammarharp’s range. When they heard that, almost everyone laughed, and Leoff himself smiled. He’d guessed the juxtaposition of the lover’s riddle song against the other, probably vulgar tune, would amuse, and now he made it a dialogue: the girl asking how she would know her lover, the leering lecher who overheard her, and the stern mother warning the fellow away, bringing it all to a head with a sort of bang as the mother threw a crock at the man and he ran off, his melody quickly fading, until only the girl remained.
Raucous applause followed, and Leoff suddenly felt as if he’d been playing in a tavern, but unlike the polite and often insincere acknowledgment he’d had in the various courts he had entertained, this felt sincere to the bone.
“That’s really quite remarkable,” Lady Gramme said. “You have a rare talent.”
“My talent,” Leoff said, “such as it is, belongs to the saints. But I’m glad I pleased you.”
The lady smiled and began to say something else, but then a sudden commotion at the door made everyone turn. Leoff heard a clash of steel and a howl of pain, and grim-faced men in armor bearing swords burst into the hall, followed by archers. The room seemed to explode into chaos; Leoff tried to get up, but someone bumped into him from behind and he tumbled to the floor.
“By order of the emperor,” a heavy voice thundered above the general din, “you are all arrested for collaboration against the throne.”
Leoff tried to rise, but a boot struck him in the head.
8
Swanmay
Neil tensed himself and saw all his roads go black. If he killed Swanmay, he would protect Anne’s destination and serve the queen in the only way he now could. But to kill a woman he had promised not to harm would be the end of any honor he could claim.
Either way, he was certainly dead.
He stared at Swanmay’s white throat, willing her closer, wondering how he could have been so wrong about her.
She bowed her head slightly, and wisps of her short hair fell across her face. “I wish I could grant you your wish, Sir Neil,” she said. “But I cannot take you to Paldh. I am nearly free, do you understand? If I help you more than I have, I jeopardize everything. And you would probably be killed, which I would not see.”
He let his head relax on the pillow. Bright spots danced in his vision, and for a moment he wondered if she had enchanted him somehow.
But he recognized the onset of the battle rage. It was leaving him now, but his blood was still moving too fast, and he was beginning to shake.
“Are you well?” she asked.
“I was dizzy for a moment,” he said. “Please. What did you mean—about me being killed?”
“I told you that your friends’ ship escaped the harbor, and that much was true. But they were followed—I saw the ship sail after them. If they are not caught at sea, they will be caught at Paldh. I imagine there will be a fight then, and you are in no condition to fight.”