“Why should the praifec disapprove?” Areana demanded. “There is nothing unholy here, surely?”
“Not in the least, I assure you.”
“Then—”
“The praifec is a man of the saints,” the governess suddenly interjected. “We certainly cannot go against his word.”
“But it doesn’t seem reasonable—” Areana began.
“Areana, no,” her governess warned. “You shouldn’t get mixed up in this.”
Areana faced Leoff. “Why do you take this risk?” she asked. “Why do you ask me to?”
“Because it will be magnificent,” he said softly. “I know in my heart it is right, and I will not be deterred. I told you I would never compromise my music, and I never will, not when I know I have created something worth hearing.”
Areana continued to stare at him, biting a little at her lip. Then she lowered her eyes.
“Jen is right,” she said. “I believe you, Leoff. I believe in you. But I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”
He nodded, feeling disheartened. “Thank you for your time, then. It was good to hear you sing a bit of it once, anyway.”
“The honor was mine, sir,” she said. “And thank you for your honesty.”
“Come,” the governess said. “We might be in trouble even for coming here.”
They left, and Leoff sat back down, disheartened, hoping all the auditions didn’t go this way.
It was a bell later before the next arrived, and Leoff felt a ferocious smile widen his face when he saw who it was.
“Edwyn!”
Edwyn Mylton was a tall man, gangly as a scarecrow, with a face that seemed at first glance long and sorrowful until you got to the eyes, which positively gleamed with mischief and goodwill. Edwyn grabbed him in a bear hug, slapping him on the back.
“Court composer, eh?” he said. “I always knew you would make well in the world, Leoff.” He lowered his voice. “Though it’s a bit shaky around here, isn’t it? Was there really a coup?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so—but my performance goes on, er—in a sense. How have things been with you? I never dreamed to find you turning up at my doorstop. I thought you were still playing for the dreadful Duke of Ranness, a hundred leagues from here.”
“Ah, no,” Edwyn said. “We had a bit of a falling out, me and the duke. Or perhaps I should say a throwing out—of me. I’ve been in Loiyes, at the court of the duchess there, a delightful if taxing creature. I heard about this performance from Rothlinghaim, who received your invitation but could not come. I hoped to present myself as a suitable replacement.”
“A very suitable replacement,” Leoff agreed.
“Well, don’t keep me waiting, man, show me the piece.”
“A moment, Edwyn,” Leoff said. “I need to make plain a few things first—about the performance.”
He explained to Edwyn the same things he’d told Areana, but with a bit more detail about the particular objections.
“But he can’t actually do anything, this praifec, can he?” Edwyn objected. “He has no temporal power.”
“No, but then again, he has the ear of the prince, whom I don’t know at all. I cannot say what will happen when he finds out that I’ve deceived him.”
“But won’t he attend rehearsals?”
“I’m sure he will. But I think with careful planning, we can rehearse the piece the way he wants it and perform it as it should be done.”
Edwyn nodded. “How serious do you think it will get?”
“At the very least I will lose my position. At the very worst I shall be burned as a shinecrafter. I expect something in the middle. I honestly believe the risk is much smaller, if not negligible, for my musicians, but I can in no way promise it.”
“Hmmph. Well, let me see that. I’d like to know what all the fuss is about.”
When Edwyn saw the first page, his face and body went still, and he said nothing until he’d read every last word and note. He looked up at Leoff then.
“Saints damn you, Leoff,” he sighed. “You knew I would risk death to perform this.”
“I’d rather hoped,” Leoff replied. “Now, let’s only hope we can find twenty-nine more such like-minded souls.”
“You will find them,” Edwyn said. “I shall help you.”
By the end of the day he had recruited eight more players and had sent as many away. The next day went better, because word was starting to get around, and only those with stronger resolve showed up. He didn’t worry that anything would get back to the praifec at this point—he trusted everyone he had invited, and the musicians’ guild was tight-lipped about its members and their business, as a matter of principle.
He was nearly ready to end his day when he heard another tap at the door. He opened it and found Areana there, this time without her governess.
“Hello,” Leoff said uncertainly.
She held her head high. “If you haven’t filled the part of Lihta,” she said, “I would very much like to sing it.”
“But your governess—your parents—”
“I have some money of my own,” she said. “I have taken a room in town. I know my parents, and they will come around.”
Leoff nodded. “That’s wonderful news,” he said. “I just want to be certain you really understand the danger you might be in if you join me in this.”
“I understand, cavaor,” she said. “I am prepared to face whatever punishment should be pronounced upon me.”
“I hope that will be none at all,” Leoff said, “but I thank you for your courage.” He gestured toward the hammarharp. “Shall we begin rehearsal?”
“It would be my pleasure,” she returned.
And all Leoff’s doubts vanished—but for one.
11
Roderick
As Anne wheeled her mount from the road and into the forest, a wind blew through, resurrecting the dead leaves into aerial dancers pirouetting in vorticose ballet. A faint chorus of women’s voices attended them, thin and without depth, as if the song had fallen from a great height and been stripped and broken as it fell until nothing was left but a memory imprinted in the air, with that fading, too.
She thought she heard her name and then only the thumping of Tarry’s hooves and her breath, which seemed almost to hover around her rather than come from inside. The tree boles went by hypnotically, one by one, rows of columns that never seemed to end.
Tarry leapt a fallen log and nearly stumbled on the slope beyond, but he recovered, and then the slope evened out. For that brief moment when she seemed to float, sunlight seemed to explode around her, melting the trees down into green grass and misty rinns far below, and she was again on Faster, hurtling down the Sleeve, terrified, giddy, and blissful with life.
For an instant she held it, but then it was gone, and she realized with a leaden heart that that, too, was only a memory of something irrevocably lost. That life, that childhood, was gone forever, and even if she made it home it wouldn’t be the home she knew.
Tarry squealed and stumbled again, legs buckling, and in a fog of golden light Anne hurled forward through the dancing leaves and fertile smell of promised rain. She hit the ground and bounced, heard something snap, and pain like nearby thunder detonated in her thigh. She felt the flesh skinning from her elbows and arms as she wrapped them to protect her head, and finally fetched to a stop against a stump amidst the scents of turned earth, blood, and broken roots.
For a time she forgot where she was, and puzzled at the branches above, wondering what they could be, as something beat toward her like an approaching drummer.
She saw a face she ought to know but couldn’t quite place, before it—like the wind and her childhood—faded.
Something lapped around her like the tongue of a giant dog, or waves on the strand, irregular in rhythm, soothing. Anne tried to open her eyes, but they seemed infinitely heavy, so instead she looked through the lids and saw her room—except it wasn’t her room. It resembled her room, but the walls were falling in, and through a great hole near the ceiling red light streamed in that terrified her even to look at, and nearby—from the corner of her eye—she saw the door opening, and someone stepping through who shouldn’t be there, whom she couldn’t look at, and she knew suddenly that she hadn’t awakened at all, but was still in some Black Mary of waking.