Silence stretched between them; he felt as if he must be the one to break it. Finally, he said the only thing that was in his mind.
"You should hate me_" And he waited to see that hate and contempt in her eyes for what he had done.
Her expression did not change, not by the slightest bit.
"How could I hate you?" she asked, softly. "You hate yourself more than enough for both of us. I want to help you, T'fyrr. I hope you will let me."
He blinked at her again, and slowly sat up. She shook her hair back out of her face, and rubbed her eyes with her hand as she sat up too.
"I think that there is something that you believe you need to do, to make up for what you did," she said then. "I will help you, if that is what you want. I will come with you to the King, and stand beside you in your task. I will give you my music, and I will give you my magic; you can have one or both, they are freely given."
"And when the King sees again the things that he does not want to see?" T'fyrr asked, very slowly. "Will that_"
She nodded, deliberately. "I believe that will be what you need, as your duty and your penance. It will not be easy, and it will not be pleasant."
He sighed, and yet it was not because of a heaviness of spirit. Somehow, in truly accepting this burden, his spirit felt lighter rather than crushed further down. "No penance is," he replied somberly. Somehow, in the dark despair of last night, he had come to a decision_hopefully, it was one of wisdom and not of weakness and expediency. Theovere was too far down the road of irresponsibility to be recalled by ordinary means. "I will need your magic, if you will give it," he said, feeling as if he were making a formal request or performing a solemn ceremony with those simple words.
She nodded, and bowed her head a little. "Since you will have it, I will give it," she said, making her words a pledge as well as an answer.
Then she raised her lovely, weary eyes to his again and smiled tiredly. "And you should eat_for that matter, so should I. We can do nothing half-starved."
Those words, which would have made him wince away less than a day ago, only made him aware that he was ravenous. "And after we eat?" he asked. "Will you come with me to the Palace?"
"Yes." She brushed her hair back over her shoulders. "It is time that I accepted my responsibilities as well, and stopped hiding in corners behind the name of 'Tanager.' But I will not," she added, with a warning look in her eyes, "be Nightingale. Not here, and not now. I do not trust Tyladen's friends, nor Harperus' associates. They speak too lightly and too often to too many people. They can afford to; they have many protections. I am only a Gypsy, and far from the wagons of my Clan. What few magics I have will not protect me if powerful men come hunting."
"As you are far from your people, I am far from the aeries of mine," he said impulsively, laying his hand over hers. "So perhaps we should fly our pattern together, from now on?"
"And we should begin now." She rose at that, and stretched, lithe and graceful. "Let me get clean, first, then Lyrebird and T'fyrr will eat together, and he will take her to the Palace to present her as his accompanist. Or should you go and make some formal request for an accompanist? Should this be an official, perhaps a royal, appointment?"
He actually managed a smile at that. "It would be easiest simply to do so," he pointed out. "Just as Harperus did with me. If the King hears you once, he will see to it that the appointment simply happens. He is not about to put up with interference from his Council a second time over so 'trivial' a matter as his personal musicians. They believe it is trivial, and it is both unfortunate and our good luck that he does not. This one time, his obsession can work for us."
She paused for a moment, one hand on the door to the bathroom, then nodded. "I think I see that. It is a risk, but so is everything we are doing."
She closed the door behind her, and there came the sound of running water from beyond it. He lay back down on her bed, closing his eyes for a moment, intending to plan out the next few hours in detail. He would have to get her past the guards, first, of course....
But his body had other ideas, and he dozed off, to awaken again with her hand on his arm. She was dressed in one of her most impressive costumes, and he had little doubt that the Ladies of the Court would attempt to emulate her dress before too long. He also had a shrewd notion that they would not succeed.
He got up, finding himself less stiff than he would have expected, given that he had spent the night in a human bed. She sent the bed back up into the wall with a touch of her hand; slipped the carrying case over her larger harp, and slung it across her back. It did not look as incongruous as he would have thought.
"Shall we?" she asked, gesturing to the door. He led the way; she locked the door after them both.
She disappeared into Tyladen's office for a moment, presumably to tell him where they were going and how long they expected to be gone. She is one of their chief attractions; she owes her putative employer that much, I suppose. After a hearty meal in the single eating nook open at this early hour, they went out into the street together. There was no sign of last night's altercation, but the moment they crossed the threshold of Freehold, his hackles went up, and he moved into the center of the street, away from dangerous overhangs.
It did not escape his notice that she made no objection to this, that, in fact, her eyes scanned the mostly-deserted street with as much wariness as his.
They stepped out together onto the cobblestones of the street, both of them dreadfully out of place in this part of the city. Between his appearance and her costume, anyone looking for them was likely to find them immediately.
Well, there was no help for it.
Nightingale walked beside him as serenely as if the previous night had never happened, as if she did not look like an invitation to theft. He tried to imitate her and actually succeeded to a certain extent.
But there was one thing, at least, that he was going to do. He had coins in his garment, plenty of them, and he was not going to appear at the gate to the Palace with her, walking afoot like a pair of vagabonds. As soon as they reached one of the more respectable sections of the city, he hailed a horse-drawn conveyance, an open carriage with two seats that faced each other, and gestured her up into it.
She raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. He took his place beside her, although it was dreadfully uncomfortable and he had to hold his wings and tail at odd angles to get them to fit inside. Now, how am I going to get her inside the gate? The guards aren't going to want to let her pass, she hasn't a safe-conduct or an invitation.... He worried at the problem without coming to a satisfactory solution as the streets grew progressively busier, and stares more covert. This was not the only conveyance on the street, but many of the others were private vehicles, whose occupants gazed at them with surprise. He ignored them, trying to think what he could do with Nightingale. Perhaps he could leave her at the gate, go in, find the Seneschal and get a safe-conduct for her_
But that would leave her alone at the gate, and anyone who spotted her with me on the way here could_do whatever they wanted. She is with me, which makes her presumably valuable to me.