‘Must tip forward a great deal,’ Brasti observed.
‘Shh …’
‘My Lords and Ladies,’ the Duke’s voice boomed out.
‘Good acoustics, too,’ Kest said.
‘Would you stop encouraging him?’
‘My friends!’ the Duke continued, a smile across his face, then, ‘No, not just friends: my family. As we assemble here on the eve of Ganath Kalila, our most blessed celebration, in which we rebind the ties that make Rijou a true family, my heart is full!’
A great deal of cheering ensued. Unsurprisingly, the cheers were more muted the further down the tiers I looked.
‘My heart is full and my soul soars, not only because today my beautiful daughter is brought into my life—’ And here he revealed Valiana, dazzling in deep purple, with softly-coloured lilac gemstones woven in her hair, as she rose to the oohs and ahhs of the assembled crowd.
‘I say, my joy is not only that I am rejoined by a daughter, but that she has been so well protected by both Ducal guardsmen and brave Trattari, who have risked their lives to bring her to us safely.’
There was a gasp from the crowd. That may have been the first nice thing said about us by a noble in – well, possibly for ever.
‘Well, that was nice, really,’ said Brasti.
‘Yes, but why?’ I wondered.
‘And this, the love and devotion of such disparate moral characters for my daughter show all of us …’
‘Ah,’ I said. ‘There it is.’
‘… further, shows to all of us, men, Saints and Gods alike, that Valiana is and will be the glory that unifies all our peoples. From the noblest family to the basest criminal …’
‘See, now I’m not sure if he really likes us at all,’ Brasti said.
‘Shut up now. This is where it happens.’
‘… all of our people will come to love, to admire and, above all else, to need Valiana to lead us into the future. She has passed her Heart’s Trial and, with no stain or malice in her soul, she will bring us together: one people, united and free, under the benevolent rule of the Princess Valiana!’
A roaring cheer emanated from the Golden Tier; no doubt these favoured nobles had already been well-briefed about their imminent enthusiasm. From the Silver Tier there were some muted sounds, and I thought I could distinguish some cries of shock, even anger. From the Oaken Tier there was confusion, followed by rampant cheering and clapping, not because they understood what was going on, but because they understood that they had better start expressing their pleasure at the announcement. I doubt anyone cared what sounds came from the Iron Tier.
‘I can take her out before the guardsmen get in the way,’ Kest said. Then he turned to Brasti. ‘But I can’t get the Duke as well. They’ll have me by then. Can you get there and kill him before they catch you?’
Brasti looked at him, then at the stairs that joined the levels.
‘I—’
Feltock had his dinner knife in his hand and was ready to launch himself at Kest.
‘Saints, all of you, shut up and sit down,’ I said.
‘This is it, Falcio,’ Kest said to me urgently. ‘This is how they’re going to destroy everything the King worked for. Tell me why not – give me one reason – one good reason – why I shouldn’t stop this storm before it begins?’
I grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him hard so that his nose was an inch from mine. I locked eyes with him. ‘Because. We’re. Not. Fucking. Assassins.’
‘I should have the lot of you killed, you damnable treachers!’ Feltock growled.
‘Now, now; the Duke’s all for unity – he said so,’ Brasti said. ‘Let’s not spoil the party.’
‘On your fucking honour – whatever that’s worth. On your fucking honour you swear to me you won’t hurt that girl, or I vow, Greatcoats or not, I’ll take the lot of you down seven hells with me.’
I turned to Feltock. ‘I am Falcio val Mond. I am the First Cantor of the Greatcoats. I swear neither I nor any of mine shall lay arms against Valiana, be she a Princess, a Queen or simply the foolish, half-witted girl I’ve grown accustomed to.’
Kest’s eyes never left mine.
‘I want to hear it from him,’ Feltock said, pointing his knife at Kest.
‘It is as he says,’ Kest spoke softly. ‘For so long as Falcio is alive and First Cantor of the Greatcoats, I will not raise arms against your mistress.’
Feltock put his knife down.
‘Well then, I suppose that’s as settled as things are likely to get,’ Brasti said cheerfully. ‘Oh, and look, they’re about to start the dancing.’ With that he bounded off and up the stairs to the Oaken Tier. Having no desire to sit in the company of Kest and Feltock, I joined him.
All might come to enjoy the musicians and the dancing on the grand oval-shaped floor, from the highest to the lowest tiers. The first few dances were lovely reels, interspersed with one formal dance and the occasional slower dance for couples. Only a few of the nobles joined in, but the Duke himself, accompanied by who I imagine were several of his favoured families, took a turn on the floor. Brasti was brazen as always, dancing with any woman who would tolerate him. He came close to dancing with a young noblewoman, until her father cast an angry eye in her direction and she hurriedly pulled away.
Me, I was more interested in watching the musicians. There were a full dozen of them, on a low stage to the right of the dance floor. They were young, for the most part, but led by an older man who seemed ill-suited to the task. His grey hair was cut in the long troubadour fashion, falling just above the shoulders, and his clothes were elegant enough, dyed in the Duke’s colours of dark red and gold. His face was weathered and lined, but he would have been handsome once. And he was blind. It took me a moment to realise that, because he appeared to have shining blue eyes. Then I realised they never moved nor blinked: he had gemstones in the sockets where his eyes should have been. As I gazed at him further, I noticed something else: there was something wrong with his feet. He wore a troubadour’s thigh-high leather travelling boots, but his feet didn’t move, even when the rest of his body was swaying along with the music. It’s true that not every musician taps a foot when they play, but I couldn’t recall ever seeing one whose feet stayed so firmly planted in the ground. The man must have no feet, I thought, and his legs must be splinted to wooden stumps of some kind in his boots. I hadn’t seen him come in, but there was a boy, no more than ten, standing next to him and accompanying him on the pipes. I could see he was keeping hold of two black canes. Every once in a while, the man would put his hand on the boy’s arm and tap some complicated sequence on his arm, and the boy in turn would pass him water, or switch out his guitar, or whisper the next song to the other musicians.
Even though I’d been staring at him for ages, it was only when he began to play the slow, soft dancing song called ‘The Lovers’ Twilight’, his guitar sounding out the rapid melody that seemed so simple but I knew was gruellingly complex to perform, that I recognised him. Bal Armidor: the man who had come to my village and sung such songs and stories that they had shaken my soul. Bal Armidor: the man who sang of Greatcoats.
Bal’s hands were moving swiftly upon the strings and the rest of the musicians intertwined their own instruments in and around his melody. The boy opened on the pipes, but after the first verse he put them down and sang a beautiful treble that well suited the song. But I had ceased paying attention to the music, for confusion swirled in my head. How had Bal Armidor come to be here, in the Duke’s palace? I had thought him long gone across the Eastern deserts to the Sun Tribes where he’d sworn he would be the first Western troubadour to master the music of the East.