Minstrel's Serenade. Aubrie Dionne

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СКАЧАТЬ just like the rats in the wheat sheds and the crop-eating locusts. Except, if Bron’s wisdom rang true, these pests had a mind of their own. The wyverns’ possible sentience frightened her more than their fire breath or pin-sharp teeth.

      Her thoughts wandered to dark places until the boy spoke again.

      “Thank you for saving me, Danika.”

      “’Twas the least I could do. Remember, you saved me, too.”

      The carriage followed a winding road, crawling up a steep embankment. Moss brushed against the walls as if they rode through an old man’s beard. Nip stuck his arm out and tugged on a wisp until the end came free, sending glitter motes across the velvet carriage seat.

      “What’s it made of?” He ran his fingers through the strands as they disintegrated with his touch.

      “Magic and music.” Danika caught a shimmer of glitter on the tip of her fingernail. “In the Forest of Song, they are one and the same.”

      Snippets of melodies rode the wind, accompanied by tinkling chords and a low humming buzz. Now and then one particular note would catch itself in her heart and she’d sigh, remembering days long past when her father took her hunting, or when her mother sang a lullaby.

      The orchestra of sounds grew louder as they rode into the minstrels’ domain until a mighty symphony pounded bass notes in the bottom of Danika’s stomach. She glanced at Nip. Would he block his ears? But the boy listened carefully, as if each refrain held the answers to secrets he’d long sought.

      The carriage rose from the mist of the forest and turned a bend.

      “Whoa.” Bron’s voice echoed as a dissonance against the backdrop of harmonious sounds. The horses slowed, giving Danika and Nip time to take in the scene spread before them. Gabled cottages, nestled in long-stemmed grassy hills, shone pearly white in the rising moon.

      When the carriage door squeaked open Danika expected Bron’s paw-like palm and met Valorian instead. He offered a long-fingered hand to help her from the carriage. She slid her fingers into his, feeling his cool, soft skin.

      “Follow me.”

      She eyed Bron as he untied the horses. He bowed his head in deference, failing to meet her eyes. A pang of guilt swept through her. How could she leave him to be a second hand? Valorian pulled her forward, and she had no choice but to leave Bron behind. Nip followed behind her and Bron took up the rear with both horses in tow.

      Valorian led her past ivy-laced village gates. The cottages glowed warm honey light onto the pebble stone as the denizens prepared their evening meal. Every structure resonated with a different chord, each one more beautiful than the last. The plunk of a harpsichord accompanied their steps, followed by the trill of a flute and the swell of a fiddle. A solemn chant became a meandering melody and then turned into a lilting lullaby. Did the residents ever tire from making music? Surely they must sleep and allow silence to descend.

      “Music protects this village,” Valorian explained as if he’d heard her question. “We must churn out sound at all hours, each sentinel taking turns.”

      They followed the main thoroughfare to a domed cathedral at the town center. Crystal flutes hung from the ramparts, tinkling in the evening breeze. Once in a while, the wind hit the mouthpiece in the right angle, sounding a breathy note.

      Danika had imagined the House of Song as a giant cottage, or a vast and insurmountable fortress. But now, seeing the legend for the first time, the House of Song couldn’t possibly be anything besides a reverberating dome. The vault echoed the music like a massive speaker, resonating as each note careened through the lofty ceiling.

      Diaphanous moonlight shone through the pinnacle of the glass dome, illuminating a throne made from bluewood sitting on a stage surrounded by feathers. On the throne sat a middle-aged man blowing scales on a wooden flute. As he played, sparrows flew in twirling arcs above his head.

      Danika froze, unwilling to interrupt the tranquil scene, but Valorian gently pulled her forward. Eagerness shone in his metallic eyes, as if he’d introduce her as his new bride and not someone who’d trespassed in their forest.

      The King of Song paused on a low note, the sound echoing before tapering off into the ceiling. The sparrows settled on rafters above his head as he turned to greet the odd procession. Bron had tied the horses to a lamppost near a gushing fountain where they could drink. He stood behind her and Valorian. The boy hid in their shadow.

      “Father, may I introduce Danika Rubystone, Princess of Ebonvale, and her retinue.”

      Valorian turned to Danika, “And may I introduce to you, King Troubadir, my father.”

      King Troubadir set his wooden flute upon the throne’s arm with a click. “This is a long anticipated meeting, dear Princess. Come, take a seat.”

      He gestured to a row of satin pillows circling a low table on the stage. Valorian led Danika up three marble steps. Releasing his arm, she adjusted her skirts and positioned herself on the nearest cushion. After she nodded to Bron and Nip, they did the same. Bron sat at the opposite end of the table, where he had the greatest tactical advantage should he need the use of his claymore. Nip stayed by her side, pleasing Danika more than words could say. Valorian lit several lanterns of painted glass and took a seat by his father.

      A servant appeared, carrying a tray with steaming tea and an ale loaf. Nip whipped his hand out and fingered the largest piece. He stuffed his soot-streaked face until his cheeks stuck out. Danika watched the king’s expression, ready to correct the boy, but the older man smiled. “Help yourselves. You’ve endured a long journey, no doubt.”

      Bron sniffed the tea and took a hesitant sip. He nodded to Danika before she lifted the ivory chalice to her lips. She inhaled the scent of wilderberries and tasted sweetness.

      “Thank you, Your Highness, for such wondrous refreshment. Indeed, we’ve had a difficult journey. The wyverns have risen from the south, invading Shaletown, and I’m eager to return to my stronghold.”

      “Surely, you are.” Troubadir sipped his tea and crumbled a piece of ale loaf in his fingertips. “My audience will not detain you at length. However, I suggest you stay the night at least. The Forest of Song is protected by enchantments, but some beasts roam free, undeterred.”

      Danika flicked her gaze over to Bron and the warrior nodded his acquiescence. She buttered a piece of ale loaf with a tiny silver knife. “So be it.”

      Troubadir’s lips stretched into a pleasant smile. “My servants will arrange your chambers shortly.” The smile faded as soon as it appeared. “Now, to discuss the urgent matters at hand. We are both aware of the uprising of wyverns, as proven by your witness of Shaletown’s attack.”

      Danika glanced over at Nip but the remainder of the ale loaf distracted him.

      “I do not wish to sit here and talk of the past.” She raised her eyebrows, gesturing to the soot-covered boy.

      “Of course. My mistake.” He sipped his tea. “Let us talk of the future. I propose an alliance between Ebonvale and the House of Song.”

      Danika stiffened. Her father had warned her for years not to trust the song spinners. He had due cause for his concerns. They could change a person’s mind with only a few plucked notes. Dabbling with the minstrels was akin to stoking a fire.

      She СКАЧАТЬ