Дэйв Дункан - Magic Casement

Her father did look tired, almost as if he were sitting in shadow when everyone around him was in sunshine.

There were merchants there, with their wives, and a few ship captains, and the bishop and the school teachers; old Kondoral, cupping his ear, tears running in his wrinkles; Chancellor Yaltauri; and Master Poraganu. There were few of the castle staff, for so many were away in the hills, and especially not many young folk, but she could see Lin, who had broken his arm cutting peat of all things—how could he have managed that?—and Kel and Ido and Fan…

And Rap of course.

They were all sitting on the floor at the far end, near the great fireplace—small, wide-eyed children at the front, cross-legged or hugging knees, entranced by the music; the junior staff like Rap gathered behind him. As always, the palace dogs had clustered as close to Rap as they could get.

Before the children, flanked by the lesser tables, the center of the hall was empty except for one chair, and, on that chair the minstrel sat and pleated moonbeams.

Mother Unonini was not there. Mother Unonini was under the care of the physicians, resting in a dark room on a light diet, and Inos could not help but think that there was a small good in that evil, and the thought made her feel guilty,

The fearsome Doctor Sagorn was not there, either—another small good. Even if he was an old friend of her father’s, his glittery eagle gaze and beak nose still frightened her, and she was quite happy that he had pleaded travel weariness to excuse his absence.

Jalon’s song ended and the hall exploded with applause—clapping and cheering and drumming of heels on the stones. The minstrel rose and bowed to the king and then to the rest of the company, and then he came back up to his seat at the high table.

“Your throat must be dry, minstrel?” her father said.

“A little, Sire. And the audience could use a rest, also.”

“That I do not believe. Steward!”

Jalon gratefully accepted a new tankard and said something about fine northern beer before quaffing it. All around the hall conversations began to poke up like spring flowers through snow, as the spell he had painted faded away.

“The imperor has appointed a new marshal of the armies, minstrel?” demanded one of the pompous burghers.

Jalon smiled vaguely. “The old one died, didn’t he?”

The burgher made an impatient noise. “But the new one? Is he warlike?” Inos could not recall that burgher’s name. He looked like a rooster, with red wattles and hair that stuck up. He had perhaps drunk a little too much of the fine northern beer.

“I expect so,” Jalon said. “They usually are, aren’t they?”

“And the witch of the west is dead?” another asked.

The minstrel looked blank and then said, “Yes,” uncertainly.

“This dwarf who’s replaced her—what do you know of him?”

“Er… nothing? Yes, nothing.”

One of the stately matrons frowned at him severely. “Then the Four now consist of three warlocks and only one witch, isn’t that so? Only one of the wardens is a woman, Bright Water.”

Jalon looked even more blank. “Her Omnipotence Umthrum? She’s a woman, isn’t she?”

There was a long, puzzled pause, and then a little, ferrety sailor said, “She died years ago. Before I was born.”

The minstrel sighed. “I’m afraid politics is not a great interest of mine, master.”

Jalon had come from Hub itself, capital of the Impire. The honored guests, eager for news and gossip, had been firing questions at him all evening, but he never seemed to have answers. He was a very sweet young man, Inos thought, but as insubstantial as a morning mist. She wondered how he ever found his way from castle to castle or town to town; he was probably always fro-ing when he should be to-ing, she thought, and chuckled to herself, with a glance in the direction of Rap.

“We have heard rumors of much dragon damage in the southern provinces,” another burgher proclaimed, meaning it as a question to Jalon. “On Kith, especially.”

“Oh?” the minstrel said. “I’m afraid I must have missed that.” The worthies of Krasnegar exchanged glances of exasperation.

“What sort of gowns are the ladies wearing in the Impire these days, Master Jalon?” That was Aunt Kade, who must be worrying about all those fabrics and how many of them she could purloin for her own use and where she would find enough seamstresses to sew them all in the few days before departure.

“Very high waists,” Jalon said firmly. “Flowing out like trumpets at the floor, with fairly short trains. Puffed at the shoulders, sleeves tight at the top, flaring at the wrist. Lace cuffs. Necklines are high, with lace trim, also. Floral prints are very popular, in cottons or silk.”

The table reacted with stunned silence to this unexpected note of authority. Inos noticed that her father was grinning.

“Master Jalon is a fine artist, also,” the king remarked. “Would there possibly be time for you to paint my daughter’s portrait before you leave, Jalon?”

Jalon studied Inos for a moment. “Had I a lifetime to spend I could hardly do justice to such beauty, Sire.”

Inos felt herself blush and everyone else laughed. They did not have to laugh quite so hard, she thought.

The minstrel turned back to the king. “If I can lay my hands on materials, Sire… they might not be readily available here. But a drawing, certainly. It would be a labor of love.”

“Could you sketch us some of these gowns you have just described, Master Jalon?” Aunt Kade inquired, blinking eagerly.

“Of course, Highness.”

Aunt Kade beamed with evident relief and turned to Mistress Meolorne to ask her opinions on seamstresses.

Inos looked longingly at the young folk beyond the tables. They were chattering and laughing, Rap telling a story, Lin topping it. What use was it to be a princess if you could not do as you pleased? Why did she have to be trapped up here with all these stuffy old folks? Quietly she eased her chair back.

Aunt Kade’s head flicked round. “Inos?”

“I thought I might—”

“Let her,” the king said softly. He did not say “It is the last time,” but she thought that he was thinking it.

Gratefully Inos rose, smiled a politeness around the guests, and muttered something inaudible. Then she hurried across the so-empty center of the hall to the group on the floor. The young ones saw her coming and started to open a path for her, and they cleared an opening all the way to Lin and Rap. Rap shoved at a couple of dogs, and Lin heaved himself aside one-armed. Now why did they all assume she would want to sit just there?.

But she did.

As she settled down, he turned to look at her and his big gray eyes grew even bigger at the sight of the pearls.

They smiled doubtfully at each other.

“How was the man-at-armsing?” she whispered. .

He grinned sheepishly. “Boring!”

She smiled. Good! In that case… “I’m sorry I was nasty to you, Rap.”

He turned a little pink, looked down at his knees, and said, “Then we can still be fiends?”

They sniggered in unison.

She put her hand on the floor, next to his.

His hand slipped over hers.

No one would notice.

He had big, strong hands, warm and calloused. Man’s hands.

Yes, he was taller. It had not been the boots, and his worn old doublet was tight across the shoulders. A friendly smell of horses always hung around Rap.

Running about with stableboys, her father had said…