Fire Dragon - Katharine Kerr [58]
“Maddyn the bard,” the boy announced. “My lady Princess Bellyra would like you to come play for her and her womenfolk. Well, when you've finished your breakfast.”
“That's a great honor, Your Highness.” Maddyn busied himself with a spoonful of porridge to give himself time to think. To face her so soon, to face her women while he smiled and sang and acted as if he were but the servant he'd always been—could he? He would have to. He looked up to see the young prince waiting, his hands tucked behind his back, his legs spread a little apart, in clear imitation of his brother.
“It gladdens my heart that my songs please her,” Maddyn said. “I can't go into the women's hall, though. Will they come down here?”
“They won't. They want you to come to the council chamber.” Riddmar hesitated, his grey eyes gone wide. “Maddyn, do you know why the princess won't eat?”
“It's part of her affliction, Your Highness.”
“Lady Elyssa told me that she was ill from childbirth. Is that the affliction?”
“It is.”
“It's awfully sad. I wish she'd eat more. Lady Degwa's always coaxing her and suchlike.”
“Good. We all have to eat to live.”
“That's what Lady Degwa says, too. Anyway, shall I tell them that you'll play for them?”
“Please do, Your Highness. I'll finish this porridge, and then I'll fetch my harp and come to the council chamber.”
“Splendid. Oh, and she says, don't sing the fox song.”
“I won't, not with Lady Degwa there. Don't worry.”
Riddmar turned and ran off, racing up the staircase. Maddyn realized he was no longer hungry. He gulped down the ale in his tankard and left.
By the time Maddyn reached the chamber, the princess and her two serving women were sitting in a curve of chairs by one wall. Their maidservants sat on the floor behind them, while Prince Riddmar sat cross-legged in front of Bellyra. Maddyn set his harp in its leather sack down on a table and bowed to the noble-born. He'd never put on such a skilled performance as he was doing then, he felt, by bowing to the princess in exactly the same way as he always had, by glancing her way with naught but a pleasant courtesy in his eyes. In turn she smiled at him with the same amiable smile that she bestowed upon her pet cats or a gift of flowers.
“I'll tell you why I summoned you, bard,” Bellyra said. “It's hot, and we all felt so cross and sullen. I thought that music would distract us.”
“A splendid idea, Your Highness,” Maddyn said. “But forgive my voice this morning. I've never been much of a singer at the best of times, and it's thick from the heat.”
“Oh come now, Maddyn,” Elyssa broke in. “No apologies. Just music.”
Since he was far more accustomed to singing in a barracks or hall than in private audiences, Maddyn shunned the chairs and sat upon the long council table to play. Once he'd tuned his harp and done a few runs on its dweomer-sweet strings, the Wildfolk began to gather, sprites and gnomes clustering round him on the table. In their comforting presence he could play without thought of either danger or desire.
Late that afternoon, messengers arrived from Prince Maryn. The army would be returning home on the morrow. Maddyn wondered if he were sorry or glad—he could have persuaded himself either way.
By the time the army rode through the gates of the city, Nevyn was so exhausted from the constant travelling that the black and chaotic towers of Dun Deverry looked beautiful to him. For a while, at least, he would sleep in a proper bed and have the leisure to pursue his own dweomerwork as well as the all-important task of training his apprentice. Yet the ruins of the city reminded him that rebuilding the kingdom would take his and more than his energies: the prince's, Oggyn's, and those of the prince's vassals as well. This summer, perhaps, while Maryn was off chasing bandits, he would see to the beginnings of Dun Deverry's rebirth.
In the slanting