Fortune's Fool - Mercedes Lackey [40]
His mind made up now, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, pulled his balalaika out from under it, and headed out the door and back down the narrow wooden stairs. No need to lock up here. These people were as honest as they came, and no one would touch his things while he was gone, which was another reason why he liked this inn. If ever he was able to leave the Palace, and give over being the Fool…this would be where he would want to live.
As if he ever could. As well wish for the moon.
Bah. Tell your troubles to the sea.
The odd thing about the sea was that he had always had the feeling it was listening to him, from the very first moment he’d first walked down onto a beach. Well, stranger things had happened, and he had been a part of some of them. Maybe it did listen to him.
Though if he got a wish-fulfilling flounder one day when he was singing his sorrows…he might well ask it to fulfill three of its own wishes. Wishes were dangerous things, and The Tradition was just waiting for an injudicious one.
The various couples were so engrossed in each other that they never even noticed him go through the common room, even though normally the sight of the balalaika would have elicited calls for music. He sighed heavily as he opened the bulky front door, made like the rest of the inn from salvaged ship timbers, and let himself out.
The village was situated a prudent distance back from the shore, behind a ridge of sheltering hills and dunes. Despite that most of the folk here made their living as fishermen, it was a lot wiser to have to make a long hike down to the beach than take the chance that your house would wash away in a storm. There was a well-worn path that led down to the shore, over the ridge, around one of the hills, and then wound among the dunes. But he didn’t take it. He wanted to go somewhere that he wouldn’t be running into yet more courting couples; he’d had quite enough of them already, really.
As the sun began the slow, downward slide into late afternoon, he found a stretch of beach that was just as deserted as he could have wanted. Settling himself into a little nook among the rocks, he closed his eyes and began to play. The sound of the waves near at hand set his rhythm for him; the sand was soft, the rock at his back sun-warmed. Since there was no one to hear him but himself, he gave in and indulged in the most melancholy of songs; though none of them were anything he had ever written. He just wasn’t the type to write sad songs, even when this mood was on him.
He had moved on to his third song when, eyes still closed, he had the distinct feeling that someone was watching him. Irritated, because, after all, he had come down here to be alone, he opened his eyes.
His irritation vanished without a trace.
He was being watched and listened to, quite attentively in fact, by someone who had perched atop a nearby rock herself. But she was possibly the most adorable little creature he had ever seen in his life.
She was blond, with silky hair the color of silver-gilded thistledown, done in a single thick braid down her back with a red bow at the end, and a much bigger one at the back of her neck that framed her face like a pair of wings. The top of her head was probably just below his collarbone, and he wasn’t a tall man. Her bright green eyes were slightly slanted, and her mouth looked as if it smiled a lot.
One thing was certain though; this was no peasant girl.
Her clothing was a little odd for sitting on the beach; a bright red skirt, a white blouse embroidered heavily in red, and unless he was terribly mistaken, both were silk. She had a bright red leather belt and boots to match, and looked like a little czarina about to go for a ride.
There wasn’t a horse to be seen, however. He hadn’t heard a horse