Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [256]
And then one of the guards got the idea of rummaging through my belongings, which were held in the adjacent room, and fetching Hugues' flute.
He played it very badly, but it didn't stop the others from encouraging him, laughing and shouting. A slow tide of fury rose in me. I got to my feet, pacing restlessly. Kebek watched me curiously.
"That flute was a gift," I said grimly to him. "I played it for my wife. It made her laugh.”
He shrugged, not understanding.
"Hey!" I caught the bars of the window and pulled myself up. The guards on duty glanced at me. "You sound like a sick cow," I said in Rus.
The flute-player flushed. The others laughed at him, making lowing sounds. "You think you can play better?" he asked.
"Than a sick cow?" I asked contemptuously. "Yes.”
The guards conferred, laughing and scuffling. To my surprise, one took the cell key from the nail where it hung and came over to unlock the door. They hauled me into the guardroom, half a dozen drawing their swords, relocking the door behind me. I watched them warily, but they didn't seem inclined to violence, just drunken fun.
"So play, spy," said the guard who'd taken my flute. He handed it to me. "Yes! Play for the honor and glory of the One Hundred Martyrs.”
I glared at him, put the flute to my lips, and blew.
It was hardly my finest hour—I was out of practice—but I daresay the Vralians didn't know it. I'd found solace in music during the journey to Innisclan, pining for my lost love. Later, I'd kept it up during the long winter months at Clunderry I hadn't begun as a very good player, but I'd ended as a fair one.
I played a solemn, martial dirge that made the guards bow their heads and press their fists to their hearts, remembering the martyrs. When I finished, they slapped my back and pressed a cup of starka on me. I raised it. "To the One Hundred Martyrs," I said, draining it at a gulp. I could see Kebek's face hanging in the barred window of our cell, suffused with envy.
"More." Someone began clapping out a beat. "More!”
I played every tune I could remember, and a few I couldn't. It went on long into the night. The Vralian guards laughed and stamped and shouted, drinking starka and periodically offering new toasts to their favorite martyrs. And in the back of my mind, a plan took shape.
I played without thinking, trying desperately to remember. The green smell of the Alban countryside in summer. A full moon glinting on a silver pipe. Morwen. The tune had haunted me all the way across Alba. I'd played it the night I'd spilled my seed on taisgaidh soil, dreaming of Sidonie.
It was us. That's how they bound you.
"Is enough, I think," one of the guards slurred. He gestured at me with the point of his sword. "You give honor to the One Hundred. Thank you. Now we put you back.”
"One more," I said. "For sleep with peace.”
He nodded blearily, going to fetch the key to my cell. Others were already yawning. One was tipping the cask, pouring the last dregs of starka into his cup.
I whispered a prayer and played Morwen's tune.
I had to close my eyes, unable to look. I shut out the world, shut out my thoughts, focusing on the melody; poignant and bittersweet, filled with the promise of desire and the deep ache of loss. Note after note, soft and lingering. I played them without faltering, every breath a prayer. And when I had finished, I lowered the flute and opened my eyes.
The guards were snoring.
Every last one of them.
My heart began beating quickly. I stepped over a sleeping body and tested the door to the inner chamber where my things lay. It was unlocked. Beyond,