*
All might come to enjoy the musicians and the dancing on the grand oval-shaped floor, from the highest to the lowest tiers. The first few dances were lovely reels, interspersed with one formal dance and the occasional slower dance for couples. Only a few of the nobles joined in, but the Duke himself, accompanied by who I imagine were several of his favoured families, took a turn on the floor. Brasti was brazen as always, dancing with any woman who would tolerate him. He came close to dancing with a young noblewoman, until her father cast an angry eye in her direction and she hurriedly pulled away.
Me, I was more interested in watching the musicians. There were a full dozen of them, on a low stage to the right of the dance floor. They were young, for the most part, but led by an older man who seemed ill-suited to the task. His grey hair was cut in the long troubadour fashion, falling just above the shoulders, and his clothes were elegant enough, dyed in the Duke’s colours of dark red and gold. His face was weathered and lined, but he would have been handsome once. And he was blind. It took me a moment to realise that, because he appeared to have shining blue eyes. Then I realised they never moved nor blinked: he had gemstones in the sockets where his eyes should have been. As I gazed at him further, I noticed something else: there was something wrong with his feet. He wore a troubadour’s thigh-high leather travelling boots, but his feet didn’t move, even when the rest of his body was swaying along with the music. It’s true that not every musician taps a foot when they play, but I couldn’t recall ever seeing one whose feet stayed so firmly planted in the ground. The man must have no feet, I thought, and his legs must be splinted to wooden stumps of some kind in his boots. I hadn’t seen him come in, but there was a boy, no more than ten, standing next to him and accompanying him on the pipes. I could see he was keeping hold of two black canes. Every once in a while, the man would put his hand on the boy’s arm and tap some complicated sequence on his arm, and the boy in turn would pass him water, or switch out his guitar, or whisper the next song to the other musicians.
Even though I’d been staring at him for ages, it was only when he began to play the slow, soft dancing song called ‘The Lovers’ Twilight’, his guitar sounding out the rapid melody that seemed so simple but I knew was gruellingly complex to perform, that I recognised him. Bal Armidor: the man who had come to my village and sung such songs and stories that they had shaken my soul. Bal Armidor: the man who sang of Greatcoats.
Bal’s hands were moving swiftly upon the strings and the rest of the musicians intertwined their own instruments in and around his melody. The boy opened on the pipes, but after the first verse he put them down and sang a beautiful treble that well suited the song. But I had ceased paying attention to the music, for confusion swirled in my head. How had Bal Armidor come to be here, in the Duke’s palace? I had thought him long gone across the Eastern deserts to the Sun Tribes where he’d sworn he would be the first Western troubadour to master the music of the East.
As the song ended, I started moving towards the stage, but they immediately launched into another piece, this one was a little faster, but still for couples.
‘Will you dance with me, Falcio of the Greatcloaks?’ a voice came from behind me. I looked over at Bal, wanting to signal him somehow, but his head made the slightest movement left and right. Not now, he seemed to say.
I turned back to see who had spoken to me. Valiana was resplendent in her lovely gown, her hair straying a little from the perfection of earlier after much dancing, but still bedecked with gems and gleaming. Trin was a few yards away, dressed in a simple purple gown no doubt designed to complement Valiana’s own. She was in her own way as beautiful as any Princess, and yet there she stood, for ever in the background – alone. She caught me looking at her and dropped her eyes.
‘Greatcoats,’ I said absently, my eyes refocusing on Valiana.
‘What?’
‘Greatcoats. Not “Greatcloaks”. Greatcoats.’
‘Ah, well of course, that makes sense, doesn’t it?’ She laughed lightly. ‘Shall we dance then, Falcio of the Greatcoats?’
I looked around and saw several nobles trying very hard to light me on fire with their cold stares. I saw the Duke, smiling.
I shook my head. ‘No, my Lady, I—’
‘Your Highness,’ she corrected.
‘What?’
‘I’m a Princess now, Falcio, so as long as we’re being formal, I should prefer “your Highness”.’
I bowed. ‘Your Highness, I thank you for the honour, but I’m afraid I’m ill-suited to dancing.’
Her smile faded. ‘Ill-suited to dancing, or just ill-suited to dancing with me?’
‘I simply fear that I might tread on your royal toes while my mind struggles to keep track of my own feet and I try to understand what game you’re playing just now.’
She glanced briefly back at the Duke, then at me.
‘Then I will make it equally simple: my father feels it would be a show of great humility and unity for me to dance with a Greatcoat. If it makes it easier for you, then consider it an order from your employer.’
I shrugged casually but spoke loudly. ‘As your employee, Highness, of course I accept,’ and I took a deep bow, my right hand extended behind me while my left reached towards her, palm up. It was the customary invitation from a romantic suitor, and entirely inappropriate for this situation.
I was surprised when she accepted my hand and stepped lightly into my embrace for the opening of the dance.
‘How clever you are, Falcio of the Greatcoats,’ she whispered to me as we turned. ‘How much more wise and canny you are than the foolish girl before you. I asked for something that would cost you nothing, but you didn’t like my phrasing and so now you have humiliated me.’
‘Perhaps you should have asked one of the others,’ I replied.
She laughed. ‘Which one? The one who wants to murder me or the one who wants to murder my father?’
Feltock must have told her what happened.
‘I am curious about one thing, my Lady. How did—?’
‘Your Highness, you mean,’ Valiana said.
‘Yes, well, about that: how exactly did you manage to pass the Heart’s Trial? I’m told the spell is very difficult to fool.’
‘And you think that I must have cheated somehow? That I lied about who I am or what I intend? You do realise that in the days before King Paelis, it was considered treason to question the honour of the throne?’
‘I’m surprised, your Highness, that I am not therefore in irons.’
She ignored the question. ‘Why do you despise me so, First Cantor of the Greatcoats?’
‘I do not despise you, your Highness. I am afraid of you.’
‘What cause have I given you to fear me so?’
I looked in her eyes, searching for mockery but finding only an honest question. ‘Little to none, your Highness,’ I sighed, ‘but you have shown no wisdom either, and I believe you are being elevated as part of a conspiracy to bring false credibility to a new line of Kings and Queens, once again ruled wholly by the Dukes. I doubt you are evil – you might even be a nice person. But the Dukes will use you like a well-schooled animal and you will be like unto a monster for this world. And I am in the business of stopping monsters, your Highness.’
She stopped and I almost tripped over her, but she held me tight. ‘Why not kill me, then? Or at the very least, let your man, who is so eager to do so, do it for you?’
I held her eyes in mine. ‘Because my King would disapprove.’
For a moment she didn’t move at all, then she gave a very slight nod and we stepped back into the rhythm of the dance.
‘Then why treat me so foully? If I am such a fool and you so clever, why not ingratiate yourself with me, manipulate me for the benefit of your Greatcoats, just as you claim my father and the others will do?’
‘Because, your Highness, I am not like them, and my King would not approve of that either.’
‘Then why—?’
‘Highness,’ I asked softly, ‘what is it that you want?’
‘I—’ She leaned in closely and whispered in my ear, so quietly that I almost missed it when she said, ‘I am afraid.’
I leaned back from her. ‘Has someone threatened you?’
‘It’s not like that, nothing so overt – it’s just, when I’m with them, I sense what you say, that they do not listen to me; rather, they listen only to ensure I say what they have told me to say. My mother—’
‘Your Highness, forgive me, but your mother is the Duchess Patriana. If we speak of her, I cannot guarantee your safety.’
Valiana looked around. ‘From whom? I do not see Kest or Brasti.’
‘From me, your Highness. From me.’
‘Ah. You blame her for the death of the King.’