Read Online Muse (Tales of Silver Downs Book 1) by Kylie Quillinan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kylie Quillinan
Tags: historical fantasy
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was too important. And Fiachra be damned, I would do what I thought necessary to protect my sister.
As light faded from the sky and the night chill gripped the air, we moved indoors and gathered in front of the fireplace. Every chair and bench was full and those who did not have a chair leaned against the walls or sat on the thick rugs. I squeezed onto the end of a bench beside a harried-looking woman and three small boys. Distant relatives perhaps for the woman's face looked much like Eithne's and she gave me a nod as if in recognition.
Servants handed around mugs of spiced wine and I wrapped my cold hands around one although I did not intend to drink it. When Papa asked for a tale, he looked to the druids. I felt only the briefest pang of disappointment for it was a rare treat to hear a tale from a druid.
After a momentary discussion with his elder, Fiachra moved to the front of the room. His voice was calm and confident, and I envied his ease. As much as I felt called to be a bard, I had never been as comfortable in the telling of a tale as Fiachra seemed. He spoke well, an old tale of the Children of Lir who were turned into swans and suffered for many hundreds of years before being restored to their human forms.
The audience was silent as Fiachra told his tale. Everyone watched him and even the children appeared to listen intently. An ache of jealousy rose within me. Ida stirred, whispering sweet fragments of a new tale, but I pushed her away. I could hardly leave in the midst of Fiachra's tale without looking bad mannered and ill tempered.
There was a brief silence as Fiachra's final words lingered in the air. Then the applause started and cries for him to tell another. He demurred politely and returned to his position at the back of the room.
Papa stood then and the room quietened. He hesitated and when he spoke, his voice wavered just a little.
"My son," he said. "It is an unexpected joy to have you with us on this happy occasion and I thank you for your tale."
Fiachra inclined his head towards Papa. He didn't smile but pride shone in his grey eyes. I hadn't realised a druid could feel such a thing for they always seemed more Other than human. I had thought that perhaps human emotions were drained from them during their training. But right now, Fiachra seemed nothing more than a man who was pleased with his father's praise.
I tucked the memory away in my mind. It might be something I could use in a tale, perhaps a story of a druid who falls in love and must decide between his training and his destiny or his new love. Satisfaction flowed from Ida. Clearly this was her idea, not mine. I silently thanked her, promising I would work on this new tale as soon as I could.
The celebrations continued long after I gave up any pretence of participating. There was ale and dancing and platters of bread and meat. The fiddler knew a seemingly inexhaustible repertoire of melodies, few of which I recognised. I sat in front of the fire, ignoring the raven that lurked within its flames and fiddling with my mug of now-cooled wine. Ideas for new tales chased each other around in my mind but with all of the music and chatter and laughter, I couldn't concentrate on them so I sat and let the noise wash over me.
Eventually the festivity died and the ale slowed. Grainne's family prepared to depart for their own estate, despite the lateness of the evening and Mother's urging that they stay.
Caedmon and Grainne went to the bedchamber prepared for them. I remembered Eremon's handfasting and how the women had strewn the bed with flower petals and lit the fireplace so the room would be warm on their arrival. Candlelight had danced on the walls, making the room cozy and serene. I was sharply reminded of Rhiwallon and the melancholy gripped my insides tighter than ever. With my inability to even speak to a woman, let alone do anything else, the intimacies of a nuptial bedchamber would never be for me.
I yawned, wishing everyone
As light faded from the sky and the night chill gripped the air, we moved indoors and gathered in front of the fireplace. Every chair and bench was full and those who did not have a chair leaned against the walls or sat on the thick rugs. I squeezed onto the end of a bench beside a harried-looking woman and three small boys. Distant relatives perhaps for the woman's face looked much like Eithne's and she gave me a nod as if in recognition.
Servants handed around mugs of spiced wine and I wrapped my cold hands around one although I did not intend to drink it. When Papa asked for a tale, he looked to the druids. I felt only the briefest pang of disappointment for it was a rare treat to hear a tale from a druid.
After a momentary discussion with his elder, Fiachra moved to the front of the room. His voice was calm and confident, and I envied his ease. As much as I felt called to be a bard, I had never been as comfortable in the telling of a tale as Fiachra seemed. He spoke well, an old tale of the Children of Lir who were turned into swans and suffered for many hundreds of years before being restored to their human forms.
The audience was silent as Fiachra told his tale. Everyone watched him and even the children appeared to listen intently. An ache of jealousy rose within me. Ida stirred, whispering sweet fragments of a new tale, but I pushed her away. I could hardly leave in the midst of Fiachra's tale without looking bad mannered and ill tempered.
There was a brief silence as Fiachra's final words lingered in the air. Then the applause started and cries for him to tell another. He demurred politely and returned to his position at the back of the room.
Papa stood then and the room quietened. He hesitated and when he spoke, his voice wavered just a little.
"My son," he said. "It is an unexpected joy to have you with us on this happy occasion and I thank you for your tale."
Fiachra inclined his head towards Papa. He didn't smile but pride shone in his grey eyes. I hadn't realised a druid could feel such a thing for they always seemed more Other than human. I had thought that perhaps human emotions were drained from them during their training. But right now, Fiachra seemed nothing more than a man who was pleased with his father's praise.
I tucked the memory away in my mind. It might be something I could use in a tale, perhaps a story of a druid who falls in love and must decide between his training and his destiny or his new love. Satisfaction flowed from Ida. Clearly this was her idea, not mine. I silently thanked her, promising I would work on this new tale as soon as I could.
The celebrations continued long after I gave up any pretence of participating. There was ale and dancing and platters of bread and meat. The fiddler knew a seemingly inexhaustible repertoire of melodies, few of which I recognised. I sat in front of the fire, ignoring the raven that lurked within its flames and fiddling with my mug of now-cooled wine. Ideas for new tales chased each other around in my mind but with all of the music and chatter and laughter, I couldn't concentrate on them so I sat and let the noise wash over me.
Eventually the festivity died and the ale slowed. Grainne's family prepared to depart for their own estate, despite the lateness of the evening and Mother's urging that they stay.
Caedmon and Grainne went to the bedchamber prepared for them. I remembered Eremon's handfasting and how the women had strewn the bed with flower petals and lit the fireplace so the room would be warm on their arrival. Candlelight had danced on the walls, making the room cozy and serene. I was sharply reminded of Rhiwallon and the melancholy gripped my insides tighter than ever. With my inability to even speak to a woman, let alone do anything else, the intimacies of a nuptial bedchamber would never be for me.
I yawned, wishing everyone
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