Innail she bathed twice a day, to make up for the months of scrappy washes in cold streams when she was traveling. Sighing, she stood and made her way to the bathroom.
That evening, it was a merry night in the Bardhouse. No one spoke of the troubles in Innail, putting them aside for the moment. Maerad noticed that the Bards, perhaps warned by Silvia that Maerad could no longer play her lyre, had not taken out their instruments after the meal, as was their custom.
"I can play my lyre," she said firmly. "If you don't mind me glowing."
Indik glanced at her with something like approval, as she drew her lyre out of its case. She paused to gather her power, and as her magery began softly to illuminate the room, she looked down and saw her hand was whole, a hand of tight. Silvia smiled with joyous surprise, and took down her own lyre from the wall, and the other Bards disappeared briefly to get their instruments. They began with an instrumental piece in a minor key, beautiful and melancholy, and then Cadvan and Maerad sang the duet of Andomian and Beruldh, which they had sung when they had first met. The other Bards listened in absorbed silence and burst into applause when they both finished.
The Bards made music together long into the night, and Maerad felt something in her fill up, as if she had been starving. Music, she thought, is like meat and drink for the soul, a necessity. For these few enchanted hours, she felt entirely happy.
Music, Cadvan had once said to her, is my home.
Waking late the next day, Maerad felt stronger than she had in a long time. Her life might be hard and full of sadness, but she counted herself lucky; it had also granted her moments that she would not have missed for the world. She lounged lazily, feeling no hurry to rise. Life would be tough again soon enough, so why not enjoy a comfortable bed while she could?
Eventually, after her ritual bath, she made her way downstairs to break her fast. She grabbed a pastry from the kitchen and ate in the corner, where she was out of the way. Normally, Silvia would have been in the kitchen at that time, but she was out again; she was kept busy looking after the flood of people who were seeking refuge in Innail from the attacks in the valley. Then, at a loose end, Maerad began to look for Cadvan. Although nothing had been said between them, she knew that they would be leaving soon—perhaps the next day. Against her desire to stay in Innail was an even stronger sense of urgency; somehow she knew that time was running short.
Although he had said little, Malgorn had clearly thought Maerad was mad when she announced that she was looking for Hem, who could be anywhere in Edil-Amarandh, if he was alive at all. And Maerad couldn't pretend that she didn't have her own doubts. On the other hand, she had journeyed across the frozen wastes of the north in her quest for the Treesong, with little more than hints to guide her; she felt more confident now of her own intuition. Cadvan's trust in her Knowing was comforting.
It was raining, with a hint of sleet: winter was back with a vengeance. Maerad wrapped her cloak tightly around her and hurried head-down through the rain-lashed streets to the stables, where she guessed Cadvan was most likely to be. She guessed right: he was sitting on a feed bin, deep in conversation with Darsor. He looked up as Maerad entered and smiled.
"Darsor was just letting me know that he rather likes the idea of a warm stable on a day like this," he said. "Good weather, all the same, for those who wish to travel unnoticed."
"It was raining last time we left." Maerad sat down next to Cadvan, and let Darsor nuzzle her neck in greeting before he attended to a mash of oats Cadvan had made for him. The great black horse looked none the worse for his recent travels, his muscles rippling beneath his rough winter coat.
"Yes, I remember." Cadvan looked at Maerad sidelong. "But not much else is the same, I think. Not least you, Maerad. Being here
That evening, it was a merry night in the Bardhouse. No one spoke of the troubles in Innail, putting them aside for the moment. Maerad noticed that the Bards, perhaps warned by Silvia that Maerad could no longer play her lyre, had not taken out their instruments after the meal, as was their custom.
"I can play my lyre," she said firmly. "If you don't mind me glowing."
Indik glanced at her with something like approval, as she drew her lyre out of its case. She paused to gather her power, and as her magery began softly to illuminate the room, she looked down and saw her hand was whole, a hand of tight. Silvia smiled with joyous surprise, and took down her own lyre from the wall, and the other Bards disappeared briefly to get their instruments. They began with an instrumental piece in a minor key, beautiful and melancholy, and then Cadvan and Maerad sang the duet of Andomian and Beruldh, which they had sung when they had first met. The other Bards listened in absorbed silence and burst into applause when they both finished.
The Bards made music together long into the night, and Maerad felt something in her fill up, as if she had been starving. Music, she thought, is like meat and drink for the soul, a necessity. For these few enchanted hours, she felt entirely happy.
Music, Cadvan had once said to her, is my home.
Waking late the next day, Maerad felt stronger than she had in a long time. Her life might be hard and full of sadness, but she counted herself lucky; it had also granted her moments that she would not have missed for the world. She lounged lazily, feeling no hurry to rise. Life would be tough again soon enough, so why not enjoy a comfortable bed while she could?
Eventually, after her ritual bath, she made her way downstairs to break her fast. She grabbed a pastry from the kitchen and ate in the corner, where she was out of the way. Normally, Silvia would have been in the kitchen at that time, but she was out again; she was kept busy looking after the flood of people who were seeking refuge in Innail from the attacks in the valley. Then, at a loose end, Maerad began to look for Cadvan. Although nothing had been said between them, she knew that they would be leaving soon—perhaps the next day. Against her desire to stay in Innail was an even stronger sense of urgency; somehow she knew that time was running short.
Although he had said little, Malgorn had clearly thought Maerad was mad when she announced that she was looking for Hem, who could be anywhere in Edil-Amarandh, if he was alive at all. And Maerad couldn't pretend that she didn't have her own doubts. On the other hand, she had journeyed across the frozen wastes of the north in her quest for the Treesong, with little more than hints to guide her; she felt more confident now of her own intuition. Cadvan's trust in her Knowing was comforting.
It was raining, with a hint of sleet: winter was back with a vengeance. Maerad wrapped her cloak tightly around her and hurried head-down through the rain-lashed streets to the stables, where she guessed Cadvan was most likely to be. She guessed right: he was sitting on a feed bin, deep in conversation with Darsor. He looked up as Maerad entered and smiled.
"Darsor was just letting me know that he rather likes the idea of a warm stable on a day like this," he said. "Good weather, all the same, for those who wish to travel unnoticed."
"It was raining last time we left." Maerad sat down next to Cadvan, and let Darsor nuzzle her neck in greeting before he attended to a mash of oats Cadvan had made for him. The great black horse looked none the worse for his recent travels, his muscles rippling beneath his rough winter coat.
"Yes, I remember." Cadvan looked at Maerad sidelong. "But not much else is the same, I think. Not least you, Maerad. Being here
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