The Singer's Crown Read Online Free Page B

Seeing this, Kattanan turned sharply away. He clamped his hands together to stop them shaking and shut his eyes.
    His ears, though, told him all he needed of the night and the room, dark, empty, and silent in the worst possible way. The awful space was filled by his heartbeat alone.

Two
    Year 1229
    The Great Hall,
palace of the Kingdom of Bernholt
    ON THIS NIGHT, the seventeenth birthday of Princess Melisande, nobles crowded the Great Hall of Bernholt. The royal dais, where Melisande waited with her brother, seemed an island of calm above the sea of richly dressed lords and ladies. Dressed in russet velvets, Kattanan stood nervously with his most recent master, one Baron Eadmund of Umberlundt. The party celebrated not only Melisande’s birthday, but also the night on which the princess’s suitors declared themselves publicly at last. Most—including the baron—had been sending gifts and poetry all year, expressing admiration of the princess in the highest terms. Kattanan was to be Baron Eadmund’s final offering in hopes of winning her hand. The baron ran his hands through his hair and glanced often toward the singer, his smiles alternating between doubt and encouragement.
    For himself, Kattanan focused on the princess. How would she receive him, and his master by extension? As they slowly moved forward in the line of visitors, he watched the shine of her auburn hair as she flung back her head to laugh. Often she leaned close to her brother to whisper in his ear and drummed her fingers upon the arms of her throne. Although her gown was rich with ribbons and stitchwork and her posture conveyed all the grace one expected of a princess, Kattanan heard a soft thumping sound, and realized she was kicking her feet against the legs of the throne. At last only one couple remained before them in line, and Kattanan picked out the princess’s quiet voice from the surrounding din.
    â€œCan we not cut short the introductions and go straight to the dancing, Wolfram?” the princess murmured to her brother. She inclined a royal head toward the next of the guests to be received, an elderly couple in old-fashioned silks.
    â€œLord Harold and Lady Ethelinda,” the herald intoned from his post by the thrones.
    â€œHow delightful,” Wolfram exclaimed. “Lady Ethelinda has come to serve you until Faedre’s return. You recall the lady from last year’s solstice, I am sure, sister.” He raised a slim eyebrow.
    â€œI do hope your peacocks have recovered. My hounds had never seen such birds before.”
    The lady straightened stiffly. “The cocks, Your Highness, died.”
    The princess raised a quick hand to her lips so that Kattanan nearly missed her giggle. “How frightful for you!” She motioned for the herald to approach. “Instruct the gamekeeper that he shall find no less than a dozen peacocks for the lady.”
    â€œYour Highness is most kind. I shall look forward to my service.” Lady Ethelinda bowed slightly and walked away.
    The prince and princess sat on modest thrones, on a small dais below their father’s empty royal seat. Rumor had it that the king’s long affliction had a magical origin, which might explain the intensity of the guards who confronted every guest on their way in. Given the king’s support of the man who now wore his ancestors’ crown, Kattanan had trouble feeling the proper concern.
    Princess Melisande turned delicately aside to stifle a yawn but was brought back by her brother clearing his throat. “I think this next has not come to seek my royal favors, Sandy,” Wolfram whispered as the baron bowed formally from some distance away.
    â€œFear not, I shall hear him and smile most graciously upon him,” Melisande replied, putting on an air of haughtiness, her nose pushed comically in the air.
    â€œBefore laughing him down?”
    She shot him a sharp look. “This choice is mine.” Immediately, their