the minstrel’s ears.
“Is that what gnaws on you?” Andiene’s voice was amused. “I keep my own counsel. And in any case, ‘a queen needs a cook as well as a counselor.’”
She turned to Lenane. “You are welcome to travel with us,” she said.
The minstrel spoke eagerly. “My name is Lenane, Sirenfil, Avellefile. Siren Rarsfil, Lenefile. Avelle Bairfil, Yvanelefile. Rars Silmononfil, Malesefile. Lene Mikelfil, Lenanefile. Bair Kallerfil, Mikelefile. Yvannele Desirinfil, Ynisefile … ”
Andiene looked puzzled. Syresh laughed and threw up his hands. “Enough, enough! We can tell you come from the forests well enough. No need to tire our ears with your bloodlines for twenty generations back. No one is meaning to marry you!”
Lenane turned red with humiliation. “Indeed, I had no thought of marriage or any other thing. But your lady saved me a whipping and maybe much more, and I wished to introduce myself with all honorableness. I did not think to be insulted by greensick courtiers in fool’s finery and beggar’s rags!”
“You call me names?” Syresh seized her wrist. “I am of noble blood, and I have served kings.”
“How many kings? You have the look of one who changes his coat with every summer!” That angered him more than she could have dreamed. His fingers tightened on her wrist. She tried to pull away, but his grip held fast.
“Let me go!” Her hands clenched into fists, and brazen claws sprang from between her fingers. With her free hand, she raked at his face. He ducked quickly enough to save his eye, but her claws sank deep into his cheek. Stunned, he reached his hand up to the side of his face and drew it away gloved in red.
“Enough!” said Andiene, and though she did not raise her voice, her tone had such fury and command in it that he turned to stare at her, and Lenane did likewise.
“Syresh, I told you before, you will serve me, or go back and drown yourself in the sea—or lose all claim to honor, if that would suit you more. I will choose what companions I want, whether it suits your notions of properness or not. The shore is less than one day’s journey back. Now is the time to decide.”
Syresh spoke painfully. “Forgive me, lady. I will serve you.”
“And you,” she said, turning to Lenane, “know that this man is my liegeman sworn, and I sworn to protect him. He had made no move to harm you. I’ll have no quarrels among my companions. I saved you from pain and shaming, at least. If you serve the same code, then make the same choice—either obey me or go back to the village, to take what punishment they will give you.”
Syresh saw the amazement and half-doubtful respect in the minstrel’s face. “I do not serve any code,” she began.
“Then choose some other path.”
Lenane shook her head. “Let me finish,” she said hastily. “I am not of noble blood, like your servant, to follow the nobleman’s code, but I will serve you, since you saved me. I’ll quarrel no more—if he does not touch me.”
Andiene nodded. “Good enough. There is sandray growing near. Pick some leaves and dress your comrade’s face with them.”
Syresh would have protested, but speech was too painful, and the look in Andiene’s eyes told him that his words would not be heard. He watched glumly as Lenane gathered sandray and crushed the hairy leaves to a juicy strong-smelling pulp.
She bound the blood-stopping and healing poultice on, using a whole leaf for a bandage, working competently, but not gently, and chuckling as she gummed it on with resin scraped from a lanara tree, another of its hundred uses.
“This will stick to your beard, what there is of it. Now if you do not speak or smile or eat for a sevennight, it might heal without a scar.”
“Enough of that,” said Andiene quickly. “They said you were a minstrel. Let us hear your singing.”
Syresh would have smiled if the bandage had allowed him. With two comrades at drawn swords, she may learn tact. It will serve her well when she regains her kingdom.
Lenane looked mournful. “What talent I have lies in my fingers, not my throat,” she said, “but I will sing you some songs you may not have heard. What sort of a song do you wish, my lady? One of magic, or bravery, or love?”
“Of magic, if you please,” said Andiene. Syresh was silent and grim.
“I will sing you a song of magic in the mountain forest,” Lenane said.