The men played their instruments deftly. There was an art to accompaniment, a demand for subtlety that few players could master. These two had. Their music lent texture to the piece and complemented the singer’s voice without overpowering it. They were playing the counterpoint, which, in the Paean, was usually done by other singers, and they were doing so quite well.
But it was the woman who drew Cadel’s ear and eye. She sang the “Devotion” exquisitely, but more than that, she looked familiar to him. It was several moments before he realized why. Her name was Anesse, and the woman beside her was her sister, Kalida. The two of them had sung this same piece with Cadel and Jedrek several years before. They had been in Thorald at the time, traveling with Bohdan’s Revel; he and Jed were there to murder Filib the Younger, heir to the throne of Eibithar. As they made their preparations for the assassination, they were fortunate enough to meet the two women, accomplished singers both, and gain some small measure of notoriety for their magnificent performances of the Paean. Jedrek and Kalida spent at least one night in each other’s arms, and though Cadel and Anesse did not, they both made it clear that they were attracted to each other. “Perhaps Adriel will bring us together again,” he had said at the time, speaking of the goddess of love. To which Anesse had replied, “She will if she has an ear for music.”
She looked just as he remembered her. She still wore her dark hair short, so that it framed her round face. Her eyes were a soft green, and though she appeared somewhat leaner than the last time he saw her, she was still a bit on the heavy side, which he found quite attractive.
Cadel was already thinking that finding her here in Ailwyck had been a stroke of enormous good fortune, when the “Devotion” ended and the music wound its way toward the beginning of “Bias’s Lament.” Only when the Paean’s second movement began did he understand fully the extent to which the gods smiled upon him.
He had expected one of the men to sing “Ilias’s Lament” It had been written for a man’s voice and it had always been his part. But instead, Kalida sang it, an octave above where he would have. She did so competently, blending her voice with the counterpoint of the lutenist and piper, and turning what could have been a disastrous performance into a satisfying one.
Still, when the musicians finished and the tavern began to empty, Cadel knew that he had found a job. He waited until most of the patrons had left and the players were waiting for their payment from the barkeep. Then he approached Anesse and the others. It occurred to him to wonder if she would remember him as he remembered her, but he needn’t have worried.
“That was an enjoyable performance,” he said, drawing their gazes. It had been more than that, of course, but he needed to convince them that they needed another singer. Too much praise would undermine his efforts to that end. “I’ve never seen the Paean performed so.”
The man with the lute smiled. “Thank you, friend.”
But Cadel was watching Anesse.
“Corbin?” she said, her eyes widening.
“You remember.”
She colored slightly, her eyes flicking toward the lutenist. “Of course I do. Yours is a voice few could forget.”
“The two of you know each other?” the lutenist asked, stepping forward so that he stood beside her and laying a hand on her shoulder.
“Yes. Kalida and I sang with Corbin and a friend of his a few years back. In Thorald. Isn’t that right?”
Cadel nodded. “It is.”
“What was you friend’s name again?”
“Honok,” her sister answered, coming closer as well. “Is he with you?”
“I’m afraid not,” he said, forcing a smile. “He and I parted ways about a year ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Kalida said, with genuine regret. She resembled her sister more than Cadel recalled. Her eyes were blue rather than green, and she wore her hair long, but their features were similar and the coloring nearly identical.
“Perhaps you should introduce us,” the lute player said, eyeing Anesse.
“Yes, of course. Corbin. .” She trailed off. “I never did learn your family name.”
“Ortan,” he said, extending a hand to the lutenist. Actually, that was Jedrek’s family name, but under the circumstances, his friend wouldn’t mind.
The lute player took his hand in a firm grip as Anesse said, “This is Jaan Pelsor. Jaan is my husband as well as my accompanist.”
By now Cadel had expected this, and he smiled warmly at the man. “My congratulations. How long has it been since your joining?”
“Nearly eight turns now,” Jaan said. He was as tall as Cadel and solidly built. He had black hair, flecked extensively with silver, and pale grey eyes. He must have been at least ten years older than Anesse, perhaps more.
“I’m very happy for both of you.”
The man nodded, then indicated the piper with an open hand. “And this is Dunstan MarClen. Dunstan and I grew up together.”
Cadel shook hands with the piper as well. “You play beautifully,” he said.
Dunstan merely grinned.
“All of you do,” Cadel went on a moment later. “It’s rare to find musicians of such talent.”
“Thank you,” Jaan said. “I gather from what Anesse said a moment ago that you’re rather a fine singer yourself.”
“I believe I am.” Cadel answered, knowing how brazen he sounded. “I’ll get right to the point, Jaan.” He wasn’t certain whether this man spoke for the rest of them or not. But he sensed that Jaan was wary of Cadel’s past friendship with Anesse, perhaps even jealous. If he could overcome Jaan’s objections, he could deal with the rest. “I enjoyed your performance today, but it seems clear to me that you need a male voice in your company. Anesse and Kalida both know that I can sing. If they remember anything of Thorald, they also know that I take my music seriously and that I can be trusted with gold.”
The lutenist looked doubtful. He glanced briefly at the two sisters, then looked back at Dunstan, who was regarding Cadel warily.
“I won’t deny that we could use another singer,” Jaan said at last. “But I’m not certain we can afford one. In another two or three turns, as the winds change and trade along the coast improves, we may be able to ask for a better wage, but for now we’re barely making enough for four. To add a fifth. .” He shrugged, then gave a small shake of his head.
“This tavern was packed tonight,” Cadel said. “The innkeeper should be paying you plenty.”
Kalida nodded. “I’ve been saying much the same thing for more than a turn now. We draw enough people to this place to deserve twice what the old goat pays us.”
“Perhaps. But I’m not willing to risk steady work by demanding more.”
Cadel regarded the man for a moment. “Can we speak in private?” he asked.
“All right.”
They walked together to the back of the tavern.
“Let me offer you a compromise,” Cadel said. “I still have a bit of gold left from previous jobs.” In reality, he had a great deal, enough to keep him comfortable for years. But nearly all musicians were concerned foremost with their wage, and he could ill afford to appear indifferent to money. “Let me sing with you for half a turn. If at the end of that time the company is making no more gold than it is now, I’ll move on. You don’t have to pay me a single silver. But if your wage goes up enough to pay me what each of you is making now, we remain together.”
Still the man hesitated, just as Cadel had thought he would.
“Let me add this,” he went on. “Were I newly joined to a woman as lovely as Anesse, I’d be wary of any old friend of hers, just as you are of me. I assure you, Jaan-I swear to you on the memory of my dearest friend-I have no designs on your wife. I need work. I want to sing with musicians who are as good as I am. I’m not going to do anything foolish.”
Jaan gave a grudging smile. “You don’t lack for confidence, do you, Corbin?”
“Allow me to practice with you tomorrow. You can see for yourself why.”