“I’m not certain that I’m the joining kind,” Cadel said.
Kalida laughed. “I don’t want to be joined to you, Corbin. To be honest, I don’t think of myself as the joining kind either. If I did, I’d still be with your friend, Honok. As I recall, when we were in Thorald together, I spent Lovers’ Night in his bed. Where Anesse and I come from that’s the same as a betrothal.”
“In other words, you wish to share my bed so as to make it clear to the others that you have no intention of being joined to Dunstan.”
She walked to the bed and sat beside him, running a finger down the center of his chest. “That’s not the only reason.”
He felt a stirring in his groin, saw Kalida glance down at the sheets covering him and grin. Pulling the shift off over her head, she slid under the sheets beside him and kissed the side of his neck.
“Your sister may object,” he said, closing his eyes as her lips began to travel his body.
“How can she? She’s married to Jaan.”
With all of them sleeping under the same roof, it took only a day or two for the others to realize that Cadel and Kalida were sharing a bed. Despite his fears, Cadel saw no evidence that Dunstan was angry with him. The piper was downcast for a short while, but it seemed to Cadel that whatever sadness he felt was tempered by a profound sense of relief. Indeed, the only one of the other three who did show any sign of being angry was Anesse, who said nothing to either Cadel or Kalida for a full day after seeing them emerge together from Cadel’s room. Jaan, on the other hand, seemed genuinely pleased, perhaps seeing in their affair proof that he needn’t be jealous of the singer any longer.
Within six nights of their first performance, the innkeeper more than doubled the musicians’ wages, in part because they were now doing two performances each night, and in part because he was unwilling to risk having Cadel leave. He also gave Cadel his room for free, though it quickly became a wasted expense. Cadel and Kalida spent nearly every night together, either in her bed or his. She was a skilled lover, far more so than he, and the singer found himself anticipating their lovemaking even more than he did the company’s performances.
His one concern in the midst of all his newfound success was that word of the company’s performances would travel beyond Ailwyck, drawing the attention of the Qirsi conspiracy or Lord Tavis of Curgh. In Mertesse, Cadel had allowed the fame he and Dario enjoyed to lull him into carelessness. As a result, Tavis surprised him in the upstairs corridor of their inn, and nearly succeeded in exacting his revenge for Lady Brienne’s murder. And over the past several years, the conspiracy had managed to find him no matter where he went, giving him gold he could not refuse and demanding that he kill for them yet again. Upon leaving Mertesse, Cadel had decided that his days as an assassin were over, and now, having found a company with which to sing, a city in which their music was appreciated, and a lover with whom he could share his nights, he was ever more determined to embrace this new life.
Midway through the waning of Elhir’s turn, however, it became clear that indeed their fame had started to travel the land. Late in the morning, as they practiced a new piece that Jaan had written, a messenger arrived at the inn from the marquessate of Fanshyre in the Ailwyck countryside. The marquess, it seemed, had heard tales of their extraordinary talent and requested a private concert. He offered to host a feast in their honor two days hence and to pay them ten qinde each for a single performance.
As an assassin Cadel had spent little time in Wethyrn, and so he had little fear of being recognized. Still, he was certain the marquess had at least one Qirsi minister, and there was always the danger that this person might be a traitor who would have heard whisperings of the singer-assassin. More to the point, such a performance would only serve to widen their renown, increasing the danger that he would be found.
Unfortunately, none of the others shared his concerns. Nor could he voice them himself. Invitations like this one were exceedingly rare for all but the most talented performers. Any musician in the Forelands would have been delighted to receive one and deeply envious of others who did. Cadel could no more object to making the journey than he could admit outright that he was a hired blade.
They accepted the invitation immediately, sending the marquess’s messenger back to Fanshyre with word that they would be at his castle on the appointed day. The others were far too excited to continue with their rehearsal and Cadel did his best to make it seem that he shared their enthusiasm. That night, however, as he and Kalida lay in bed, she made it all too clear that he had failed.
“Why are you reluctant to go to Fanshyre?” she asked, staring up at him, her legs still wrapped around his hips.
He forced a smile. “I’m not.”
“Don’t lie to me, Corbin. You tried to seem as pleased as the rest of us, but it took an effort. I could tell.”
He exhaled, leaving the warm comfort between her legs and sitting on the bed beside her. How many lies were too many between lovers?
“It has nothing to do with Fanshyre. I’ve never even been there. I simply don’t like the courts.”
“Why not?”
“My father served in one when I was young. I hated the way he was treated.”
The lie just came to him, and it struck him as a strange twisting of the truth of his childhood. He had grown up in the court of his father, a viscount in southern Caerisse, and what he had hated most about it was the viscount himself.
Kalida seemed to ponder what he had said for several moments, absently playing with his hair. Then she shrugged, and said, “Well, then enjoy taking his money. It’s not like we’re going to live there. It’s one day, and nearly as much gold as we’ll make here during the rest of the waning.”
“You’re right. I should be grateful for the invitation. I’ll try to be.”
“You’re humoring me. There’s more to it than what you’ve said.”
Cadel smiled, looking away. “Yes, there is. But leave it at that, Kalida. Please.”
“Is this about Honok?”
He looked at her again. She hadn’t mentioned Jed since their first night together.
“Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know. He once told me that his father didn’t think much of the courts either. And I know the two of you were good friends before whatever made you part ways.”
He pushed the hair back from her brow. “We’re still good friends, he and I. And no, this has nothing to do with him.”
“I’m sorry. I won’t ask you anything more.”
“Thank you. I promise you that I’ll sing my best. Whatever my feelings about the courts, they won’t hurt our performance.”
“They’d better not,” she said, pulling him down to her again. “You may not have an appetite for gold, but I do.”
Two mornings hence, they set out southward for the marquess’s castle. It was a bright, mild morning, a fine day for a journey. It seemed the planting winds had come to Wethyrn at last. The innkeeper had given them leave to miss their early performance in the tavern, but had made it clear that he expected them back in Ailwyck for the later one. From what he told them, it seemed a simple journey. Fanshyre Castle stood less than two leagues away, nestled in the northern reaches of the Grey Hills near the source of the Ailwyck River.
“If you leave early enough, you can be there before midday,” the innkeeper said. “And if you leave Fanshyre with the prior’s bells, you should have plenty of time to get back here, change your clothes, and earn your keep.”
He wasn’t a subtle man, but he knew the countryside. The company reached Fanshyre just as the midday bells tolled from the gates of the small village. They were greeted by the marquess himself, a short, rotund man with a broad grin and round face. His wife might well have been his sister, so alike did they look, and she welcomed them heartily before leading them to the castle’s hall. There, true to his word, the marquess made them honored guests at a simple but ample feast. Afterward, they sang for him, performing every song they knew, and, at the marquess’s request, repeating several pieces, including the Paean and, much to Jaan’s delight, the new piece the lutenist had just written. Usually Cadel did not like to perform the same piece more than once for the same audience, but Fanshyre had been kind enough to feed them, and, as Kalida reminded him once again on their walk to the castle, he was paying them handsomely for their music.