A Wilderness of Glass - Grace Draven Page 0,2

since she first learned of her husband’s death a few years earlier and stood on the shore, contemplating the vast and merciless expanse of the Gray at night.

A sound had rolled off the water then, rising above the surf’s low thunder, a tuneless song built on the trough of loss and the crest of hope. It arrowed straight through her soul. She had wept then, for Talmai who had drowned in the Gray’s depths, the doomed ship and the men who died alongside him, his eternal companions. Somewhere within the solemn waves, something wept with her.

No other flute she’d ever played could reproduce those four notes exactly. Only this one, strengthening Brida’s belief in its mysterious power. She played the notes several times in a row, noting from the corner of her eye the way the other players slowed and finally halted their own tuning to listen. Magic, she thought. There was magic here. She stopped when Janen raised a hand to signal enough.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, another more strident voice interrupted him. “Where did you learn to play that?”

Brida pivoted to face the newcomer. A man, clothed in the finery of monarchs, his hands bedecked in gold rings, strode into the room. Brida’s eyes widened as she backed away to keep him from treading on her feet. He reached for her flute. Only her quick reflexes stopped him from snatching it out of her hands. Janen and the harpist Arpath closed ranks in front of her, creating a living wall to block the stranger.

“Where did you get that flute?” He almost snarled the words, face bloodless with shock, mouth thinned with rage. “Where did you learn those notes?”

Behind Janen’s and Arpath’s shoulders, Brida gaped, clutching her flute even tighter. Stunned by the unwarranted attack, she struggled to give a coherent reply.

Another, deeper voice joined the fray. “Ospodine, I didn’t invite you here to assault the musicians.” Andras Frantisek, new lord and tenant of Castle Banat, stood behind the man he called Ospodine, his own sun-kissed features set in grim lines. “What are you doing here?” His tone warned he wouldn’t suffer any blather.

Ospodine half turned to answer, still glaring at Brida. “I want to know where she learned to play the song and where she got the flute.” His words were accusatory, and in them, she heard the unspoken charge of “thief.”

Her indignation overrode her initial surprise. She pushed her way past Janen and Arpath, careful to keep the flute out of reach. Ignoring her accuser, she sought out his lordship’s gaze. “My lord, the flute was given to me by my father on my wedding day nearly a decade ago. He fashioned it himself from a bone he found on the beach.” Uncaring that she, a village woman of no standing and little import, challenged one of his lordship’s guests, she glared at the scowling Ospodine and said “The flute is mine and has always been mine.” It was no business of his when and where she’d heard the four-note tune.

Lord Frantisek watched her for a moment, silent, before he raised an eyebrow at Ospodine. “I believe you have your answer, friend. No reason to linger now. Allow me to escort you back to the other guests.” Again the implied warning that if Ospodine didn’t leave of his own accord, things wouldn’t go well for him.

The other man’s features, made memorable by his strangely pale eyes, stiffened into lines of contempt before smoothing out to an expressionless mask. He nodded to Brida and bowed to Lord Frantisek. “My apologies for the disturbance, my lord. The flute and its music seemed familiar and startled me. I beg your forgiveness.” At Frantisek’s head tilt of acknowledgement, Ospodine melted back into the swirling crowd of guests, a dark figure that made Brida think of smoke and water entwined.

Janen bowed, and Brida and the others followed suit. “Thank you for the honor of your invitation, my lord,” he said.

His lordship’s mouth quirked at the corners, his gaze taking in the instruments in their hands, settling for just a moment longer on Brida’s flute before moving on. “The gratitude is mine, especially with the promise of foul weather later. You’re welcome to stay overnight if the road is too dangerous to travel home. You’ll have to sleep in the kitchens or possibly the stables as we’re packed to the rafters with guests, but it’ll be dry and safe from lightning.”

Brida hoped the weather would hold.