“There, all done.” Kalynn smiled. “It will be so nice to have you here. Perhaps between the two of us we can organize Wolfe’s collections.”
“It won’t be a problem for me to stay?” Warna asked. “I noticed Verice didn’t ask permission before we appeared on your doorstep.”
Kalynn laughed. “We’ve known Verice a long time, dear. Wolfe was his mentor. If it was an imposition, we would have declined, trust me on that. If you decide to stay, we would welcome your company.” She gestured to the other tray, and Warna picked it up.
“Decide?” Warna said.
“I’m sure you were a dutiful daughter, Warna of Farentell.” Kalynn headed for the stairs. “But now your life is your own. You are free to live as you wish, but that means that you make choices, and live with them.” Kalynn turned up the stairs. “Not always easy.”
Warna followed, frowning. “Verice told me much the same thing,” she said.
“Did he?” Kalynn’s voice echoed on the stone walls. “That bodes well, don’t you think?”
Warna paused on the step. Honestly, it did. If he was sincere. If he truly allowed her to make her own choices.
“Come,” Kalynn’s voice echoed down to her again, pulling her from her thoughts. “Let’s return before Wolfe decides to express himself with bolts of fire. I rather like those chairs, and he’d melt them to slag without thinking and apologize afterwards.”
Warna blinked, then followed.
The air was thick with strain as she and Kalynn emerged onto the roof. All three men were taut, each face stiff with disapproval.
Warna glanced at Verice as she set the tray down. He didn’t look up, so his eyes were hidden from her. His face was carefully blank, concealing his thoughts.
Kalynn ignored the frigid silence. “Verice, I think you take your kav black and sweet, yes? All that honey is going to rot your teeth.”
Verice flashed a tight grin, showing his perfect teeth. “Not so far.”
“Give it time,” Kalynn replied, handing him the mug and the crock.
Warna poured for Wolfe, who thanked her.
“None for me,” Charrin said. “Lady Warna, the Lord High Baron Verice has expressed a desire to know the true potential of your musical abilities.”
Warna set the pitcher down slowly, almost afraid to breathe. He’d been so angry before she and Kalynn had left the room; she wasn’t sure she trusted this turn-about.
Charrin’s back didn’t touch the chair, his hands still in his lap. But his face seemed composed and professional.
“Lord Bard Charrin,” Warna returned formal with formal. “I would be honored, but I would not seek to impose. I would fear to waste your time—”
“Service to one’s craft is never wasted,” Charrin replied. “But you understand that mine will be an honest assessment? I will tell you the truth.”
Warna glanced over her shoulder at Verice. “Lord Bard, you should know that my father had me sing for a human minstrel a few years ago. He—”
“Your pardon,” Charrin said, “but a...minstrel’s...opinion is nothing to me. Let us begin. Do you have any formal training in music or voice?”
“No, Lord Bard,” Warna said. She smoothed down her tunic front, then stilled her hands.
“Very well,” Charrin said. “Verice says that you compose.”
“I make up lyrics and tunes to go with them.” Warna said.
“Then sing for me, Warna of Farentell,” Charrin commanded. “And we shall see what you have within you.”
Chapter Twelve
Warna froze. She hadn’t planned, hadn’t practiced. What to sing?
Her ‘flower’ song wasn’t done yet, so that wasn’t a possibility. The room was so tense, and there was so much grief in them. Nothing sad, then. She drew a slow breath, relaxed her shoulders, and lifted her head.
