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“If you fly tonight, I doubt it will be far or high,” Roar replied. “Your wings likely aren’t strong enough yet. But should you catch air, there’s hay in the barn to soften a less than graceful landing. I’ll try to catch you too, of course. Not to mention, the barn will keep out most of the cold and wind.”
It made sense, though it also begged the question of how Roar would teach me. He’d had wings once, but they’d been ravaged by sickness. Did he recall how to use them?
The idea made me sad, and I didn’t voice it. That he vanished away his wings when he was out of his castle told me that the warden felt self-conscious over what he’d lost. I could relate to that. Though fae did not use magic for everything, I was constantly aware I did not have that option. Not for a while, anyway.
When my magic would begin showing, and what I would be able to do with it, remained a mystery to me.
So, I sat there, excited and fearful, as Roar ate his stew and sopped it up with a lumpy roll before drinking down his ale. Luckily, the tavern had much to see, and the music was delightful.
The troop of dwarves played drums, a horn, a stringed instrument, and a wooden flute. The effect sounded magical, and though Roar and Clemencia attempted conversation a few times, I was happy to listen to the songs they played.
As one tune died, the dwarf on the drums called out to those in the tavern for requests. A pixie dressed in winter clothes so thick that they looked like nothing but a flying ball, shot into the air.
“The Ballad of Sassa and Tore!”
“Bah! Sing of Sassa and her blade!” a faerie called.
“Or the great Shadow Battle!” A dryad waved his branch-like arms in the air.
“Nah! Sing of the twin bears!”
“Of how the Warrior Bear can cream our soft-handed heir?” A drunken pixie laughed. “The Warrior Bear is alright but please, nothing of that silver-tongued scholar!” He pretended to be the heir reading a book, which was apparently a hilarious jab because others in the crowd laughed.
“Queen Sassa it is!” the dwarf agreed and struck up a tune.
I leaned forward, enraptured, and wondered which the band would choose. When the dwarf began to sing of battles and blood, I thought he’d decided on the Great War that Queen Sassa led. But only a few stanzas in the song twisted to the Unification. The bard sang of how all the great houses bent the knee to Sassa Falk, how she unified them all so that they might fight off a common invader.
Though Clemencia had told me of this period, it sounded so different in song, more chilling and important. And then the bard finished the tune, crooning about blood on the ground of Winter’s land, blood on the hands of the shadow fae, a now extinct race, and blood on Sassa’s legendary blade.
When the last chord rang out, each fae stood and clapped. I did too with tears in my eyes. The song sounded so beautiful, so haunting, that it struck me deeply.
“Ready?” Roar asked, getting to his feet next to me.
I blinked, taken aback by his tone. “I guess so.”
“Clemencia, will you ready my lady’s room? She’ll be tired once we’re done.”
“Of course, my lord.” Clemencia’s red eyes had teared up at the song, but she wiped those tears away and rose to do Roar’s bidding. Looking about, I found that everyone else in the tavern looked emotional too. Only the warden appeared untouched.
I took his offered hand. “Did you not like the song?”
“Excuse me?” Roar lifted his eyebrows.
“Everyone else seemed moved by the music, but it doesn’t appear to have had that effect on you.”
“I prefer not to think of the Unification.”
“But—wasn’t that the only way for the Winter’s Realm to stop the invasion?” That’s what I’d learned during my short time in Winter’s Realm. But Roar had access to the best books and education and insider information from great houses. Perhaps he had learned something different?
“That’s what they say, what all the tales, songs, and books tell us, but all those who fought during the time of the Unification are long dead,” he replied as we wove toward the front door. “As a descendant of the Lisika who lost their crown, I have other ideas.”
I stayed silent. It could be possible Roar was right. It seemed just as possible that he wasn’t, but it wasn’t my place to debate. The song had been beautiful and moving, and only that mattered.
He led me from the tavern and into the cold night. The barn wasn’t far, and I was glad for it because the snow still came down in heavy sheets and the wind still whipped my cheeks fiercely.
Stars, it’s awful out here. Will we be able to ride again in the morning?
Roar didn’t seem worried, so I kept the question inside. No reason to search for problems that no one could fix. Or try and predict the future. Even if I was a seer, my magic was dead inside me, so I wouldn’t know.
