The Singer's Crown Read Online Free PDF Page A

royal facades descended again. Straining to hear the exchange, Kattanan frowned.
    â€œHis Excellency, Eadmund, Baron of Umberlundt,” the herald announced.
    His Excellency bowed deeply, and flung himself on one knee before Melisande’s chair. “Even to my trifling realm, Your Highness, we have heard tell of your great beauty.”
    â€œThen you have come so far only to be disappointed by the truth of it,” she said.
    He looked up at her with narrowed eyes, a scar stippling one cheek. “Your Highness’s modesty joins with her fairness in a way most becoming.”
    â€œI thank you. Forgive my ill humor, but we must wait so long for the dance, and I cannot even hear the minstrels. If I am short with you, it is only my impatience for music.”
    The baron flicked graying hair from his sharp eyes. “In that spirit, I should like to offer a gift from my court to yours, although even such a treasure should pale next to you.” The baron stood and bowed with a sweeping gesture of his cloak. He stepped off to the side, leaving Kattanan standing before the royal dais. He kept his eyes down as he made obeisance.
    â€œHe is both more than a page, and less,” the baron explained, uncomfortable as ever with the nature of his singer. “Show her your skill, boy.”
    At this, Kattanan did raise his head, and from his lips sprang the voice that was his only prize. Though touched with sorrow, the voice was high as a child’s, and clear. As his teacher had predicted, Kattanan had come into his own, growing stronger and fuller with every year.
    â€œOh,” the princess gasped, “he’s one of the Virgins.” Then she fell silent and shut her eyes, her hands pressed together, lips parted, as he sang an ancient song of blessing.
    Kattanan watched the princess, observing the way she leaned forward, breathed softly, her lashes fluttering upon her cheeks. Never before had he been heard with such intensity. Smoothly, he finished the blessing and began a new song, a ballad of forbidden love between a queen and a hunter. During the queen’s lament, he used his sweetest tones to convey the depth of her love, and Melisande’s lips curved slowly into a smile. When the hunter rode away from her, Kattanan’s voice spoke of a heartbreak he knew well himself. He slipped into his lower range, mourning the queen’s loss. Now, Melisande’s lips trembled as if she stood there herself. At last, the hunter let fly the hawk upon his fist; high, clear notes drew in the wind and the bird flying. When the hawk returned to the song, Kattanan raised his own hand as if he saw it there, and saw the gift it carried—a silver comb from the queen’s own hair.
    Wolfram opened his mouth several times before the words came out. “This is truly the most stunning of gifts ever brought before our court.”
    The baron had eyes only for Melisande. “No treasure is so great that it might equal that of your love. Think on me, your Highness, when you seek a home for that prize.”
    Melisande murmured, “A Virgin of the Goddess—perhaps the last—” Then she broke off. “Thank you for your generosity. You can be sure you will be in my thoughts, Baron Eadmund.”
    â€œHe is called Kattanan duRhys. May his music bring you great joy.” The baron’s cape dragged on the ground as he bowed out of their presence.
    Melisande held out a hand to Kattanan. “You shall stay beside me.”
    â€œI thank you, most gracious Princess.” His voice emerged again as high and clear as his song, from a body that would never be a man’s. For a moment, he remembered that his mother had been a queen, that if events had taken a different turn, he himself might have sought this princess’s hand. Kattanan straightened and thrust the thought aside. He took the offered hand gently, and lightly brushed it with his lips, then settled on the dais by her