Page 43 of The Prince and the Ice King

Reardon motioned for Wynn to take the final verse, and he did, high and true.

“For years she tried to find a true song

That wouldn’t end in heartache and gloom,

But all the heroes were lies or had died on their feet,

So she drank and lied her way too.”

They finished strong together.

“For no bard is humble,

And no hero’s flawless.

All that matters is the stories we tell.

“When the dark falls,

And swords clash in the night,

Strong ale is better than a fight.”

Wynn trilled through several loud ending chords, and Nigel gave an impromptu shake of his tambourine, making everyone laugh. Reardon’s mother had often said it wasn’t a funny tale if one listened closely, but it always got a crowd roaring and made Reardon smile.

He took a seat beside Wynn at the harpsichord. “Can you teach me what you were working on when I came in?”

They played and sang for nearly an hour more before the door to the music room burst open—to reveal Barclay, looking put out that he hadn’t been invited.

“Now, now, poor slave to our weather wizard,” Nigel exclaimed, “how did you know to escape and join us?”

“Zephyr told me.” Barclay rushed over, squeezing onto the bench with Reardon and Wynn like it was commonplace for the three of them to play together. “I begged Liam to let me leave early for lunch once I finished a few things. What are we singing?”

Reardon noticed a funny look on Nigel’s face that was quickly replaced by a smile.

“Glad you could join us,” Josie said, moving to take a spot in front of the harpsichord, where she smiled at Barclay with all her golden beauty. “Music isn’t the same without you.”

“And there would be no music worth singing without you,” he answered—only to catch himself like he’d said something he shouldn’t, darting his eyes at Reardon. “I-I mean….”

“Shall we try another?” Wynn spoke over him. “How about ‘Moonlit Lovers’?”

If the princess could blush through her golden sheen, she certainly did, and it struck Reardon as suddenly… sad. Barclay had always been a disaster with women, which Reardon said was his fault for being the worst sort of second, but it didn’t surprise him that his friend had found a better voice here.

How unfair, though, for it to be with a woman he couldn’t touch.

“Shouldn’t the bard get a turn?” Nigel blocked their view to Josie by draping his arms over the harpsichord, tossing Wynn some new sheet music to be played with spoken verse, and the merriment played on.

They stayed in the music room for what must have been hours, leading up to lunchtime. When they did finally agree that hunger meant it was time to disperse, Wynn patted Barclay’s shoulder for his lovely additions to their harmonies, and Barclay’s eyes went blank.

A vision.

“Wynn—” Barclay turned to the elf as they stood from the harpsichord. “—there’s an issue with the sewage pump, a faulty valve you need to tend to that might break in a few days.”

“Good to know! What would we do without you?” Wynn patted his back again.

Reardon wasn’t used to Barclay being able to express his visions without having to think up some elaborate lie for why he knew what he did. Here it was just a part of life.

Josie smiled at Barclay as she floated out of the room after most of the others had gone, his eyes following her the entire way, until they reached Reardon watching him.

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