Page 179 of Silverbow
“Oh, I’m sure-” Enya’s objection died under Alsbet’s withering glare.
“Hilda, send word to the Unterforges, Blackstones, and Magmarogs that Lady Enya will join them on the morrow. You should take tea together with Alfogheana Stormfall and Yazolyn Ironhilt. They’ll take great insult if you see one before the other. After that…”
Oryn
Oryn was surprised to find a buoyant Enya Silverbow ready for dinner. He’d expected the stonebrew to have taken its toll, but when she stepped out onto the spiral staircase in green silk, she had a gleam in her eye. He blinked at his signet ring dangling from the long cord around her neck. She looked down and hurriedly pushed it into her bodice.
“Should I be worried?” He asked with a sigh.
“The head librarian let me bring a few books back.”
Oryn eyed her sidelong as they descended to the dining room. “I didn’t know you had an interest in books.” It was a ridiculous thing to say, he realized. It was not as if their time on the road was conducive to reading.
“You hardly know me at all, Gargoyle,” she sniffed.
Oryn sighed, glad to deposit her beside an eager Gitaela, full of giggles and gossip about the feast. Oryn waited all through the meal for Alsbet to swoop in, but she kept her musings to polite remarks on the festivities and the latest court gossip, as if the primary subject of that court gossip was not seated at the table.
He’d gone to the training pits early in the day and was chased out by the mutters and speculation. Drozia was buzzing like a hive beneath the mountain. That blasted vow mark she showed to half of Leon’s kingdom was no help. There were betting pools on who she’d sworn it to, and most seemed to thinkhim,nevermind the lace of vines and moonflowers twining up his own arm.
Alsbet’s show of not meddling could only last so long, and so long turned out to be until the sitting room. She took up a cup of wine and prodded Bargitelin to the piano bench. Oryn smiled at his niece as she began to play, her face screwed up in concentration.
“Do you paint or draw, Enya?” Alsbet asked.
“No.”
“Do you sew or weave?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Faint spots of pink appeared in her cheeks as she cast a look around at the royal children.
“Play an instrument?”
“Not really.”
Alsbet eyed her suspiciously. “What does ‘not really’ mean?”
“We had a piano, but I am-”
Alsbet clapped her hands excitedly. “You must play something for us.”
Enya’s face flushed crimson. “Please do not ask me to inflict such torture upon us all.”
“Nonsense,” Alsbet waved. “Bargitelin, make room for Enya.”
His niece excitedly slid to one end of the bench, patting the cushion beside her. “Join me, Lady Enya.”
Oryn didn’t meet her eye as she cast him a pleading look. He tried to hide his amusement in his pipe. With far less protest than he expected, she loosed a resigned sigh and joined the girl on the bench.
“Do you know any duets?” Bargitelin asked.
Enya chewed on her lip and tapped a key. The note rang clear and pure through the sitting room. “Ostra’s March?”
“That is an old tune,” Alsbet remarked.
A tune a Trakbatten would know.Bargitelin, on the lower part, counted them off. His niece played flawlessly, her hands flitting over the keys. Enya, as red as Pallas Davolier’s lion, cringed each time she fumbled a note, but when they finished, Alsbet’s children clapped politely.
“You’ve been practicing, Bar,” he mused.
