Lark and Wren (64 page)

"No-please," Rolend said, closing his eyes and putting his hand to his head. "Not your Aunt Felice. She'll raise half the palace, and then she'll take you off and have you married to one of her ladies-in-waiting before the sun rose. Go get Victor; he's in the Rose Room." He looked each of the Bards in the eyes, in turn. "You're right. We should talk. Perhaps-"

Talaysen saw hope dawning in the King's eyes slowly, and the relief of seeing the end of a burden in sight.

"-perhaps we can make this work-"

Talaysen watched from the steps of the balcony over the Audience Square, standing with the other servants from the King's retinue, with one arm around Rune and one at Gwyna's waist. Sional was doing very well, though he doubted that anyone else was under that impression. The abdication ceremony took three times as long as expected, because of Sional's stutter. Enough witnesses were found to swear that this
was
the lost Prince to have convinced most people-and one of Rolend's mages clinched it by casting a spell over the young man that proved that hair known to have been Sional's had been his. As he had promised, he never changed from his rough working-man's garments, and if anyone had any notions of a romantic hero, he managed to crush them all.

Surely before he was through, a good portion of the people watching-and criers had gone through the city at dawn to ensure that the square was full-were going to be convinced he was a halfwit.

But how long will Rolend believe that he's no danger?
That was the one doubt that kept nagging at him. While they remained, all would be well-but the spell they'd worked would fade in time-and then what? How long could they hope to keep Sional safe? Despite his earlier assurances, it was not easy to fake a death; would they have time to set up Kestrel's demise convincingly enough?

There were few cheers as Sional completed the ceremony, swearing on the holiest relics that could be found that neither he nor any of his progeny would ever return to claim the throne from Rolend and his heirs. But as Rolend and the Priest in charge of the ceremony turned to lead the way off the balcony, he stopped those few cheers with an upraised hand.

This wasn't in the plan!
What was the boy up to?

"I kn-know that th-there are s-still p-people who w-won't believe m-my sw-sworn w-word," he said clearly, now looking down on the folk below, suddenly transformed from the bumpkin to something else entirely, despite the stutter. "S-s-so I'm g-going to m-make c-certain that n-no one c-can ever use m-me or m-mine ag-gainst my uncle."

He turned, ran down the stairs to the assembled servants, caught Gwyna's hand, and drew her up the stairs to the front of the balcony where everyone could see her. She looked around in confusion, not certain what he had in mind.

Rune squeezed Talaysen's hand in excitement, and he hugged her back. Was the boy about to do what he
thought
?

There were gasps from the people below, as they saw her in all her Gypsy finery. Gasps of outrage, mostly. Bad enough to have this bumpkin-prince on the royal balcony, but a Gypsy?

They were about to get an even bigger shock.

"G-Gwyna Kravelen, Free B-Bard, will you m-marry me?" he asked, his voice carrying clearly to the edge of the square.

The silence could have been cut and eaten.

"I-oh-I-" she stammered just as badly as
he
had, and Rune giggled.

"I'll t-take that for a yes," he said, and looked over her head at the Priest who had conducted the abdication ceremony. "Y-you've w-w-witnessed it, Father," he continued, and kissed her.

At that, Victor could no longer restrain himself. He was already half delirious at having his cousin back-and discovering that Sional
didn't
hate them. Now he lost every shred of dignity.

He gave a wild whoop of joy, threw his hat into the air, where it sailed up and landed on the roof-and threw his arms around the both of them.

Then
the cheers began.

"So, who's the happiest man in Birnam today?" Rune asked Talaysen, as they showered the mob of mixed Gypsy and servant children under the balcony with candy to keep them out of mischief.

"Kestrel?" Talaysen hazarded. She shook her head, and pitched sweets to some of the littlest who weren't getting any.

"Almost, but not quite," she told him. "He will be when he gets Robin out of here, but the celebrating is wearing thin. Weddings are really for women, anyway." She giggled. "I think the happiest
person,
not only in Birnam but in all of Alanda, is the Queen. She not only got to plan an entire wedding, she got to play mother to the groom
and
the bride!"

"The King?" Talaysen guessed. "No-probably not. When he offered to host this wedding he never guessed that every Gypsy within three kingdoms was going to descend on him." They both laughed, though Rune couldn't help but think he deserved at least that much anxiety, after all those years of pain that he'd given Kestrel. But there would be bills coming to the Palace for pilfered goods and stolen livestock for the next month at least. And stodgy little Birnam would never be the same again. They'd been invaded by an army of folk who had no ties but to the road, no responsibilities but to each other, and they had been set on their ears by the experience.

"It isn't me," the Bard said, after a moment.

"Really?" She raised an eyebrow at him. "You got what
you
wanted. Free Bards have exactly the same privileges as Guild Bards in Birnam-"

He nodded, and sighed. "But to get that, I had to agree to be Laurel Bard to the throne."

That had been to keep the Bardic Guild out of making mischief with the King's enemies. Now there would be an information network everywhere-the Free Bards and the Gypsies who remained-that the Church, the Guild, and the disgruntled Sires couldn't touch or even trace.

She
tsked
at him, and threw another handful of candy. "Poor Master Wren. Property, the title of Sire-I know people who'd kill for that-"

"I had that all and gave it up," he reminded her. "Never mind. We can go scandalize Birnam some more, and build a Free Bard school in the manor-how does that sound?"

"Good," she told him contentedly. "But you still haven't answered my question."

"I give up," he said, and popped a candy in her mouth.

"Victor," she said, tucking it into her cheek.

"Why Victor?" That answer had clearly surprised him.

"First-he got his cousin back. Second-his mother got to have a wedding, and
he
didn't have to get married. She'll probably leave him alone for a few more months. Third-the King isn't a child-killing ogre anymore, and I don't think he's in any danger of making that grave a moral decision again-and last, but by no means least-Prince Victor has been
very
popular with our Gypsy friends." She laughed at the look on his face. "He's their favorite
gejo
at the moment. He has gotten
quite
an education, I promise you! Frankly, I'm surprised he can walk of a morning!"

"So that's why he's-" Talaysen broke off what he was going to say, much to her disappointment. "Look-here comes the wagon!"

A brand new and beautifully painted wagon, the King's wedding gift to the happy couple, driven by Raven and drawn by two glossy black mares, clattered across the cobblestones of the courtyard. Nightingale balanced on the top, scattering coppers to all sides, which had the effect of sending the children out of harm's way, shrieking with delight.

Raven pulled them up smartly, and just below the balcony, the great doors flew open. Kestrel and Robin, dressed head-to-toe in the Gypsy finery in which-to the utter scandal of the court-they had been wedded, ran hand-in-hand out onto the cobblestones. Raven jumped down off the driver's bench as Nightingale slid from the top. Raven handed Gwyna up, holding her long enough for a hearty kiss, then turned the reins over to Kestrel.

Kestrel jumped up onto the driver's bench and took his place beside Gwyna. He had proved to be a good driver, with Raven to tutor him, and the mares responded to his touch on the reins promptly. As he got the spirited mares turned, the thunder of hooves rang out from the entrance to the courtyard.

A flood of of Gypsy riders poured in, each one trying to outdo the other in stunt-riding.

They swirled around the wagon, and as Kestrel cracked the whip above the horses' heads, they surrounded it, whooping at the tops of their lungs.

And just as the entire equipage started to pull out, escort and all, another rider appeared at the far side of the courtyard, from the direction of the royal stables.

He let out a wild war-cry that caught even the Gypsies' attention, and plunged towards them.

"Is that-
Victor
?" Talaysen said, incredulously.

It was. Dressed-not quite in wild Gypsy regalia, but certainly in the brightest gear his closet had to offer. He spurred his horse towards the wedding cortege with another wild cry, circled the group three times, and cried, "Come
on
! The road won't wait forever!"

He pounded off towards the courtyard gate, the clear leader of the pack, with the rest of the mob streaming along behind him, wagon in their midst.

The stunned silence that filled the courtyard was more eloquent than words. Finally Talaysen shook his head.

"Poor Birnam," he sighed. "Poor, stiff-necked Birnam. We've unmade their King, turned their Princes into Gypsies, their lands into a haven for ne'er-do-well vagabonds, elves, and Free Bards, and stolen the power from their Bardic Guild. What's left?"

"Oh," she said, thinking of a little secret she had just shared with Gwyna.
He'll find out about it in a month or two. I think he'll like being a father.
"I'll think of something. Trust me."

"And you'll probably manage to surprise me as much as we've surprised Birnam," he chuckled.

She just smiled, and waved to the vanishing Gypsies.