Then, of course, she had to go and admit that she was far more foolish than he’d thought possible. How could she come here alone, to alake, and not know how to swim? How did she not see the danger in it?
He’d stopped himself from falling down a hole, imagining how many trips she’d made here already, how many chances she’d already had to drown. Gods, he was grateful he’d asked. At least now he could ensure her safety.
He sat in the usual spot, where he’d laid the cloth of food for her the night before and pulled his harp into his lap.
She did the same, folding her legs beneath her and sitting so close he could feel her there without looking. “Can I touch it?” she asked, reaching for his lap.
For a singular moment, Finn forgot she spoke of his harp. He cleared his throat, nodding, but unable to answer. He was only here to teach her to play, to keep her company in Dallan’s stead, he reminded himself sternly. And he’d only be doing so during the trials. If he failed a trial, he’d be gone or dead. And if, by some miracle, he and Dallan survived to the end, Eva would be sent home. Their time together would be but brief, and he couldn’t spoil it by wreaking havoc on both their hearts.
She ran her fingers over the instrument reverently, caressing first the body carved of elm and willow, then the brass strings strung tightly between. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “Where did you get it?”
“My parents.” She was coming too close to something he had no desire to speak of, even with Eva.
Something in his answer made her look up at him, away from the harp. “It makes you sad.”
It wasn’t a question.
“They spent too much on something I didn’t need with money they didn’t have.” With money they ought to have used on something far more important.
Eva leaned closer to him, her eyes the color of sun-drenched fields in summer and filled with as much warmth. “I have heard masters from every one of the nine kingdoms, the best bards according to all who hear them. Not a one of them could sing or play as you do. You have a gift, and your parents were right to give you a harp to match it.”
Finn’s eyes stung at her sincerity. She had no idea how nearly she’d come to bringing up the most painful part of it all.A harp fit for a master bard, they’d said when they gave it to him. Master bard, indeed.
“I’m going to teach you to play correctly,” he told her, desperate to change the subject. “When you pick up a harp, the instinct is to pull the string like an arrow and release it, like this.” He showed her, plucking a single string.
She nodded. “’Tis how I play it. Is that wrong?”
“Was a master teaching you?” he asked, unable to hide his frustration.
When she nodded, a surge of anger gripped his stomach. “He taught you wrong.”
“Why wouldn’t a master know how to play it correctly?”
“Oh,” Finn growled, unable to hide his disgust, “he knew how to play correctly. He just didn’t teachyouto play correctly.”
Eva shook her head, confusion writ on her face. “But why would he do such a thing?”
“Because you’re a woman.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she objected, still shaking her head. “Master Kerrill wouldn’t do that.”
“He would,” Finn argued, “and he did. Most masters don’t believe women capable of learning to play the harp with proper technique. It’s nonsense, to be sure, but ’tis what they say.”
He watched determination take over Eva. She readjusted her position, sitting straighter and giving Finn a look so smoldering he had to turn away before his mind strayed too far. “Show me.”
“The proper way is not to pluck them, but to tap them. It makes a richer, fuller sound with better range. Like this.” He hit a string with one of his nails, almost flicking it but with more control. “To string multiple notes together without losing them in each other, you use your other hand to stop the string from vibrating.”
“May I try?”
He handed her the harp without hesitation. He couldn’t explain it, but after the few exchanges he’d had with Eva he already trusted her more than her brother.
She tried first plucking, then tapping the longest string. It didn’t work. Her rose-pink lips pursed in concentration as she tried again, tapping it harder. This time it rewarded her with a deep, resonating tone that carried over the water. Looking up at him, her eyes shone bright, her smile brighter. “’Tis quite difficult,” she admitted cheerily.
“That’s why they have you start training so young. But you could still learn to play with great skill, even beginning now.”
“Thank you, Finn. Really,” she choked out the word. “I’m embarrassed to admit how much I appreciate this. I’ve always wanted to learn to play.”
“Try playing the same note, and pausing it with your other hand,” he suggested, steering the conversation to safer ground. She’d never learn to play if neither one could focus on the task at hand.
