A shadow darkened their table. “Look who’s come back to warm his bones at my hearth.” Merrygog McLennan’s gravelly voice carried the weight of a life well lived. A burly man in his sixties, the tavern owner had white, unruly hair tied back in a sloppy ponytail and a thick, gray beard. “I’ve missed seeing your rugged mug ’round these parts, Kurtz. What brings you back from the king’s service, eh? A good drink and a dance, I’d wager.”
Kurtz stood and greeted Merrygog with a hug. “Good to see you, old man.”
“Rilla says you’re making music these days?” The old man wrinkled his nose.
“Only because of the talent of these two.” Kurtz introduced Merrygog to Cole and his cousin Mistel and hinted that they’d like to audition for work.
“I’ll hear you now, but you’d have to butcher the tune for me to turn down the likes of the Chazir.” He patted Kurtz’s shoulder.
They left Zanna to her scowling and set up in the corner spot. It amused Kurtz that the last time he’d been here was with Achan, sneaking the prince a drink and a dance. If he’d known then that he’d someday return as part of a band, he’d never have believed it.
“We’d like to play one of my cousin’s most famous songs,” Cole told Merrygog. “One she wrote celebrating our king, who she knew in her youth.”
Cole played a quick introduction on the lute, and Mistel started singing “The Pawn Our King.”
Two verses in, and Kurtz knew they’d manage their ruse just fine. One needn’t be a bard to see that Merrygog was downright smitten with Mistel. That girl knew how to draw people in, she did. Not that Kurtz wanted her here, but he had to admit Mistel Wepp had, at the very least, proved her worth.
When the song ended, Merrygog and Rilla both applauded while Zanna got up and moved beside the hearth, arms folded, glowering as if music were a beast about to bite.
“Wonderful!” Merrygog said. “You must play here this very night.”
“Well now, we’d like to, we would,” Kurtz said, “but we’ve got to make an appearance at the welcome banquet in Lytton Hall.”
“Afterward, then,” Merrygog said. “The crowds are light this time of year, but we’ll have plenty to hear you by then. And once you play and word spreads, I daresay we’ll have even more here tomorrow.”
“You’re too kind,” Mistel said.
Zanna stepped into their circle, the sound of her boots against the floor like a blacksmith’s hammer on an anvil. “Time we got you settled, Mistel,” she said. “Though from the look of you, I wonder if we shouldn’t first stop off and get you some warmer clothes.”
The suggestion put a wide smile on the girl’s face. “Oh, that would be wonderful. It’s so cold here, and I didn’t pack the right things at all.”
Imagine that. The North cold. Kurtz had to admit Zanna had a thread more sense than the girl. Maybe having her around wouldn’t be so bad.
Mistel embraced Cole as she bid him farewell, and Kurtz tried very hard not to let his exasperation show. The girl would be back in a few hours, but by their lingering display, you’d have thought she was taking a voyage across the Northsea.
Finally, the females left, and Rilla showed Kurtz and Cole up to their room, one with a charmouse painted onto the door.
“I’ll get the fire going for you,” Rilla said, walking toward the hearth.
Cole set his things on one of the two beds. “You don’t mind if I practice a little, do you?”
“Have at it,” Kurtz said. “Sure you don’t want to eat first?”
“Naw,” Cole said. “I’ll eat at the banquet. How long until then?”
“Only about an hour, I’d say.”
As Cole fingered through a run of music, Rilla wandered back toward them, fiddling with her apron, fire blazing behind her. She hadn’t changed all that much in the past thirteen years. Put on a little weight in all the right places.
She cast him a mischievous glance, lashes fluttering, and Kurtz had little doubt she wouldn’t shy away from his touch.
“Anything else you need?” she asked.
“The lad wants to practice,” Kurtz said. “I’ll come down and have a drink.”
“Not too many,” Cole said without looking up from his lute.
Kurtz clenched his jaw. “No need to mother me, lad. I’ll be good.”
