Mistel faltered for a heartbeat, caught Cole’s eye, and went right into the next verse.
“Then the Great Whitewolf took him up,
Taught him to use a sword.
He fought quite well, his blade struck true
And blood from Esek poured.”
Before she could return to the chorus, something soft smacked her ear, and a half-eaten roll of bread tumbled to the floor. She yelped and combed breadcrumbs from her hair.
Cole stood, his chair scraping back to the lone sound of Kurtz’s tabor. “Who did that?”
Kurtz stopped playing. “Sit down,” he said sharply.
“I will not,” Cole snapped. He set down his lute, then turned back to the patrons. “Who threw that?”
A massive man at the back of the room pushed to his feet, chest and arms like boulders beneath his tunic. “I did,” he growled. “We don’t want any songs about kings up in the North.”
Another man leaped to his feet. “A hex upon him!”
“Fool boy got our lord killed, now, didn’t he?” a third man chimed in, his words slurred.
The big man spat on the floor and walked toward Cole. “Only fools sing praises for a king who cowers behind walls while better men die for his mistakes.”
Oh, knightling, take care, Mistel thought as Cole clenched his fists.
“Now, see here,” he said. “You know nothing about our?—”
But Kurtz slipped up to Cole and looped an arm around his shoulders in what appeared to be a friendly gesture. He turned their backs to the crowd, which stalled the big man’s forward movement. When Kurtz said nothing more, Mistel knew he was speaking to Cole with his bloodvoicing magic.
“Lost your voice, have you?” the big man said, drawing laughter from the patrons.
Zanna came to stand beside Mistel, who was grateful for the woman’s commanding presence.
Kurtz finally released Cole, who gritted his teeth, sat down, and picked up his lute.
“I can’t laugh,” he muttered.
“What?” Mistel asked.
Kurtz, back at his tabor, started a steady thump, thump, thump, and Cole’s fingers picked out the lilting intro to “Mountain Song.”
Well! Apparently, the show would continue. Mistel entered on cue, her voice softer now. Her heart ached as she sang, but she forced a smile, even as heat simmered beneath her skin.
Never had she been so disrespected by an audience. The thrown bread had rattled her, and when that man had stood and walked toward Cole…She shuddered.
But at least this motley crowd was seated again, their attention back on their drinks, and the food stayed on the tables. Ignoring the band completely but…Fine by her.
After their performance, Mistel and Zanna found Cole outside on the street, lute in hand.
“What did Kurtz say when he bloodvoiced you?” Mistel asked.
Cole glanced around them and spoke softly. “Not to forget that we supposedly left the king’s service, so we don’t get to defend him when drunkards throw insults. We’re to laugh instead—at the very least, hold our tongues.”
Mistel’s heart went out to Cole, who loved the king like a brother. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That entire experience was awful.”
“I’m just glad things didn’t escalate further,” Zanna said.
