“I’m not an inventor’s daughter for nothing,” she said to no one.“But I’m also practical.And problem solving is best done on a full stomach.”She steeped some tea, ate all six brown-bottom pastries, then set about finding the best way out of that place.
Chapter 2
When his mother shovedhim and tore off his bed sheet, Riven startled awake.
“Riven Albert David Helmworthy.You are a disgrace to your crown and kingdom.Get up and get dressed.”
Riven wiped last night’s revelry from his eyes and tried to focus on his room in the brightness of day.“Where is Phillippe?”
“Nursing his head from too much ale.”
In answer to his unspoken question about who would help dress him, his mother the queen tossed his braise and tunic at him.“You have an important guest downstairs—the enchantress.The bells have rung midday and yet here you are, abed with what I can only assume is also a headache from too much ale.”
The enchantress was here.That snapped him awake faster than anything else ever would.But which one?Tilisandre, Goddess of River Waters and Spring Rains, whose hair held all the colors of sunrise?Whose eyes were all the colors of springtime meadows?Tilisandre, who giggled wondrously at his jokes and blushed furiously at his winks?Beautiful, gentle, enchanting Tilisandre, who gifted him his magical mandolin in exchange for a mere kiss so that he might bring joy and music to the world?
Or Brumenhildr, her older sister, whose hair was the color of anger and whose eyes were the color of punishment?Brumenhildr, who insisted the mandolin come with conditions?Brumenhildr, who gave Riven but one month to complete an impossible task or pay the price?
The request had seemed ridiculous at the time—whether from being mesmerized by Tilisandre, overly plied with ale, or just outright unbelievable he was unsure.But the promise of another of Tilisandre’s kisses had been enough to distract him into agreeing.
It had not been a full month yet since Brumenhildr’s threat.It must be Tilisandre who visited him.Riven shook his head at his mother’s comment as he shoved his legs into his braise.“I was not drinking.”
She scoffed.
“I was merely playing music.”He spared a few joyful dance steps as he tugged on his royal tunic, then ran his fingers through his hair to unrumple it.No time to summon a royal treasurer for his crown, so Riven opened the small chest on his desk and pinned a blue brooch at each shoulder, then grabbed his cape off a hook near the door and handed it to his mother, turning his back so she could fasten it to the loops on his tunic.
His mother tugged on his loops harder than the task required.Sarcasm filled her tone.“Of course you were.Thou art naught more than a wastrel like your brother.I should expect nothing less or more from you.”
“Half-brother,” he bristled, hating the despairing commentary regarding Luc that had plagued him his entire life.“And I am nothing like him.I was out playing delightful music,” he insisted.“At The Muddy Toad tavern.I was there all night.”He pointed his chin at the mandolin.“Playing on that.”He pretended to strum the instrument in midair.
She gasped and flung him around to stare at him like she’d never seen his kind before.“For coin?”
He shook his head again as he dropped his hands.“No, Mother.For pleasant diversion.I am told I have quite a talent for the mandolin.”Of course, playing on a magical instrument ensured he could only succeed in his endeavors.And what success he claimed!By his second song, every foot in the tavern stomped rhythmically, every voice aided his chorus, and tankards of ale landed before him all the night long to wet his whistle.Smiles and happiness filled the air until the walls nigh stretched to contain it all.
Bliss.Joy and bliss for hours without end.
“May the Lord save me from my irresponsible son,” she muttered as she roughly smoothed out the creases in his cape, but Riven heard her.
