“Megari! Get down from there!” Takkan raked an embarrassed hand through his hair.
I wished I could laugh. One started to ripple up from my belly, and it tickled to hold it down. But I settled for a smile, the widest I’d had in a long time.
“He’s also afraid of monsters. Eight-headed ones with striped fur and white hair—” Megari jumped off the stump, grinning wickedly as her brother’s cheeks turned a fierce shade of scarlet. “Do you remember how Hasege said he saw one on the roof? You stood guard for weeks, looking out for a monster you made up in your own story!”
“That was a cruel joke,” Takkan said, his exasperation growing. “And I’m not afraid of monsters.”
“You’re afraid of singing for the festival, though.”
Megari was brazen, I thought, chuckling at how mortified Takkan looked. Like he wished the river would sweep him away.
You sing?
“Does he sing?” Megari repeated. “The priestesses used to say that Takkan could summon the larks and swallows with the sound of his voice, just the way I can calm the raging winds with my moon lute.”
“Coincidentally, those priestesses also say Mama has diamonds spilling from her lips whenever she donates gold makans,” said Takkan dryly. He faced me. “They exaggerate, Lina. Grossly.”
With a shake of my head, I reached into my pocket, fumbling for my brush and writing book.
I want to hear. Never met a singing warlord.
A faint smile touched Takkan’s mouth. “Just how many warlords have you met, Lina?”
I put up both my hands to indicate dozens. Hundreds. It was the truth, but of course Takkan thought I was joking.
None sing. None indebted for saving life.
He groaned. It was a shameful blow—even I knew it. Thankfully, he was a good sport.
“Megari put you up to this, didn’t she?” he said, turning to his bright-eyed sister.
The girl shrugged. “You’re always saying history ignores Iro. Someone has to sing of all the battles we’ve fought so they’ll be remembered.”
“I meant for you to sing them, Megari. You’re the musician, not I.”
“Come, Takkan, you sound like you’d rather go to battle than sing one measly song with me. Lina isn’t expecting larks and swallows to flock to the temple, you know. Not during the winter, anyway.”
I nodded, reassuring him.
“All right,” he finally agreed. “If feeling a little ill in front of several hundred people will make you happy, then it’s a small price to pay. One song.”
Megari jumped, clapping with glee. “We’ll have to practice so you don’t make a fool of yourself in front of Lina.”
“Youshould practice before it gets too cold,” Takkan said. “Didn’t you say you wanted to play among the plum blossoms, or was that a ruse to get Lina and me to come here with you?”
“It was a ruse for me to get you to sing at the festival, Brother. I knew you wouldn’t say no, not in front of Lina.”
Megari took out her lute and plopped onto a fallen log. Her face lit up with joy as soon as she began strumming.
I leaned against a tree and listened. Music had never been high on my list of life’s enjoyments. Playing the zither had been a chore I ranked as only slightly more desirable than sewing.
But I’d been wrong. I had underestimated music.
Megari plucked a yearning chord, and my heart ached fiercely, as if its own strings had been tugged. What I wouldn’t give to dance along to Yotan’s flute again or to sing with my mother in the kitchen. Those were happy times, like this moment now. Too soon, Megari’s song would become a memory as well.
Takkan appeared, leaning against the other side of my tree and listening to his sister play. Had he been there the entire time?
When he saw me glancing at him, I quickly looked away. But it was too late. He rounded the tree until we were side by side.
