|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Sun Dec 10, 2017 3:34 pm
 |
|
|
 |
[Significantly backdated]
Lord Redrick favored, above all else, grandiose displays of his formidable wealth and status. Most of all, he delighted in smearing that very thing in the faces of those who had it not at all. He enjoyed bringing about those less fortunate than himself to feel, for a time, as though they were worthwhile. Or, in a certain lady's case, as though she were worth nothing at all. The lady herself stood, gaze firmly upon the floor, an angry mark cheerfully blossomed upon her cheek where delicate, yet high cheekbones gave her the appearance of haughtiness. The blue-purple hue matched her eyes, if the man did say so himself. Almost as lovely as the woman whose arm he held in a too-tight grip.
"Be welcome, one and all, for song and dance. Make merry, and avail yourselves of my feast." His generosity. His. The songster he had paid to play at the gathering was plucking gaily away at his gitar. If the man seemed particularly intrigued by his captured prize, the lord had taken no notice of it. But of her intrigue? That he was well aware. For she had always loved music, and he knew that being so close to it, and yet denied, was a more painful punishment than that which adorned her now.
When he reached the platform, he let the woman loose before it. "Pray, sing for my lady, and entertain her while I dally." Knowingly, with his guests, in front of her. Ah, but the lady did not care! That galled him some. She should have cared. "Little birds should flock together." He left them alone at that, knowing that she would not dare anything in the public eye. Not with so many watching her for a moment of weakness.
As he left, Ink nearly stared at his back, but wisdom won out at last, and the glare was leveled at the floor. "Good day," she said, and sank into as lovely a curtsy as any true lady had ever made.
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Dec 11, 2017 4:43 am
|
|
|
|
He found them utterly mundane, these ostentatious parties of the wealthy. Such tedious small talk, such cloyingly rich food, and such vapid posturing. But, to be frank, a harper wasn’t paid to enjoy them. A harper was paid to entertain. And so this harper smiled and played jaunty tunes for the revelers, stomped his foot with the beat, and returned ladies’ discreet coquettish stares with overt winks and waves. It was no harm, even expected of harpers in some halls, and all the more likely their husbands or fathers would keep a close eye on them that way.
Lucayr was taking a short interval between songs to rest his voice and tune his gitar when she was all but thrown at his stage. "Pray, sing for my lady,” said Lord Redrick. The harper saw the dark flower upon the lady’s cheek, not even a touch of color on it to cover her dignity, and guessed instantly that their song in the courtyard had not gone unheard by the harsh man who ruled this place. “Of course, my lord,” he said with blithe tone and smile.
Then Redrick walked away, and his golden eyes fell back upon the lady. As she lowered herself before the harper in forced humility, giving honor as if he were somehow far above her, Lucayr was filled with compunction for his part in it… and a profound revulsion for the lord. Knowing now that this stage play was much more complicated than he had imagined, he continued to act his role. “Good day, dear lady. What would you have me sing?” His voice was light, his smile carefully controlled, but if she deigned to look into his eyes, she would see fire hidden behind his harper’s mask.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Dec 11, 2017 5:05 am
|
|
|
|
As the lady moved, great ropes of hair were swept aside, telling the tale all that more dearly. The young woman was clearly aware that her dignity had been torn away, though she maintained the icy visage of before. A series of marks upon that white neck were all that the harper might need to know all, or nearly all. Purple eyes met the golden again, and the Lady Ink stood from that deep curtsy. "Sing a song of a half mark," she said, gathering her dignity about her like a cloak. Although she was forced to abase herself for Lord Redrick's pleasure, she did not crumble nor crack.
She knew that she had been made to stand before this man in mockery, not of him, but of herself, and her disobedience. Many a maid might have been pleased to belong to a certain lord, but none of them knew him well enough to know the lie of it. And he would never have chosen a maiden who would come happily to his hand. Anger and misery battled for supremacy within her gaze, and she watched this newcomer, this man who dared to show even the slightest disapproval for her lord's actions. "Do sing, good lark, for I cannot."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Dec 12, 2017 2:04 pm
|
|
|
|
At the sight of the desecration of that once-flawless skin, the lark let out a soft sigh through his nose, but otherwise made no display of emotion. “As you wish, dear lady.” He twisted the last tuning knob one more time, gave the string a pluck, and smiled at the clear, perfect note. Then, he sang:
Sing a song of a half-mark,
And dragons in the sky,
Four and twenty wherries
Baked in a pie.
The tune, as he began to play, was a bit less jaunty than the way it was usually done. A bit softer, a bit richer, meant to soothe both the beast and the small, hopeless child he could see struggling behind the lady’s dark eyes. His slender fingers brushed across the gitar strings with tender strokes, as a man might stroke his beloved’s hair. His lips formed the inane words of the silly little rhyme, but his soft voice spoke of deeper things.
When the pie was opened
They all began to sing—
Wasn't that a dainty dish
To set before the king?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Dec 12, 2017 5:10 pm
|
|
|
|
The lady who stood before the harper as he so tenderly strummed his gitar did not flinch as eyes bore into her back. She knew, as she always knew, that she was being watched, her every action, every gesture measured - lest she fall even the slightest bit out of line. Wrapped in that tattered cloak of pride that dared show even with her lord's marks so plainly upon her skin, the lady, not far out of girlhood herself, awaited the axe's bite. This songster, who spun such lovely tales, knew precisely the song that she had wished sung.
And knew precisely what she wished done. The song, so gay and merry, and utterly inappropriate to her plight, did tell a far different tale than perhaps the listeners might hear. Her voice could not sing this day, even had she the luxury of a song, but she might tell this lark with her eyes what lips could not. A soft hum accompanied his playing, and though she could not give voice to all, it played out within despairing purple eyes.
She stood, slender and still, wrapped in a grand gown that might befit a greater lady, and her knuckles were white where her hands had made fists. Lord Redrick's laughter pealed over the gathering, and she did not need to look to know that he was playing court to any number of women at the party. As though she cared what he might do. What he did to spite her could not harm her. Lady Ink watched the harper, knowing that though he had a hall to play for, his audience numbered in one.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Dec 12, 2017 5:53 pm
|
|
|
|
He could see the lady’s desire to let her voice free. The hum, barely audible to his ears above his own voice, was lovely, though a pale shadow of the music he knew she was capable of. And he could see, in the edges of his vision, Lord Redrick’s eyes over the heads of his merry-making guests, watching the lady as if he were some sort of beast hunting her. He wondered what the man was waiting for.
The king was in the counting-house
Counting out his money,
The queen was in the parlor
Eating bread and honey.
The maid was in the garden
Hanging out the clothes.
Along came a wherry
And gifted her a rose.
He changed the last line slightly, not as some sort of secret message, but as his way of giving his preference: He dearly wished a happy ending for this lovely, tragic young woman.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Dec 12, 2017 6:03 pm
|
|
|
|
"Alas, dear lark, my lord doth watch,
and from his eyes I cannot stray,
Though I might take from thee a rose,
I dare not enrage him this day."
The so soft words were whispered lyrically, not quite a song, not quite prose. When the effort of such speech was too much for the maiden, she threaded her fingers together, gazing up at the harper who dared to sing such forbidden words. And oh, how forbidden they might be, had he been within hearing of them. Lady Ink knew that there were many in this crowd who might carry the tale of his song to the lord, but why should they? The words were seemingly innocent. Her own were less so. If only there were some other way she might communicate.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Dec 12, 2017 6:29 pm
|
|
|
|
When humming was too much, the lady whistled a snatch from Lessa's Ride, evoking the grand adventure... and the terrible danger of that flight. There was something hidden within her choice. And then, when the song did not entirely suit, she wracked her mind for another. As swift as her thoughts usually ran, they could not chase down the correct rhyme.
"Will you dance?" the lady asked, knowing that there were other harpers who might play, others who belonged to the lord himself. Others who, in fact, already played, their fingers softly strumming their instruments. The lord had said that the lark might entertain her, though song had been his aim.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Dec 13, 2017 2:43 pm
|
|
|
|
"His lordship will be distracted by wine and women before long." Which gave Ink a few stolen moments. The lady did not wince even when the harper's hands brushed those bruises. She did, however, listen carefully for any sign or sound of Lord Redrick. With feet as light as feathers, the pair twirled and swayed among the crowd, as though they had danced before. And yet this was certainly their very first such dance. The laughter of the lord filled the hall, bringing a near imperceptible shiver to the young woman who would defy him. Her desperation was plain enough, although she hid it well. When one knew what to look for, one had only but to look. If Lord Redrick drank himself into a stupor, they would be all right, for a time.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
