Ravens, Owls and a nightingale

25. Hurt & Comfort

Only a moment ago Mioll's step had been sure and his carriage determined, but now he was hesitating. He raised his hand to knock, then stopped to listen. Should he? Shouldn't he? Was it perhaps still too early? Maybe it would be better to go away for a while more and –

His head jerked up and the hand that had been hovering a few inches shy of the door fell down to his side when he heard the approaching steps, made by two brisk pairs of booted feet. The minstrel's lips twitched. He didn't really need to look behind to recognize the people who where currently climbing the stairs, but he definitely did need to turn around and bow respectfully in front of them.

"Good morning, my honored Lords! Going for a morning ride?"

"Good morning, Mioll!" The Ranea practically bounced up the last steps, his bear-like father following behind at a more measured pace. "Yes, we're going riding with my sisters, but I wanted to see Heliet and Karos first!"

Mioll had barely time to blink once before the boy had stepped past him and was already pushing the door open after the briefest of knocks.

"Good morning, Heliet!" His sunny voice echoed on tapestry-clad walls. "I heard that you'd already fetched breakfast from the kitchen. Good morning, Noriet, how are you today?"

Mioll, shedding his earlier reservations, drifted into the room in the shadow of Lord Rhodan's broad back. Morning or not, sometimes the Revnashi just weren't too good at respecting privacy...

Karos was sitting on the bed and munching breakfast, a tray carefully placed between him and Schean who was perched cross-legged on the other side. Bengor, in full outdoor clothes, jumped to sit next to his brother and was about to hug him, then pulled back and frowned.

Karos' upper body was bare, and the still incompletely healed wound on his side was clearly visible. Bengor peered at the scar, eyebrows crumpling, clearly fascinated and concerned at the same time. Very cautiously he put his hand on it and looked up at Karos who flinched a little.

"Does it still hurt?" he asked.

"Not really, unless you poke at it. It's just sensitive to touch."

The boy nodded, then threw his arms around his brother's neck and hugged tight, blinking away tears.

"I'm so glad that you're getting better," he said thickly. "I was afraid you'd die."

"Hush," Karos murmured and kissed Bengor's hair, long arms winding around the slim body. "Don't think about it any more. I'll be fine in no time at all. You'll see."

Bengor smiled, then looked at him with a pout that somewhat undermined the sternness of his expression.

"You'd better too!" he said with great authority. "You must take better care of yourself, Karos. And stop giving Heliet the slip, do you hear me? Or I'll be very cross with you!"

Lord Rhodan, who had so far been just standing beside the bed and beaming at the scene of brotherly affection, raised his thick eyebrows.

"What do I hear?" he rumbled. "Have you been giving Schean gray hairs, son? And going against the Wizard's orders, too! I ought to spank you."

Karos flashed his father a sheepish scowl and the Lord frowned at the demurely waiting Schean, who flushed slightly red.

"Minstrel? What's this? Why haven't you told me that my son has been giving you trouble?"

'My son'... the Lord seemed to take great pleasure in saying it aloud, Mioll observed. He also observed that, contrary to his expectations, his young friend did not begin to squirm under the dark glare. No, in fact Schean's lips were trying to pull into an expression that was suspiciously close to a mischievous smirk.

"I do apologize for that lapse, my Lord," the younger minstrel ventured, "it's just that I didn't realize there would be anything new in that, seeing as he's always such a handful."

Mioll hastened to snap up his jaw before it had fallen more than half an inch. Lord Rhodan stared at Schean for a moment, then barked with laughter and slapped him on the shoulder so that he nearly dropped the mug in his hand.

"A handful? Well, you're right there!" the man chuckled. "He's my son, after all. But you don't seem to mind too much, my young minstrel – I think you rather like challenges, don't you?"

The Lord's grin and wink baffled Schean into blushing even more deeply, but Lord Rhodan had already turned his attention elsewhere.

"Well, Bengor, are you happy now?" he asked. "You've seen your brother, and now we really need to let him rest and heal. We definitely want him to be at the celebration with us, don't we?"

"Oh yes!" Bengor jumped on his feet. "Get well soon, do you hear me? When your wound has healed properly, we'll go riding together, all of us. Won't we, father?"

"Indeed we will!" Lord Rhodan stepped closer and ruffled affectionately Karos' already messy hair. "But you must promise not to get into any more foolishness now, son."

He grabbed a fistful of black curls and looked his elder son in the eye, voice softening suspiciously. "It was too damn close that I'd have lost you, and now I want to have all my four excellent children around me."

The Lord pecked Karos on the cheek, then straightened himself and pulled Bengor into a one-armed hug. "Now, Ranea, you come with me. We interrupted your brother's breakfast, and your sisters will soon have left without us, the wildcats that they are!"

The door closed behind the father and son. Schean shot a questioning glance at Mioll, obviously happy for an excuse to pretend that he didn't notice at all how Karos was fighting to hide his emotions at the Lord's parting gesture.

"Didn't even have the chance to say good morning to you!" he grinned. "Will you join us for breakfast? We could get some more food from downstairs."

"No, thank you," Mioll interrupted him and sat down on the wall bench. "I won't be intruding. I was just debating with myself whether or not it's still too early in the morning to come and disturb you, when the gentlefolks came and kindly solved the problem for me. I only wanted to check if we'll be rehearsing some time today, or if you will stay here and keep the patient – sorry, the young Master! – entertained."

Karos snorted quietly at the title, but Mioll ignored him.

"I won't mind even if you choose to stay here, mind you. We've played so much over the past few days that I swear my fingers have worn shorter!"

Karos rolled his eyes.

"And you told me you weren't too tired to play," he muttered under his breath. Mioll was sure he hadn't been meant to hear it, and looked accordingly oblivious while Schean bit his lip and gave the man a sideways glance.

"In fact I think I'll stay here," he said readily. "Karos needs to rest, and I'm going to make sure he really does that today!"

"A good idea, I'm sure," Mioll nodded. "Besides, from what I've seen, every single day this entire place gets more and more like a boiling cauldron, so you're very wise to stay out of the way as much as you can. I was half thinking of finding a quiet corner for myself, so that I could just crawl there and hide. There's such a fuss going on."

"Yes, I noticed when I went to the kitchen," Schean said. "But are you sure that you really don't mind?"

"Little brother..." Mioll shook his finger threateningly. "How many times do I need to say it? That I won't mind at all? And do you perhaps think that I couldn't take care of myself, hmm? Now, you do what you will, but please stop worrying about me. The gentlefolks have gone riding, Lady Bialka won't be missing me for a good while still, and right now I have a nice opportunity to find that peaceful corner!"

"All right, but do come here if you feel like some company," Schean said. "And also if you want to play. Karos won't mind."

Mioll solemnly promised to bear the offer in mind and slipped out, but Schean would've been very surprised to see the transformation that took place as soon as he was alone in the corridor. His shoulders sagged, the customary self-assured smile vanished from his face, and it was an altogether more sordid-looking creature that slowly padded down the stairs. But before entering once more the busier passages of the castle it stopped to recompose itself, and when the servants scuttling back and forth in their chores again caught a glimpse of the older minstrel, the usual slightly mischievous half-smile was securely back.

The party was indeed drawing close, the preparations were in full swing, but Mioll's mood was getting steadily more morose with every passing day. It really spoke volumes of Schean's distracted state of mind that he hadn't noticed anything amiss. If he had noticed, he certainly would have commented on it, of that Mioll was sure. He didn't blame Schean, though; the boy had enough reason to be powerfully distracted. Besides, wasn't he used to hiding his own emotions and putting a happy face on everything, and even prided himself for being good at it?

And yet Schean's indifference stung a little, for which Mioll chided himself. He would not admit to being jealous – not to Schean and not of him, either. Okay, so maybe he envied Schean – who wouldn't, seeing that he appeared to be making headway with his tall, dark and handsome? A rueful smile crept on Mioll's lips as he thought about Schean's earlier references to his relations with the raggedly gorgeous young Revnashi beast, and the scene he'd witnessed just moments earlier. Something had happened, there was no mistaking it. Nothing else could explain how and why the same dark beast was now lounging in bed, more or less naked as far as Mioll had been able to see, looking fit to die for and practically eating out of Schean's hand.

Mioll sighed. Something had brought those two a lot closer to each other, and if Schean wasn't already on intimate terms with Karos, then at least damn close. Schean was so obvious... Really, being guileless could be considered a virtue, but the boy should yet learn not to wear his heart perpetually on his sleeve! How he had ever managed to pull the wool over Lord Moydherr's eyes, that was one of the biggest mysteries Mioll Labeth had encountered in his life. But well, on the other hand, if opportunity makes a thief, why couldn't necessity whip even a young, sweet-natured minstrel into some successful scheming?

Here he was again, thinking of Schean... Mioll headed to his own tiny room, closed the door firmly and crawled to sit on the bed, legs crossed and face buried in hands. About a week till departure, and his mask was about to crumble! This was not acceptable.

He had never meant this to happen. First he had stayed in Moydherr far longer than he'd originally intended, and after that Deleon had been his only chance. He hadn't been sorry to come here, he still wasn't, but now it was high time for him to go. How fortunate it was that Lady Bialka had chosen in the end to return to her home in Eregal. She was nice and kind enough, and even though Mioll wasn't overly enthusiastic about her or her kids, he was ready to put up with them because it would mean a relatively comfortable passage for him as well. He'd walked countless miles in his life, and would most certainly have enough chances to still add to his mileage once he decided to move on from Eregal. There was no reason not to enjoy free transport when possible.

And go he must. He had to get back in touch with traveling, with being the itinerant minstrel once more. He had tarried here too long as it was, for he was already feeling the pull of regular meals, steady comfort and a warm bed. Schean had succumbed to it, before ever properly getting the taste of wandering life, and somehow it seemed to suit him. Maybe Schean wasn't really cut out for the wandering life? Oh, he could learn it, but why should he, when he was so obviously well-loved here and even had found a companion who'd hold him dear?

Schean wasn't at all Mioll's type. For him, Revnashi men were the very picture of breathtaking gorgeousness – big, strong, fiery and passionate, proud and tough, and incredibly sexy. So why was he now nurturing a proper crush in his small, lithe, sandy-haired compatriot, a sweet and basically very innocent young man, almost a boy still by Mioll's standards? Schean was fun, perceptive, clever and honest, but really not much of a challenge for someone as experienced as Mioll. So why this damn stubborn crush? Why this feeling of immediate heartbreak when he heard the obvious tenderness in Schean's voice whenever Karos was as much as mentioned? Why the sting of jealousy when he'd seen how those black eyes followed Schean's every movement – and no, he had not been jealous of Karos!

It was definitely time to go. A few more days till the party where he'd play his fingers off and sing his voice hoarse, then a couple days more of packing, and then off. Away. Towards the tall and dark and handsome Revnashi man who had to be out there somewhere, only waiting for the jackpot that was Mioll to come his way.

The minstrel jumped on his feet and swept his nearly waist-long tresses behind his back. Enough of this pining! There were things to do, things to keep him busy. The day room was bound to be empty at the moment, but there he'd have the best chance of getting some audience, maybe even someone to chat with. At least the young Ladies and Ranea would most probably find their way there at some point, maybe some others too.

Indeed, the day room was deserted, and Mioll settled comfortably on a padded stool with his lute lovingly in his arms. It didn't take long before he was completely lost in the soft tunes emerging from it, oblivious to the passage of time and the movement of servants in the corridor. But some time later, when he saw in the corner of his eye a glimpse of two men ambling in and settling companionably in the chairs placed in front of the big fireplace, his mouth went dry and his fingers very nearly faltered on the strings.

Mioll took a precious moment to steady his hand once more before raising his head enough to greet the new arrivals with a nod. All right, so maybe the man awaiting him somewhere didn't necessarily have to be dark, not even Revnashi – a blond would do very well, too. He briefly contemplated a journey south-west instead of east, then trashed the idea. Beltrionas and its endless forests might be teeming with hordes of Sorel-lookalikes, but it was just that – forest, here and there dotted by small patches of field and villages. No castles or mansions there, and the distances were staggering. Besides, from what he'd heard sometimes, the people tended to adhere rigidly to tradition and could be downright hostile towards anyone less conforming. No place for a Mioll, and obviously not for a Sorel either.

The minstrel kept stealing glances at the men who were engaged in a discussion on drills for the troops, his thoughts straying. He tried to comprehend that he'd soon be on the road again, on his way eastward. He pictured the castles that lined the banks of River Czorhass like a string of pearls – Eregal, Gaurham, Farythan, Rhevendor, Doras, Gilfell... quite a few he'd visited earlier, some only heard of. Illustrious names, mighty Lords, haughty Ladies. Sumptuous wealth and splendor. So unlike the sternly practical Deleon. Since when did all that glitter sound so uninviting?

"You look downcast, minstrel."

The deep, smooth voice startled Mioll back to the moment, and only his solid experience prevented his fingers from tripping on each other.

"I beg your pardon, Sir Count?"

"I said that you look downcast," the man repeated patiently. "The thought of leaving Deleon obviously doesn't delight you."

"Why would I delight in leaving a place like this behind?" Mioll evaded, half expecting to see a sneer, but it didn't appear.

"And yet you have chosen to go – as far as I know, Lord Rhodan has nothing against your staying here," Count Daynar observed. "So why leave?"

"Ah, Sir Count, isn't it wisdom to know when to leave, before one needs to be told so?" Mioll summoned a playful smile. "I have no desire to outstay my welcome."

"Knowing the Lord of Deleon, that day would be long in coming," the Count replied, fingers stroking thoughtfully his dark goatee. "And you're getting coy with me, even though your gaze is sad. I still repeat my question. Why go away?"

"I'm afraid I'll soon be so rusty and pampered that I won't be able to call myself a traveling minstrel any longer. And besides, there already is a minstrel here," Mioll pointed out proudly. "Now, mark my words, Sir Count, when I say that I'm no mean musician myself, but the little one will one day be famous throughout the land. And isn't it also wisdom to know when to avoid too close comparison to someone with superior skills? Except that, in your case, such a one would of course be hard to find."

The Count acknowledged Mioll's compliment with a graceful nod.

"That may be so," he grinned, "and yet, everyone needs others and their skills to balance one's own shortcomings, for none of us is perfect and without any flaws. You know it too, minstrel, and I bet you know what your superior skills are. That quick wit and honeyed tongue have no doubt taken you to places that the young minstrel of this castle can only dream of, and they'll continue to do so. Is that some reason to grieve?"

"Ho – Sir Count, what is this bizarre thing?" Mioll put down his lute, now genuinely and inexplicably in much higher spirits. "Isn't it the minstrel's task to bring delight to the life of his masters and not the other way round? And yet here you are, trying to brighten me up! Truly, I must apologize for my abominable behavior."

"If you wanted to brood, it intrigues me why you chose this room," the Count observed. "For this is a public place where we can intrude upon you without exactly entering any private area. So I suspect that maybe it wasn't an accident that you are in this room? Perhaps you wanted to attract someone here, so that you'd have company to distract you from your melancholy? And no need to worry, I can see nothing wrong with a minstrel who occasionally feels weary of his cheerful mask."

Mioll's eyes narrowed as he shot a quick, assessing glance at the man who lounged in the cozy chair, looking at him levelly.

"You are a frighteningly observant man, Sir Count," he said. "Although of course that is no real surprise. A man doesn't reach your position in the world by simply trudging through it and never seeing what is around him."

"No reason to be frightened, minstrel Mioll. It's just that I've met your people before." A small smile was playing on Count Daynar's lips. "So maybe I've had more opportunities than the average Revnashi to see them as they are, not only when they are being professional entertainers?"

"We've sometimes met little groups of minstrels on the road, and offered them a place by our fire."

The blond Belter had thus far listened to the conversation in such complete silence that Mioll nearly started at his voice. Sorel's face betrayed nothing, but Mioll saw him exchange a brief look with the Count. For some reason his heart decided to skip a beat at that.

"That may be so," he managed. "But still I can't forgive myself quite that easily for forgetting the duties of a minstrel towards his masters. Therefore, please accept my humble apology, and tell me what you'd like me to play for you, so that I may make up for my earlier lapse."

"Strictly speaking we are neither your hosts nor masters," the Count said, fingers steepled in front of his mouth. "But if you insist... perhaps there would be a way to achieve two goals simultaneously – mine and yours."

"You speak in riddles, I'm afraid, Sir Count," Mioll admitted, "for I have to regretfully say that I do not understand which two goals you refer to."

"Yours, to make amends – however unnecessary – for feeling down. And ours, to cheer you up so that you'd have something else to think about than just the impending journey." The corners of Count Daynar's eyes creased and he pushed himself up from the chair. It would've been one fluid, graceful motion, if only his left side hadn't still been so stiff that he had to wince before straightening his back. "But maybe we could talk about that later today, minstrel. After dinner, perhaps? In our room?"

He strode to the door, Sorel trailing behind, and winked at Mioll before disappearing through the doorway.

For a moment the minstrel just sat there and panted, until he finally managed to gather his wits enough to glance quickly around. He was satisfied to see that the room was empty, that there was no one around to catch him gaping in such an undignified manner, and took a few deep breaths. They steadied his racing heart, only marginally but anyway.

Had he – he must've heard wrong. Understood wrong. Imagined the whole thing. Whatever. And yet...

When the Ranea and his sisters returned from their ride some time later, eyes shining and cheeks glowing, they were delighted to find Mioll in the day room, ready to join their gaiety. In fact, if they'd paid close attention, they might have noticed that the minstrel was much livelier than he'd been for quite a few days now. However, amid the general good mood and laughter such a change passed unnoticed, and for that Mioll was only grateful.