Master Heron was tired, really tired, by the time he was done. If they'd let me play, I could've let him take a good long break or two. And he wanted me to play, he said so, he wanted to know if I would play a duet with him. He could have helped me, taught me songs right-'
'Well, heckfire, Rune,' Jib replied, sounding, for the first time in weeks, like her old friend instead of the odd, awkward stranger who wanted to court her. 'I dunno what t' say. Seems t' me pretty rotten unfair. Ye know? Looks t' me like your Mam is gettin' what she wants, an' ol' Jeoff is gettin' what he wants, an' all you're gettin' is hind teat. Ev'body here is doin' all right but you, and ye're th' one pickin' up the slack.'
Rune nodded unhappily, as they walked back to the stable to put the watering cans away under the shelves by the stable door. 'Nobody ever asks me what I want,' she said bitterly. 'Anything that needs done, they throw on me, without ever asking if I've got the time. They all seem to think they can do whatever they want with me, because I'm not important. I'm just a girl, just Stara's brat, and I don't count. I'm whatever they want me to be, with no say in it.'
And that includes Jon and his friends.
'Well, ye got a roof, an' plenty t' eat,' Jib began, echoing her pessimistic thoughts of last night. 'This ain't a bad life, really-'
'It's not enough,' she continued, angry now. 'I hate this place, and I hate most of the people in it! I don't want to be stuck here the rest of my life, in this little hole back of beyond, where everybody knows everything about everybody else, or they think they do. And they think that they're so good, God's keeping a special place in heaven for them! I can't get anywhere here, because no matter what I did, I'd never be good enough for them to even be civil to.'
Jib's brow puckered, as if he had never once thought that someone might want something other than the life they now shared. That Rune would want the freedom to play her fiddle, he should have understood-she'd dinned it into his head often enough. But that she'd want to leave was probably incomprehensible. He certainly looked surprised-and puzzled-by her outburst. 'Well,' he said slowly, 'What do you want, then?'
Rune flung her arms wide. 'I want the world!' she cried extravagantly. 'I want all of it! I want-I want kings and queens at my feet, I want wealth and power and-'
'Na, na, Rune,' Jib interrupted, laughing at her in a conciliating tone. 'That's not sensible, lass. Nobody can have that, outside of a tale. Leastwise, no musicker. What is it ye really want?'
'Well, if I have to be sensible . . .' She paused a moment, thought about what it was that was making her so unhappy. It wasn't the drudgery so much, as the loss of hope that there'd ever be anything else. And the confinement in a corner of the world where nothing ever happened, and nothing ever changed, and she'd always be looked down on and taken advantage of. 'Jib, I want to get out of here. The people here think I'm scum, you know that. Even if the High King rode up here tomorrow and claimed me as his long-lost daughter, they'd look down their noses at me and say, 'Eh, well, and she's a bastard after all, like we thought.' '
Jib nodded agreement, and sighed. He leaned up against the doorpost of the stable and selected a straw to chew on from one of the bales stacked there.
'So?' he said, scratching his head, and squinting into the late afternoon sunlight. 'If ye could go, how'd ye do it? Where'd ye go, then?'
'I'd want some money,' she said, slowly. 'Enough to buy another instrument, a guitar, or a lute, or even a mandolin. And enough to keep me fed and under shelter, and pay for the lessons I'd need. I couldn't do that here, it would have to be in a real city. Even if I had the money, and the instrument, I can't keep going on like I have been, begging for time to play, and making do with lessons snatched from other minstrels. I need to learn to read and write better, and read and write music, too.'
'All right,' Jib responded, pushing away from the doorpost. 'Say you've got all that. What then?' He led the way towards the door on the other side of the stable-yard, where they both had chores awaiting them-her to clean the common room, him to scrub pots for the cook.
'Then-' She paused just outside the inn door and looked off down the road with longing. 'Then-I'd go to the big Midsummer Faire at Kingsford. I'd march straight in there, and I'd sign right up for the trials for the Bardic Guild. And I'd win them, too, see if I wouldn't. I'd win a place in the Guild, and a Master, and then just see what I'd do!' She turned to Jib with such a fierce passion that he took an involuntary step back. 'You said nobody had money and power and kings and queens at their feet outside of a tale? Well, the Guild Bards have all that! All that and more! And when I was a Guild Bard there'd be nobles come wanting me to serve them, begging me to serve them, right up to kings and even the High King himself! I could come riding back in here with a baggage train a half dozen horses long, and servants bowing to me and calling me 'My Lady,' and a laurel and a noble title of my own. And then these backwater blowhards would see-'
'Oh, would we now?' asked Kaylan Potter mockingly, behind her.
She whirled, already on the defensive. Kaylan and three of his friends lounged idly against the door to the common room. Kaylan and his friends were almost fully adult; journeymen, not 'prentices, tall and strong. They looked enough alike to be from the same family, and indeed, they were all distant cousins, rawboned, muscular and swarthy, in well-worn smocks and leather vests and breeches. She wondered, frantically, if she was in for another attempt like the one Jon and his friends had made. Her heart raced with sudden fear. Surely not right here, where she'd thought she was safe-
No. Her heart slowed, as the young men made no move towards her. No, they were older and smarter than Jon. They wouldn't risk their tavern-privileges by trying to force her on the doorstep in broadest daylight. Elsewhere, perhaps, they might have made some sort of move-but not here and now.
But they were not particularly amused at her description of them-by implication-nor her assessment of their parents and neighbors.
'We'd see, would we?' Kaylan repeated, looking down his snub nose at her. 'And just what would we see? We'd see a braggart, foolish girl-child with her head full of foolish fancies getting her comeuppance, I'm thinking. We'd see a chit with a head too big for her hat learning just what a little fish she is. We'd see a brat who never was able to win even a village Faire fiddling contest learning what it means to brag and fall. That's what I think we'd be seeing, eh, lads?'
The other three nodded solemnly, superior smirks on their dark faces.
Her heart squeezed in her chest; she felt her face grow hot, then cold.
'Oh, aye,' said Thom Beeson, his hair falling into his eyes as he nodded. 'Aye that I'd say, seein' as the wee chit couldn't even win the Harvest Faire fiddlin' contest four years agone, and her only competition a couple of old men, a lad claimin' t' be a Guild 'prentice, and a toy-maker.'
She gathered all her dignity about her and strode past them, into the tavern. There wasn't anyone in the common room but Maeve, who was sweeping the floor with a care that would have been meticulous in anyone but her. The four young men followed her inside and threw themselves down on a bench, their attitude betraying the fact that they figured they had her cowed. 'Now, how about beer and a bit of bread and cheese for some hard workin' men, wench,' said Kaylan carelessly. 'You can be a first-rate servin' wench even if you're only a second-rate fiddler.'
She held her temper so as not to provoke them, but it was a struggle. She wanted to hit them-she wanted to throw their damned beer in their smug faces. And she didn't dare do any of it. Thom was right, damn him. She had lost the Harvest Faire fiddling contest four years ago, and it had been the last contest their little village Faire had held. She'd never had another chance to compete. And they all remembered her failure. So did she; the remembrance was a bitter taste in her mouth as she filled their mugs from the tap and took them to the table.
She thudded the filled mugs down in front of them, so that they foamed over, and turned on her heel.
'So, what else were you going to show us, wench?' Kaylan asked lazily. 'Is it true that you're takin' after your mother that way?'
Someone else had been spreading tales, it seemed. Already she was judged-
'Or are we gonna hear more boastin'?' Thom drawled. 'Empty air don't mean a thing, wench. If ye could fiddle as well as ye can yarn, ye might be worth listenin' to.'
She lost the tenuous hold she had on her temper.
She spun, let the words fly without thinking about the consequences. They had challenged her too far, in a way she couldn't shrug off.
'What am I going to show you?' she hissed, her hands crooked into claws, her heart near bursting. 'I'll tell you! I'll do more than show you! I'll prove to you I'm the best fiddler these parts have ever seen, and too good for
