playing, would give rise to more art. I always thought of it as a dandelion, eternally sprouting new seeds to take flight on the winds.” The flower bard’s dreamy tone gave way to one more pragmatic. “Oh, and don’t let them take it away from you and lock it in a display case, or some such nonsense. I want my last rose to play music until it falls apart. Sabanus, you must witness that my last rose is now Essonine’s with my blessing.”
“I will, sir,” Sabanus promised.
Outside, dawn gilded the edges of the yet night-dark sky. Around the decrepit Athillor manor, a dim silver light rose.
“Thank you, Sabanus,” Essonine said haltingly, “for playing that flute when I could do no more. This would not be possible if you hadn’t.” And she raised the last rose, unable to meet his eyes.
Sabanus smiled, wondering if he might see a day when the ice walls surrounding Essonine’s heart melted. “I’m glad I was able to help you get into the bardic hall,” he said. “You really deserve it. And I can’t wait to see the look on Nhiadil’s face when we show them Auoril Yumas’s last rose.”
Essonine remained solemn as they turned east and made a silent return journey to Asudar Isior.
The bards of Asudar Isior had just gathered for their morning announcements in the courtyard when Essonine and Sabanus entered. “Essonine of Irangiln province,” Leroc said disdainfully. “As I expected, you would return—“
“Bearing the flower bard’s last rose,” Essonine declared. She raised the lute, which flashed gold in the morning sun.
“Auoril Yumas’s last request before passing on was that Essonine play it in his stead. He did not wish you to lock it into a display case,” Sabanus hurriedly cut in before he lost his nerve. Even after ghosts, Leroc was as intimidating as ever.
“Those irreverent words,” Leroc whispered. His eyes, normally so piercing, were suddenly insubstantial gray clouds. “They are just what Auoril would have said. Might I…might I hold his lute?” Essonine gave it to him. Sabanus watched the bardic master’s eyes pass into even greater distance as he read the golden letters on the back of the neck.
“Incredible,” Tarada whispered as Leroc passed the lute to him.
While they marveled over Auoril’s lute, Sabanus stole a look into the crowd. On Nhiadil’s face, contempt battled with wonder.
“Great honor is yours this day, Essonine,” Leroc declared when he finally returned to his senses.
With a chuckle, Tarada said, “There has not been a bard in many years who has such potential for a song about them on their first day.”
“I could not have succeeded without my friend Sabanus,” Essonine said.
Sabanus flushed with pride. His grin grew, until he thought any second his heart would burst with happiness, and he would dance through the hall whooping and singing like a fool.
“Essonine from Irangiln province, you have won the right to study at Asudar Isior. But I warn you: the way will not be easy.” Leroc’s voice rumbled, the drawing back of dread’s very gates.
“It never has.” Essonine spoke with her usual strength. However, her lips curved in a trembling smile, the shy unfolding of a wild flower at the spring sun’s gentle coaxing. In all his memories of Essonine, Sabanus had never seen such a sight. His own smile fell away to awe. How many more changes might he see in her, in himself, when he returned for the next year’s test?
Suddenly Sabanus knew with certainty that he would follow in Essonine’s footsteps upon his return in one year. Already he knew the song he would compose, yes, compose this time! Just as Essonine had dared to tell the story of herself, the great change that had made her come into her true self, so Sabanus would through the tale of their adventure at the Athillor manor.
~*~The End~*~
Other books by Meghann McVey:
Special Thanks To:
Kate Covington. Your beautiful music has been an inspiration to me since I stumbled upon your version of “Roses of May” while writing “The Last Rose” in 2008.
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