CHAPTER THREE
"Lady Kayla! My lady, wait. I must speak with you!”
Kayla looked over her shoulder and saw him—young, well-dressed, but bouncing up and down to get her attention. She grimaced. When would they ever let her be? She clutched the bag containing both flutes to her chest and pretended she couldn’t hear the boy. He was probably one of Duchess Domanta’s “lads,” and Kayla couldn’t take any more today. She was exhausted in every way possible. Sleep had been in short supply the night before, with her nerves as agitated as they’d been.
She picked up her pace, frantically searching for a cab to take her home. She knew she should turn and let the boy dote on her— that’s what one did when one was trying to make an impression—but she was just too tired to do it. Spotting an empty coach, she scampered toward it with as much dignity as her dress would allow.
“Please, mistress, wait!” the young man begged from behind her. Why couldn’t he just go away? All Kayla wanted to do was get home to tell her family of the king’s gift and promise of a duchy.
“Are you free, sir?” she asked the elderly chauffeur.
“Yes, miss,” he said, tipping his hat and giving her a lop-sided grin. “Where’d ye be goin’?”
“The Balania residence on Marlon and Weils,” she answered and took his outstretched hand. But before she could pull herself up, a strong grip took her elbow.
“Lady Kayla, I been chasin’ ye all the way from Dragonmeer.”
Kayla groaned, though not out loud. It wouldn’t make the right impression, and after all the years she’d put into creating her public face, she couldn’t escape from it now—not when she was so close to getting what her family needed. Instead, she turned to the boy and put on a moderately polite expression.
“The duke,” he panted. “He be wantin’ ye to have this and said I was to wait for instructions.” He handed her a folded piece of sweaty parchment, and Kayla opened it with distaste. The boy had the decency to redden as she shook the paper open, holding it by the barest of corners. She began to read:
"My dearest Kayla,
I have spoken with King Rojan, and he has advised me of your new and upcoming status. Congratulations. My wife has been nagging at me to have a bit of a party for a while, and I think this would be the perfect excuse. Would you be willing to come to a ball in your honor this evening at Dragonmeer? I’ve sent Joyson with the coach and instructions to take you any place you wish between now and then. Bring your nicest gown. The ball will start at eight.
Duke Domanta"
Kayla had lost her aversion to the paper after the first line, and by the time she had finished, she gripped it with joy. She pulled it to her chest, fighting herself to keep from jumping in the air with excitement, but she could not help the glow she felt in her eyes as she turned back to the boy she assumed was Joyson.
“Miss?” the elderly chap asked as she moved away, and she quickly returned, embarrassed that she had forgotten him in her excitement over the letter.
“I’m sorry, sir, I won’t need your services after all, but thank you for your assistance.”
“No problem, miss—perhaps another time.”
She turned and took the boy’s arm. “All right then, where’s this coach of yours?” she asked. He pointed down the street to a magnificent carriage moving toward them. It was completely enclosed, with curtains at the window to keep out the dust. Kayla had never ridden in a carriage so fine, but she tried to contain herself. It wasn’t seemly to act childish over such a simple thing. After all, she was seventeen, practically a woman.
The carriage driver stopped the matching horses before her, as Joyson led her to the door. He opened it and extended his hand to help her up.
“My lady, your carriage awaits,” he said in a very gentlemanly manner, with no trace of country accent. Kayla grinned at his cliché use of language, beautiful as it was. She took his hand, stepped up, settled herself in the deep velvet cushions, and crossed her ankles.
“Where to, Lady Kayla?” the boy asked, leaning slightly into the carriage.
“Home, Joyson. The Balania residence on Marlon and Weils,” she said for the second time that day. Joyson nodded at her and, shutting the door, hopped up on the side of the carriage.
“Marlon and Weils, driver,” he called out, and immediately the coach began to move.
Kayla twitched the curtain aside and could see the boy standing beside her. Their eyes met, and he smiled.
“I was afraid I wasn’t goin’ to catch ye, miss,” he said, reverting to his native accent.
“I must admit, I was hoping you wouldn’t,” Kayla found herself telling him. “I thought you were one of the duchess’s artsy friends, and I just couldn’t stand the thought of another conversation on the qualities of sound or the distinctive color of Darthmoor.” She grimaced and the boy laughed.
“One o’ them folks? Nay, lady, I’m afraid I don’t have an artsy bone in me body. I can build a decent cabinet, but couldn’t tell ye pink from chartreuse.” He flashed his dimples at her, not the least selfconscious.
“How long have you been in the duke’s service, Joyson?”
“Not long, miss. Me mum’s been working in the kitchens since I was a wee lad, but the duke wouldn’t take me on until I’d got me learnin’ first.”
“And what exactly do you do?”
“A bit o’ this and a bit o’ that. Whatever the duke or Lord Brant need done. Mostly I run around fetchin’ things for ’em.”
“And what were you fetching today?” she asked, curious.
“You,” he answered impishly.
Laughter welled up inside of her. The boy was a delight. No wonder the duke wanted to keep him with his family.
The carriage rolled to a stop shortly thereafter, and Joyson pulled the door open for her. “Here we are, miss. I’ll be waitin’ here for ye when you’re ready to leave.”
Kayla nodded, suddenly too excited to talk and no longer tired. She was home, and there was so much to tell her family! She nearly ran up the walkway to her uncle’s home where she and her mother had taken permanent residence. The front door opened before she got her hand on the latch. Uncle Tomas filled the entryway with his lean frame, his face anxious as he greeted her.
“Well?” he asked, all nerves as his hands clasped together so tightly his fingers were white.
Kayla schooled her expression and answered primly. Mother would never approve her answering with the exuberance she felt bursting inside her heart. “It would seem that our family’s good name has been restored.”
“Wonderful!” Tomas leaped forward and hugged her with relief.
“As I knew it would be,” Lady Kalandra spoke, coming from behind her brother, her velvet voice laced with pride. Kayla’s mother took her hands into her own and pressed them to her forehead, imitating the evahn gesture of gratitude. Nothing more needed to be said.
“Tell us all about it,” her uncle’s lively tenor begged, drawing her into the sitting room. “Leave nothing out, dear; we’ve been waiting for this most of your life.”
“The music was divine. Of course, when I first entered, and they saw who was to play, they were not happy. Even Lady Domanta looked down her nose at me.” Kayla knew she was talking too fast, but she couldn’t help it. The excitement had taken over.
“Lady Domanta has a prejudice against women who perform in public,” her mother answered. “Ah, well, that explains it then.” Kayla nodded. “I think I changed her mind, though. She was one of the first to approach me with praises, right after the duke himself. She was also one of the first on her feet when I played Darthmoor’s Honor. You should have seen it. Everyone was absolutely silent while I played and just about erupted out of their seats when I was done. The king was almost in tears! It was amazing!”
Lady Kalandra lost her decorum at that point. She clapped her hands together, threw back her head, and laughed. Kayla could not remember a time she had ever seen her mother laugh. It was pleasant and genuine, and Kayla found herself
joining in.
“Oh, Kayla. What a joy you are to me,” the lady said, wiping tears from her eyes. “What began as a game has become something you have fully earned. So, what title has the king bestowed upon you?”
Kayla’s grin widened. “Well . . .” she said, drawing out the moment. “He said I was a little young for it still, but that I would soon become a duchess.”
Tomas whooped and leaped from his chair to do a little dance around the room. Lady Kalandra laughed again at her younger brother’s excitement.
“Tomas, do sit down. The neighbors will believe you’ve finally gone mad if you don’t quiet yourself.”
“I don’t care, Sis! What news! Little Kayla, a duchess,” he said, reaching out to ruffle his niece’s hair.
She scowled at him and smoothed her blonde locks, pulling them down over her ears selfconsciously. He knew how much she hated people to mess with her hair.
When Kayla turned back to her mother, Lady Kalandra was staring at the box the king had given her. One eyebrow quirked, and her head tilted in obvious curiosity.”Kayla, what is that box you carry?”
“This?” Kayla held up the wooden box that held her pride. “This is another story.” Her voice went very quiet, full of reverence, as she sat upon a footstool and leaned forward to tell about the rest of her day. “After I finished my performance, Pedran approached me. The king wished to see me. Privately. Not even Pedran was privy to that meeting.”
They stared at her, obviously shocked. Kayla understood the feeling. She continued, setting the narrow, wooden box on her lap. She caressed it lovingly as she spoke, imitating the king’s movements of only a few hours before. “He spoke of my performance, of course, and told me I would be getting a duchy when I was just a little older. Then he gifted me this.” As she spoke, she undid the clasps that held the box closed and opened it for her family to admire. Lady Kalandra gasped, her hand going to her mouth.
Tomas fell back in his seat and stared at Kayla as if she’d grown a second head. He whistled in awe. “Is that what I think it is?” he asked in hushed tones.
Kayla nodded. “It’s the Sapphire Flute, and,” she paused for effect, “the king has just made me its guardian.”
Stunned silence met her announcement. Lady Kalandra’s mouth was open with an “oh” of surprise.
Tomas spluttered. “But . . . bu—but why you?” he asked.
“Why not me?” Kayla responded, a little miffed, though she tried to calm herself. Did they have no confidence in her, after all she had done? “He said my playing had shown him my heart, and evidently he thinks I’m good enough to guard the flute with my very life. The words he said were amazing. I didn’t know King Rojan could be that eloquent.”
“They were probably not his words, Kayla,” Tomas spoke, his eyes on the blue light of the flute. “Can you remember what it was he said?”
The words were burned in Kayla’s heart and mind and were sealed there with the light of the flute itself. Of course she remembered. She repeated them, and Tomas nodded as she finished.
“It fits with what I’ve read. I was able to obtain a copy of one of the holy books of the Priests of Sha’im. They have one who is traditionally guardian over the Armor of Light, and the words with which they transfer guardianship are similar. It is a great honor you have been given, Kayla. Greater, I think, than you will ever really know. Guard it well, child.”
“Believe me, I will.”
Kayla’s eyes took in the beauty of the softly glowing flute once more. She couldn’t quite put words to the feeling that ached within her heart. It was part love, part possessiveness, and part awe. She closed her eyes for a moment, the after-image of the flute burned into the back of her eyelids. She took a deep breath and, having broken the flute’s spell on her, closed the lid with a soft click.
“By the way,” she said, being deliberately casual. “Duke Domanta invited me to his home this evening. He’s having a ball in my honor. Would anyone care to join me?”
“In your honor? When did he decide that?” Lady Kalandra asked. Kayla knew that tone. Her
mother was not happy.
“Just after he spoke to the king, I guess. He sent his boy after me to bring me home in their coach. Will you come?”
Kalandra and Tomas looked at each other and shook their heads. “We cannot. Your grandfather claims he is dying, though it’s the fifth time this season, and he was miraculously healed every time we came at his call.” Tomas rolled his eyes, and Lady Kalandra’s lips tightened. “But you know how he is. If I don’t go, I’ll lose my inheritance entirely, and then where would we live?”
Kayla didn’t trust herself to respond where her grandfather was concerned. He was the one who had begun all this nonsense and disinherited Lady Kalandra when Kayla was born.
Kayla’s mother sighed. “I do so wish I could have heard you play. Perhaps you could play the Sapphire Flute for us now—give us a sample of your own brand of magic.“
Kayla shook her head. “I can’t. The king told me I must not play it, though it tears my heart.”
“He gave you guardianship and then gave you limits? You, the greatest flautist in a century, and you cannot play this flute? That is wrong, Kayla. You have guardianship; it is you who must decide when the time is right.”
Kayla was surprised at her mother’s vehemence. “Mother, I cannot. Perhaps another time.”
Lady Kalandra nodded stiffly and began gathering up her needlework. “I must prepare for our departure. Enjoy your party, Kayla. Don’t be gone too late, and please don’t get into any more trouble with that rascally son of the duke.”
Kayla grinned. “Brant is harmless, Mother.”
The lady snorted at that, but did not respond. She’d always had something against Brant—it was nothing new.
“Don’t mind her sharpness,” Tomas said, putting an arm around Kayla’s shoulder as Lady Kalandra left. “She always dreads these confrontations with your grandfather. I think he calls her just to annoy her, but tonight we have much to tell that should set his heart aflame. I, for one, very much look forward to seeing the look on his face when we tell him that not only does his half-evahn granddaughter have all of Darthmoor wrapped around her finger, but she is now also guardian of the Sapphire Flute. He’ll be gnashing his teeth for weeks. Keep it up, Kayla. Let all of Darthmoor know what the Balanias are made of.” He patted her on the shoulder and left the room.
Kayla resented the last. She wasn’t a Balania—she was a Felandian. The Balanias lost their claim on her when her mother had been disowned. So far as she knew, the only honor left in the Balania name came from Uncle Tomas. He held ten times—a hundred times—the honor his father had. She would do nothing for Balania honor, but she would do it for her mother.
Lady Kalandra had lost nearly everything she valued—a mother and sister to death, another sister who had disappeared entirely, her home, her station in life—and still she held on to her dignity. Kayla could do nothing to change what her grandfather had done, but she could provide a new home for her mother, a place where she felt of worth. And the king had shown Kayla today that the time was soon.
Very, very soon. With that thought, she raced up the stairs to her room and tried to find a proper dress for the party.