The Song of Wandering Hearts

The ballroom shimmered like a sublime mirage; a lie made of marble and gold filigree. Every twirl of a delicate gown, every clink of a pink champagne flute, made Rhaetheis’s stomach twist. This was a world she thought she’d escaped, and yet here she was, looking out at the crowd of colorful dresses twirling about Duke Hinnom’s dance floor. Elaborate gowns of silk and gossamer with a multitude of adornments were twirled by men in monochrome suits with ornate embroidery and bright satin jabots. The ballroom was an ostentatious display of the Duke’s wealth, with domed ceilings and classical paintings from earlier ages that had likely been passed down for centuries. She thought minor enchantments might have been placed to create a dreamy atmosphere, and if that were the case, then the Duke truly spared no expense.

A creeping dread sank its claws into her spine, chilling her blood and bringing haunting whispers of the past. Qivaris, who sat next to her on the bandstand, struck his triangle, reminding her that she had left her old life of nobility behind like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis and had become something new.

Rhae glanced at Qivaris, who was a nearly seven-foot-tall War Forged made of an unidentified, blue-toned metal. The wizard who made them had designed them to be sturdy with thick limbs and amethyst eyes. Qivaris was far too big for the wooden chair that held him. Anise had put a black bow tie on him, and he held a small triangle and a wooden drumstick, which he tapped with uncanny precision. The sight of him was so absurd that she had to swallow the cackle that threatened to escape. Qivaris glanced at her, having sensed her eyes on him, and noticed her quivering lips.

Anise signaled that the troupe could take a fifteen-minute break. Rhaetheis set her lyre down and hastily donned her gloves to hide her mismatched hands. Anise was the leader of the Star Anise Performing Troupe that Rhae and Qivaris had been with for about nine months. Some troupes put on plays or other small performances while traveling, but Anise’s troupe was mostly musicians and a couple of dancers, which suited Rhae just fine. Rhae followed the rest of the troupe off the bandstand towards the servants’ station in a side hall while Duke Hinnom gave a pretentious speech to his peers and guests.

Qivaris followed Rhae as she moved to a table of hors d’oeuvres that had been set aside for the servants to enjoy during their brief breaks. Rhae fleetingly considered that Duke Hinnom might have been marginally more generous than she initially thought. Her family would never have allowed their servants to partake in the same rich foods as them or their guests.

Rhae quickly crammed some of the finger foods into her mouth. Her stomach twisted sharply, the fine food turning to lead in her gut as Qivaris watched, sensing her unease. Beings of metal and magic didn’t need food. Rhae threw back a flute of champagne to ease the phantom pains in her left arm. She envied him for being impervious to hunger and pain. War-Forged, or Krigmoss, could be damaged, but he didn’t feel it and knew how to fix himself with metal and magic. She wished things could be so simple for humans.

“Are you sure you want to leave?” Qivaris asked mechanically. His synthetic voice was a resonant, sonorous sound that lacked the inflection of more organic races.

Rhae nearly choked on her second flute of champagne; she glanced around to make sure the troupe hadn’t heard them. Thankfully, they were busily chattering away on the far side of the room. Unlike Rhae, they were excited to have been invited to Duke Hinnom’s estate. It wasn’t every day that a troupe of commoners found themselves in the opulent halls of nobility. They were enamored. She could hardly blame them, but having escaped such a life, she knew the filth that festered underneath. Power was poison…

“We have to!” Rhaetheis insisted loudly. She quickly lowered her voice, not wanting to draw attention. “We can’t stay… We’ll draw too much attention.” Part of her truly feared being overt, dreading that her family would find her, even though they were a continent away. She knew it was implausible, but her father was a determined and stubborn man who could hold grudges.

“I do not think Anise or the others would hurt you.” Qivaris cut to the heart of the matter.

Rhae’s breathing caught, her heart lurching into her throat. Her heart raced, and she suddenly felt very conscious of her prosthetic arm, made of elegantly carved wood and magic. Qivaris had made this prosthetic for her after removing the old, mangled limb from her body to save her life. It had taken months for her to get the magical arm and its delicate joints to move correctly. Sometimes the fingers still lagged when performing certain actions, the wooden phalanges not quite as dexterous as her real ones.

Rhaetheis shook her head. “It doesn’t matter,” she said more to convince herself than Qivaris. “They’ll start asking questions. And tonight is the perfect night. They’ll get drunk celebrating after our performance for the duke, and then we can slip away.” No goodbyes, no way to be talked out of it, and no looking back. “It’s better this way,” she says with resolve, squaring her shoulders and hoping that she is convincing. “We could put them in danger, or worse.” The darker reaches of her mind whispered of the scars that betrayal leaves.

Qivaris scanned her face carefully. Rhae could see the gears in his head turning, but if he had any further objections, he silenced them with a slow nod. Rhae didn’t hide her relief, and Qivaris jerkily patted her head. As awkward as the movement was, the sentiment behind it was heartwarming. They were in this together.

Someone cleared their throat next to them, and they turned to find Portia. Her cheeks were flushed, and she stammered nervously, “Anise wanted me to let you know that we only have five more minutes of break time.” Had it been that long? Portia was a sweet and shy flutist who had been smitten with Rhae since Anise had welcomed her into the troupe. She was winsome with grey eyes and flaxen curls. Rhae was flattered by her attention and hoped that leaving wouldn’t crush the gentle girl. “Oh, and the Duke requested that you sing a song.” Portia was a pretty girl, sincere and sweet. Rhae could see herself dating and maybe falling in love with her, in another life.

Rhae’s heart stuttered. “M- Me? Like me specifically?” She hated that, hated that she specifically had managed to catch his attention. Her blood turned to ice, and her brain stalled as she glanced at Qivaris. He gave her a nod that simultaneously said he saw her internal turmoil and that everything would be alright.

Portia nodded, causing her curls to bounce.

“Right. Of course.” It’s not like Rhae could say no. She didn’t want to ruin the troupe’s potential to climb to success. Every performer wanted a patron, noble or wealthy; it didn’t matter. Many nobles were fickle or stingy when it came to spending their money on the arts. Performing for Duke Hinnom was the opportunity of a lifetime for them.

They stared as Portia lingered until she finally asked, “What song will you sing?”

Rhaetheis groaned as she realized she would have to pick a song so the troupe would know what to play. Knowing the nobility, they would want a tale of courtly love, but that hardly narrowed things down. She desperately searched her mind for the right tale, the right song. Alcina and Aewynn? No. Calder and Fox? No. Linzee and Lomond? Maybe? No. Aveline and Bhok! Yes, that would work!

“The Lais of Aveline and Bhok,” Rhae finally replied.

Portia nodded a little too eagerly and darted off to tell Anise. Qivaris and Rhae watched the conversation unfold from across the room, and Anise shot them a pleased look. It was a tale of courtly love familiar to most, and it didn’t end in tragedy. Best not to dampen the mood, especially when it came to accommodating nobility.

When their five minutes were up, they returned to the bandstand to play, but instead of the courtiers preparing to step onto the dance floor, they stood in a semi-circle around the bandstand. Rhae felt her chest tighten with anxiety under the noble crowd’s discerning gaze. She had performed for taverns full of a variety of races, belligerent from drowning in spirits. This was nothing, and yet she couldn’t help but remember her family’s cold, judgmental gaze; she felt it on her like a menacing phantom.

Rhae steeled her nerves as she looked out at the crowd, carefully cradling her lyre as the troupe took their seats. Anise counted them in, and the song began with Ishaan playing the cello. She counted out the beats for two measures, then she and Portia started to play. The others joined in one measure before she started to sing. Her voice was melodious, light, and lilting like a flittering bird in spring.

I sing of Aveline, with sun-kissed hair,

And Bhok, the brave, with a heart laid bare

A promise pledged before a golden throne,

A love forging a future all its own.

To Hotspur’s halls, a horror fell,

An obsidian beast from burning hell.

Its breath did blight brook and bone,

And the King trembled upon his crumbling throne

Then from the North, a stranger came,

Bhok, the slayer of monsters with fearsome fame.

His blade was iron, but bearing steel

An oath upon his lips to make darkness heel.

“Oh, King,” said he, “this blight I’ll slay,

And drive the terror of your land away

But when the fiend is truly dead,

I ask for no bright gold,” he pled.

“But for your daughter, fair ’n bright,

To be my heart’s own guiding light.”

The fearful king gave his royal word,

A promise spoken, deeply stirred.

So Bhok went for the mountain’s gloom,

And sealed the beast in stony tomb.

He returned triumphant, bloodied ’n sore,

And kneeled before the throne once more.

But the King glared with a heart of ice,

To grant the prize would not suffice.

“Your strength is great,” the false King spake,

“But for my child, a greater quest you’ll partake.

Across the salty ’n spuming sea,

You’ll bring the Griffin’s Emerald to me.

Prove your worth is more than might,

And Aveline shall be your bride.”

A deadly deed, the courtiers knew,

A dire, desperate, ’n treacherous due.

But Bhok, for love, would not be swayed,

And towards the storm his course was laid.

Now Aveline, in her tower tall,

Watched his ship become a speck so small.

She saw the lie, the lethal cost,

“He sends my love to be lost!”

No gilded cage her soul could keep,

Into the waiting world she leaped.

Cloaked in grey with dagger keen,

To save Bhok she stole away unseen.

She found his vessel tempest-torn,

His mighty strength, battered ’n worn.

Her hand reached out, his grip she caught,

And from the doom her father wrought,

She pulled Bhok from the jaws of fate,

And made their stolen love their true estate.

So now they wander, wild ’n free,

Bhok ’n his chosen royalty.

His sword her shield, her heart his home,

No more for crown or gold to roam.

So let all hear ’n understand,

The power of a promise ’n steadfast hand.

Love will find a way, or make its own,

From the moment a faithful vow is sworn.

The music gradually faded as Rhaetheis’ voice did, and the song came to its conclusion. Despite her best efforts, she could feel her power, her curse, trickling out with every word she sang. It pulled on her mind with a dark intensity, but she had made sure to limit it to a small flow since she had been struggling to control it. Qivaris patted her shoulder and gave her a sympathetic look. He knew that she struggled to control her powers and that, in situations like this, it became significantly harder for her.

Rhae tried to direct them into something harmless, like a friendship spell, a minor enchantment. When the crowd applauded, her focus shifted to the sea of genteel faces; her performance clearly enraptured them. She caught Anise, Portia, Ishaan, and the others beaming at her. She hated how powerful it could be; it scared her…

Despite their pleasant expressions and the positive reception, Rhae reproached herself for being so nervous. She was going to have a migraine later because of her cursed powers. She could usually keep it in check, but in Duke Hinnom’s ostentatious hall, she was reminded too much of the home she had fled. The fate she had narrowly escaped made her stomach churn. While some bards could use magic, hers was different. It was the typical brand of bardic magic that charmed, enchanted, or cast illusory spells, but if she wasn’t careful, she could pull on something darker than mana.

Thankfully, the crowd of sophisticated lords and ladies did not demand an encore, which Rhae did not think she had in her. Even the stern and silver-haired Duke Hinnom didn’t make another request. It was a little unnerving, but perhaps her spell had mollified her audience. They looked upon her as if she were an old friend, with gentle smiles she hadn’t earned and shining eyes. A lie. An illusion of friendship that would fade by the end of the night. She felt the sting of shame on her cheeks, but tried to ignore it.

They returned to performing the normal classical music that nobles preferred. Rhaetheis was just glad that she wouldn’t have to sing a courtly love song again. While she had read dozens, no, hundreds of those stories, and admired the eloquent and florid prose. She loved the wild epic tales of heroes or the boisterous tavern songs that she played to the raucous crowds on the road. She even liked cheerful folk songs and soothing lullabies. The fantastic tales of courtly love just made for better reading than song, and they were the only lyrical songs that nobles liked to hear. They didn’t want lyrics with real, powerful emotions in them. Better to keep such things hidden…

The ball didn’t end until late into the night, and as Rhae had suspected, her troupe retreated to Duke Hinnom’s servant annex to celebrate. They didn’t drink the fancy pink champagne from the ball but ale and mead that they had smuggled onto the estate. Everyone celebrated and cheered! They talked about the ridiculous fashions of the tittering ladies and the vainglorious mannerisms of the lords. Rhae tried to ignore the migraine thrumming at her temples with its own heartbeat; she tried to focus on this moment, surrounded by good people, laughter, and cheer. But every sound made her head throb, and she had to pull out an elixir to dull it, to make it more manageable.

When the party died down, she gathered her things and slunk away in the early morning as the light of dawn crept into the sky. Qivaris, her ever-present guardian, followed behind as they melted into the waking city. Wanderers again, and she was glad of it. And yet she felt like a flower petal caught in the wind as they retreated beneath the light of the shattered green moon, a fractured crescent with smaller tears trailing behind it. The purple and blue moons were not visible; they lay beyond the horizon for now, but Rhae and Qivaris would be sleeping under them soon.