The Bone Flute by Patricia Bow Page B

spark of anger inside her. “But is she fit to live at the king’s court? I promise, I won’t take it lightly if she shames me.”
    â€œFit?” Her father scratched his beard. “Well, she can sew, and, um … ” He looked helplessly at his wife, who started in briskly, as if she’d only been waiting for this cue.
    â€œShe can spin, weave and sew like an angel. She can ride and hawk. She can make elegant conversation. She can read and write. And,” she added triumphantly, “she can play the rebec, the flute, and the lap harp.”
    â€œWait, back up a bit.” Diarmid waved a hand as if brushing away flies. “Did you say read and write ?”
    â€œI did,” Rhianna’s mother said proudly.
    â€œWhat nonsense!” He laughed his musical laugh. “Whatever possessed you to waste such learning on a girl?” Then he frowned. “And she plays, you say?”
    â€œLike an archangel,” said Rhianna’s mother, a little defiantly now, but still proud.
    â€œAll right, let’s hear her. Go get her … hmm … her flute. Let her play for me.”
    Play? Rhianna nearly choked. Me play for the king’s bard?
    He smiled back at her, his eyes still cold.
    Rhianna’s mother sent a servant, an old gray-haired man who hobbled from side to side as he walked, to get the flute. Rhianna couldn’t remember ever having seen him before. Perhaps he’d come from one of the farms.
    While she was still lulling her mind with these thoughts, the better to keep her courage, the flute lit down in her hands and the old man backed away to the wall. Rhianna took a deep breath, then another, to still her shaking hands. She raised the flute to her lips.
    One quavering note, a second sweeter one and a third, strong and true, and she was up and away. The music lifted her on wings and all fear left her. The quick notes chased each other laughing under the high ceiling, and except for Rhianna’s playing the hall was silent.
    When the last note died into the candlelight, she knew she had never played so well. She looked at Diarmid, hoping to see him warmed and softened.
    But his eyes were colder than December seas. “No.” He shook his head. “It won’t do.”
    Rhianna’s father looked bewildered. “I don’t understand,”
    her mother said.
    â€œOf course you don’t,” Diarmid said. The contempt in his voice lit another spark of anger in Rhianna. “I can’t have my own wife showing me up! Can’t you hear the jokes? ‘The best bard in all the land—except for his wife.’ No, there’ll be one musician in my household and one only.”
    â€œWhat … ?” Rhianna forgot herself and spoke. “What are you telling me?”
    â€œI’m telling you there’ll be no more music from you. Is that understood, my lady Rhianna?”
    She shook her head slowly. He might as well have told her there’d be no more air to breathe, no sun to shine tomorrow. Then she knew, all at one blow, what he meant to take from her.
    â€œI know this. I’ll never marry you, never!”
    She was standing, her bench overturned behind her, and her mother was clucking over her, and her father was shouting, and Alaric was looking from her to Diarmid with tears in his eyes.
    In the midst of the uproar came a breath of silence and the whisper of the lame old servant, soft in her ear, “Take heart.” It was a brave kindness. She was careful not to look at him.
    Diarmid said nothing. He sat and sipped his wine and smiled. When the noise died down he lifted his cup to Rhianna. “I’m still pleased with my bargain. She’s headstrong, but I know ways of dealing with that. In a year you won’t know the child, I promise.” Rhianna’s father looked relieved.
    Her mother threw an arm around her and walked her to the door. “Go to your room, calm yourself. Yes, I know