Breathless with the resounding chorus of her last duet, Menolly retreated, smiling still and bowing, to her seat. Sebell plucked gently at the opening chords of his next song on his travel-harp?this ballad did not require her accompaniment on pipes or gitar. Her lips remained smiling, eyes on his player's face, as she lifted a cup of the woody spiced wine served in the late summer in Balen Hold. She thought how well the tawny firelight looked gilding the strong line of his jaw, his weaving fingers, he soft waves of his curling hair. Sparks leapt up behind him and danced away towards the night sky—for even the great hall of the Hold would not easily accommodate the number of people who had gathered to hear the visiting Harpers. Sebell had insisted that they would serve all those who would listen, and the season was warm yet, even so far north as Balen. Menolly's gaze lingered on her spouse's muscled throat, a gently quivering pillar of creamy gold in the firelight, and she marveled at the good fortune of their mutual regard; she found herself spinning a strand of honey-red hair between string-callused forefinger and thumb as she contemplated the…intimate…pleasures of their relationship. Once, she had thought that she would never be able to love again; Sebell continued to prove her wrong each and every day. She knew the slight grin on her face would have an intoxicated cast, but she did not care.
Wherever they went, they were always entreated to play. Menolly never tired of it, and Sebell usually didn't mind. Sometimes Menolly thought a lifetime of music would not be enough for her, and took any and all excuses to play. It was best in smaller Holds like these, where rowdy drinking songs and epics and sensitive ballads were equally welcome, where a performance from a masterharper was as vaunted as a Gather Day. Balen Hold was starved for music if any was. An oversight had left the small holding Harper-less for nearly two months after the sudden espousal and relocation of the current journeyman five months previously, and the death of the resident master soon after. Sebell, who was touring at the time, had offered to accompany the replacement journeyman to his post. Balen put Menolly strongly in mind of Half-Circle?almost a sea hold, small and closely knit, grown peculiar in its isolation. She found the likeness hardly hurt at all; it was so long since anywhere but the Harper Hall had been home. The little irritations troubled her no more than the rough cloth on the scars of old grievances, but often she had to guard her tongue against unfair presumptions and curt replies to people who had never done her any wrong.
Menolly flicked her eyes up to the shadowy eves of the hall beyond the ring of firelight. Beauty, Rocky, Diver and Kimi lounged cat-like among the shingles, eyes whirling slowly now and then beneath a few lids. The rest of her fair lay with Branth?for it was T'gran who had brought the new Harper from the Hall and had remained to hear the Masters play. He was deep in his cups now, head down on the table by Menolly's elbow, and Branth lay drowsing nearby, gorged on wherries of hospitality. Menolly smiled, knowing well there would be no moving the Brown Rider to-night. She sighed. With a dragon to occupy the blue and greens at least, she could manage to be less conspicuous. It was worse in small holds where fire lizards were less common; she could get away with just Beauty twined 'round her neck because of the Mastercrafter's knot on her shoulder?which was just as well, as the little queen rarely left Menolly's sight. Rocky was at hand just now as well, as Beauty had clutched a few weeks back and their affection was almost draconic in its unique strength. Kimi, in turn, was expected to rise soon, and as such, Diver would not be separated from her by a winglength. It was odd, but also oddly pleasing, Menolly thought, how modern dragons were developing an almost fidel loyalty to a single mate. Menolly could nearly see and touch the currents of change that gripped Pern, and delighted to be a part of them. This, as much as music, was what it was to be a Harper. She felt she'd been singing two songs at once so long now it had gotten into her blood.
Menolly set her empty cup on the tabletop, and instantly a serving-girl stepped from the shadows to the space at her side, pitcher in hand. Menolly's eyes were instantly caught by the girl's movements—close, tense, half furtive. She kept her head down, and dark hair come loose from a drudge's braid almost obscured the shifting of her eyes. Perhaps she saw Menolly waiting, and she bent, collecting exhausted dishes from the spread, her face turned away from the rest of the high table, the Holder and his Lady. She spoke.
"A word, Master," she whispered through taut lips. She went on filling cups, continued speaking in a low voice under the shroud of the music when Menolly nodded assent. "I would beg a favor of the Harper Hall."
"And what would a kitchen maid request of the craft?" Menolly inquired behind the rim of her cup.
The girl, no tasks left to make a play of being busy at, retreated to the shadow behind Menolly's chair. "The Holder's third son? Jessom. When you go, take him with you, to the Hall. No good can come of his remaining here. Please."
Intrigued, Menolly toyed with the food on her plate, replied in equally low tones. "Even a Harper cannot go snatching Holders' sons from his very home with impunity. Am I to beg the parents' leave to abduct their child? How am I to know he would be worth the Hall's trouble? Or even suited to Harping at that?"
The girl's voice was flat. "If you would enquire of him, go elsewhere than to the Ladyholder or her spouse."
Surprised?she'd had little truck with either so far?but catching her footing, Menolly asked, "What is this Jessom to you? Why risk a beating to see him gone?"
There was an ardor in the girl's voice as she answered too soon. "Because he will not! Because I would have his attempts at suicide ended, before one of them succeeds." She was flustered now, but her voice was hidden in the swell of music as the crowd joined in singing the well-known verses. Suicide was a private affair; a sad, if accepted aspect of weyr life, ignored in holds and frowned on in crafts, but personal, private. What could interest this drudge so much that she would intercede on behalf of another? "Please, lady, hear me out. There is nothing for him here, nothing left but pain. I want him to be able to play again."
"If I wished to know more of this?" Menolly began carefully, perfectly aware?as Elgion had not been, years before?how disastrous a false step at this point could prove.
"His sister is sympathetic, but she doesn't know what I?she does not comprehend the severity of the situation, she cannot see why Jessom must go."
"I see." Menolly murmured, applying herself to the glazed fish on the table before her, aware of Sebell's eyes lingering on the pair of them although his song never faltered a beat. "Could you point him out among those at table?"
The air stirred as the girl shook her head. "Jessom isn't here. He does not eat in the main hall."
"Ah." Though still vague in detail, Jessom's plight was becoming bitterly clear to her. "How can I find you again?" Menolly knew better than to ask a name outright; the false name the girl would probably give would not help anyone.
There was a pause of hesitation, as if the girl bit her lip. "If you must…tell the under-cook to fetch Kirie; he'll be watching for you."
Menolly nodded, concealing the motion with a sip of wine, and with a faint brush of wind, she knew the girl, Kirie, had slipped away. Her eyes bored into the blue heart of the fire, a penetrating, introspective sea-green gaze, remaining fixed there until the end of the set. She gave absent goodnights as Sebell half-dragged her to their room, and was so preoccupied that several seconds of his ardor were wasted on her until she became aware of his teasing, and responded, smiling, to his kissing.
Menolly was curious. The next day, when Sebell set out to visit Balen's surrounding cots and shires, she decided to remain behind. She would ask, discretely, of the lord's youngest son. She would watch him, and she would learn what prompted a kitchen girl to beg sanctuary for the Holder's own son from a complete stranger.