Changing the World: All-New Tales of Valdemar

:But then she wouldn’t be a Bard. And then you wouldn’t be able to get onto the Count’s grounds.: Vehs’s amusement sparkled like barleywine.

Wil looked in the direction the Bard had gone. :She has matured. I mean, physically. She has—um—:

:Womanly assets.:

Wil flushed, remembering the brief but warm hug. :I wasn’t looking—okay, I was. But that wasn’t—exactly—:

:She’s a woman now.:

:But she’s still Lelia.: He found distinct comfort in that bit of curmudgeonry.

Vehs bumped him from behind. :This is your problem, you know. You only have faith in me and other Heralds.:

:That’s because I like breathing.:

:There are worse things than dying.:

:Like what?:

:Never truly living?:

Wil guffawed. :What philosopher’s memoir did you dredge that from?:

Vehs would not be deterred. :Just because someone doesn’t wear White—:

:I’ll think about it,: Wil replied, annoyed. Vehs went silent.

But Wil knew the Bard, and what she was capable of.

And that worried him.

Wil thought he’d been poleaxed by another vision when the countess swept in. But his gut remained quiescent, and no invisible force drove him to his knees. They were here, now.

“I am Countess Chantil of Tindale,” she said. Three attendants accompanied her: two ladies and the stiff-collared butler who had fetched her.

“I’m Master Bard Lelia.” Lelia dropped a curtsy and skillfully elbowed Wil at the same time. He bowed hastily. “This is my bodyguard, Attikas.”

Chantil’s brows crept upward. “Bodyguard? Really! Admirers following you home, Bard?”

Lelia smiled blandly. “Something like that.”

Bodyguard. That had been Lelia’s plan yesterday morning when Wil’d walked downstairs and found her waiting. Wil had (grudgingly) admitted it wasn’t a bad idea. A visit to the Midwinter Market had yielded proper clothes, and his long-knife completed the ensemble. No one expected him to dance, sing, or even speak—just look grim. Something he excelled at.

Chantil gestured. “This way.” She swept off down a hallway, retinue trailing.

Wastes no time, Wil thought.

“You’ll be playing in the grand hall,” Chantil said, walking so briskly Wil thought her heeled shoes would crack the marble floors. “Any needs you have, please speak to my steward, Einan.” She gestured to the man Wil had taken for a butler.

She wheeled suddenly, causing her voluminous raw silk skirts to spin. “I would appreciate it if you kept things—” She coughed delicately into her satin- gloved hand. “—cheerful and understated. Nothing morose, please.”

A glint lit in Lelia’s eye. Wil immediately knew that had been the wrong thing for the countess to say. He hoped that Lelia’s retaliation would be discreet enough to not get her position here terminated.

:Focus on your job, Chosen. Let the Bard do hers.:

:If she performs a protracted sing-along of “The Vigil That Never Ends” . . . . :

Vehs snickered.

“As I stated before,” Lelia said, reemploying that graceful curtsey she’d used earlier, “I am well experienced at performing for clientele of your caliber, Countess. And might I say what an honor it is to be here. Your happiness is my first priority.”

These seemed to be the words the Countess wanted to hear. “Oh, you Bards.” Her eyes flitted to Wil, and her smile soured a trifle. “Surely, it’s quite safe here—”

“It’s a matter of my peace of mind,” Lelia said firmly. “And now, since you have me performing this very eve, I find it necessary to test the acoustics of the chamber.”

Chantil’s smile didn’t quite play true. “If you need anything, the kitchens are that way.” She gestured toward a wing of the mansion. “Or find Einan or Marjori. They can assist you.” She gave Wil a final cursory glance and then sashayed off, minions in tow.

Lelia set herself up on a chair, gittern in lap. Wil stood about, feeling awkward and unnecessary, until she said, “You know, I think the countess is right. I should be quite safe here. Be a dear and fetch me some water?”

When he didn’t move, she gave him a curious look, then broke into a laugh and shooed him. “Go on.”

As he started forward, she called, “Don’t get lost.”

His confusion lasted to the door—and then her hints sunk in. Getting lost was exactly what he needed to do. He plunged into the depths of the mansion.