Her voice carried out over the cool night air like incense, filmy and sweet. The court was feasting on roasted mutton, rabbits, and one particularly large goose, alongside the traditional sweetened potato bread and sugared almond milk, the staples of the kingdom here in Araniza. There were fresh summer berries, swollen with their inherent juices, and tiny savory onions, brown and pungent. Tirayn’s nose itched with the mingling scents, and only her extensive training as the court nightingale kept her mouth from watering along with it.
The song she sung was dreadfully vapid, but the First Heir liked it best. He of course, was similarly vapid, in her opinion, though she would never dare to voice such thoughts. She was meant as an audible art piece, and not even her value there would keep her from execution if she spoke against the King-to-be or any member of the royal court.
She turned her attention off the food, toward the court children. These young ears were Tirayn’s greatest joy. They would sit as close as was permissible, and stare at her while she sung, adoration on their faces. They were still too young to have been bred in the snobbery of the royal court, and with her high crystal voice and her pale butter skin offset by chocolate hair; she was an image of serenity to them.
The corners of her mouth snuck upwards into a smirk between songs, at a little cinnamon-haired boy with big coal eyes. His hair fell across his face in a mischievous way, and he watched her with one hand idly pawing the unruly strands out of his eyes. As she resumed her singing, his mouth hung slightly open, a mask of concentration on her next song, which told of a menagerie of rare speaking animals coming to pay respect to the great kings of every land. Aranzia was of course, included in this list, but she was certain that it had been modified for this purpose, as Aranzia was far from a great land, and the pompous royal bloodline that ruled it certainly inspired no lyrics to any sane person. The children giggled in delight as she sung about the huge ash-colored beasts with leather for skin and a tail for a nose, who bowed to the divine wisdom of the kings of the northern world, their tusks sparkling. The children’s eyes were wide and twinkling, and she imagined them running back to their nursemaids excitedly, bubbling with questions about the strange animal they had never seen.
Tirayn felt a bittersweet joy in singing these children. She would pretend for just a moment that they were her children, that when she was done singing, she could sweep them into her arms and giggle with them about the silly animals, distant dreamy places, and daring knightly feats. But she would never have her own children; in fact, this was as close to children she was even allowed to be. She had not so much as touched a child since she was sold to the palace at eight years of age, when her voice promised sheer beauty and her features promised even more. Extensive training and coaching from the then-declining court nightingale, Fayette, had kept her shrouded from all other contact until she was fourteen, when Fayette’s voice was no longer suitable for court appearances, and Tirayn took her place. She did not blame her mother, after all, most peasant children starved to death before becoming true contributions to their family, and by selling her, Tirayn was ensured a life well cared for. Her family in turn, had a touch of prosperity on them, and so everyone ended up for the better. That is, in theory at least.
Labels: Segemented Fiction-Fantasy