The Book of Forbidden Wisdom Read Free

of the great Classical paintings. I should have looked away, or, better, put up my chin and glared at him, but I did neither. I simply looked back.
    â€œWho is he?” I asked.
    I had addressed Silky, but it was Violet, who had come up beside us, who answered.
    â€œA bard,” she said, in a voice that conveyed she didn’t think much of him. “Can’t you tell?”
    â€œHe was just passing through.” Silky sounded worried. “Father told me. I’m sorry, Angel. I didn’t want to upset you. But Cal sang himself hoarse at Bertin’s funeral, so Father heard this one and approved him. He says the man’s good at his job and has a sweet voice.”
    â€œI see,” I said. I didn’t. I was thinking of those strange eyes. Neither Violet nor Silky seemed to have noticed anything unusual about him—­but I found it hard to take my eyes away.
    â€œSo you don’t mind the change?” asked Violet.
    â€œIt doesn’t matter,” I said. “But Cal must be truly hoarse to miss this occasion to show off.” Cal, our village bard, had a fine voice, but he was, perhaps, a little too proud of it.
    I looked over at the itinerant bard again. And now I saw what Silky and Violet saw: that the man looked travel-­stained and, oddly, angry. He was sun-­darkened—­a testament to life spent on the road enduring the vagaries of sun and rain. Landowners, on the other hand, were usually fair-­skinned. We did not, after all, work the land.
    We just owned it.
    The man turned to one of the bundles and pulled out a lyre. I wondered if Father had given him a low price for the wedding since he was, essentially, a vagabond and did not have to hold us to the usual rate. It was the kind of thing Father would do. The man surely looked discontented enough.
    The normal wage for a wedding would have made a bard rich for half a year.
    The bard raised his head and caught me looking at him. He looked right back at me, full in the face. And then he smiled—­except it wasn’t a friendly sort of smile. It was patronizing. As if he knew me. As if he knew all about me.
    Me. A child of the House of Montrose. Me. Lady Angel.
    I could have had him turned out, of course, but there was something fascinating about him. Perhaps he was a poor castoff from a landed family. It happened. Besides, it would dismay Silky if we had no bard, and it seemed pointless to get rid of him because of one glance.
    At weddings, bards were expected to give the news (keeping early guests occupied), sing the wedding songs, perform an epic and provide music at the party following the ceremony. If Father really had heard and accepted this bard, the performance wouldn’t be bad.
    I went back to the skin decorators, who started the final work on my hands. Suddenly the marriage ceremony seemed very near. I could touch nothing until after the wedding now. Silky would dress me. It would be her last chance to hold the wedding gown.
    The bard gathered his bundles and instruments and went toward the kitchen, where I knew he would be well fed. Cook had a weakness for bards—­she liked the gossip they carried. Soon I would be part of that gossip, slipped into a recital somewhere down the road. Lady Angel Montrose married Lord Leth Nesson.
    And that was that.
    I had to confess to myself that I really didn’t know just how happy I would be. I didn’t think I’d be miserable—­far from it—­but as a married woman, I would probably never speak to Trey again, except formally. The time had finally come to cut the tie. We were adults now, sacrifices to the endless ceremonies and formulas that drowned friendships made in childhood.
    â€œWhat’s the matter, Angel?” asked Silky. She was good at reading my mood.
    â€œI want this to be over,” I said.
    â€œHow can you want your wedding to be over ?” asked Silky. “It hasn’t even started