The Singer's Crown Read Free

Above.”
    Kattanan’s voice fell to a whisper. “What if She told you to?”
    Jordan knelt to look up at the singer. “Her first tenet is never to kill, and to take me from you would surely kill me. I’ve been with you eight years, where do you think I would go?”
    His eyes were shut, shoulders quivering. “I dreamed last night that we sang a duet as we walked through the mountains, but then my voice was lost. I looked everywhere for it, and couldn’t find it. When I went back to where I left you, you were gone, too.”
    â€œJust a dream, Kat. I am here, and your voice is found,” the monk murmured. “Probably the wizard’s presence is making you nervous. Tonight, we’ll laugh at him after another perfect song.” But even as he said the words, he felt uneasy and glanced over his shoulder.
    â€œWhat did he want me for? He doesn’t even like music.”
    â€œHe was planning for tonight, for some great favor he can have from this emir.”
    â€œWhat if this wasn’t just a dream?” Kattanan pulled away one hand to wipe at his eyes.
    â€œIt would take much more than a dream to separate us.” Jordan gestured toward the heavens. “She brought us together for something greater than this. If it is Her purpose to take you away, I am sure She will not keep us apart for long. It never hurts to pray, though.” Jordan frowned. “I don’t suppose there is a proper temple around here.”
    â€œWe passed a missionary house on the way. I heard the prayers sung in Strelledor.”
    â€œThat’s good to know if we are to stay here any length of time. I should like to hear prayer in the tongue of the Lady. And I suppose you could lead me there blindfolded.” He had risen and found a washcloth of his own.
    Kattanan shook his head. “Many of the things we passed toward the end were tents and market stalls. I don’t know if they are permanent, and if they were moved, we could end up anywhere. They had a bell tower, though, which might strike the hours for prayer.”
    â€œA bell tower? I’d have noticed that.”
    â€œI think it was probably just a bell hung in the upper window of one of the tall houses. It didn’t sound quite the same.”
    â€œVery impressive,” Jordan remarked. “If you ever tire of singing, I’m sure we could earn our keep with your amazing ears.”
    The sun was slanting low through the peaked windows when the servants came for the pair, bearing a gift of new clothing. Jordan refused the offering, making emphatic gestures to the servants, who shook their heads and jabbered ever louder. None of them was even so tall as his shoulder, but there were enough of them that they seemed to Kattanan as a group of sparrows attacking a hawk. They wore scant garments of long strips of cloth wrapped around their bodies, concealing little. At least the tunic they gave him was patterned after the northern style, but with sleeves that nearly brushed the ground. The cloth mingled red—the color of mourning—with flaming orange. “Do you think it’s right to wear the red?” he asked aloud.
    Jordan looked up to take in his companion’s new garb. “I should think so, since it is mixed with other colors. You look like a southern prince. That would make me look like a maypole.”
    Kattanan smiled at this. “Perhaps you could put on the sash, at least.”
    â€œThe robe I wear is a sign of my devotion to Finistrel. I would not cast aside any part of it so lightly. But how do I explain that to these?” His gesture swept over the heads of the servants, but many of them sprang back, making a sign upon their foreheads.
    â€œI think they are warding off evil. They think you are cursing them to dress as you do.”
    â€œYour observation is not half wrong, Singer,” the wizard said, entering through the connecting door. “I am glad to see you, at