“Them! Well, let’s hope he doesn’t wear Merelan out beforehand.”
“That I can oversee,” Gennell said briskly, “and will. Now, off with you.” As she turned away, he managed an affectionate slap on her backside as he resumed his task of assigning newly promoted journeymen to the many holds and halls which required such services.
Merelan sang the difficult role of Moreta in the TurnOver cantata which her spouse had written for her, dealing with the cadenzas as easily as if they had been mere vocalizes. The warmth of her voice and her effortless performance held the audience – and Petiron -enthralled.
Even those resident in the Hall who had heard her
practising and were well aware of her vocal abilities were on their feet, awed by her skill. Merelan not only had superb breath control to support her coloratura voice, she could also imbue such emotion in her tone that there were many tears in their eyes when her voice trailed off as Moreta and her dragon jumped between on their last, fatal transfer. Fort’s Lord and Lady Holder were so enthusiastic that they led the rush up to the stage, to be sure she heard their compliments.
Petiron beamed as she modestly accepted praise, subtly reminding people that the music her spouse had written was a joy to perform.
He didn’t seem to notice how pale she was. But Betrice did, and she gave the singer a potent restorative drink in the brief interval during which those in the chores not required for the next part of the programme filed out of the stands. Merelan would be singing – less demandingly – in the second part of the evening’s entertainment, but she was off-stage during the male chores which came next.
Betrice watched the singer all through that and saw her colour gradually return. And when she rose to sing a descant to the final selection, she did not appear as faint as she had earlier.
When the evening’s programme was over and the Hall cleared for the dancing, Fort’s Lady, Winalla, sought out Betrice.
“Is MasterSinger Merelan all right, Betrice? She was trembling so much when Grogellan and I were speaking to her that I feared to let go of her hand.”
“I had a restorative drink ready for her,” Betrice said at her most noncommittal. It was kind of Lady Winalla to be concerned, but this was a Harper Hall affair, not the business of the Hold. “She puts so much into her singing, doesn’t she?”
“Hmmm, yes, she certainly does,” Winalla said, tacitly accepting the rebuff and moving on to speak to other guests.
If it surprised Petiron when Merelan caught a chill and developed a feverish cough, he was the only one.
“Sometimes I think that man is only interested in her for her voice,” Betrice said waspishly to Gennell as she returned to their apartment after a shift of nursing the singer.
“That may well be a good part of her importance to our resident composer,” Gennell said. “No one else could manage either the range or the difficulty of the vocal scores he creates, but that isn’t all he sees in her.” He cleared his throat. “He was besotted with her beauty from the moment she came to us from South Boll for training.
In fact, well before we realized what a superb natural voice she had.” He looked off into the darkness beyond the glowbasket by the bed, remembering the first time he had heard her effortless scales.
The entire Hall had stopped all work just to listen.
Betrice chuckled as she slid under the new furs, a gift from all the journeymen of the Hall this TurnOver. The pelts had been sewn together in the most beautiful pattern. She let her hand linger on the soft fur of the edging. “Never seen a man more smitten in my life.
He just stared. And she couldn’t take her eyes off him. Mind you, he’s attractive enough even if he isn’t often a merry person. Just as well Agust was her vocal teacher, or she’d never have progressed past vocalizes.”
“So remember how Petiron would hang about in the courtyard just listening to them as if he’d nothing better to do with his time,” Gennell said, reaching out to close over the glowbasket. Absently he patted Betrice’s shoulder and then punched the pillow for a spot to lay his head.