The wall was up, and many of the capping slabs were athwart its expanse rather than on one side or the other. To Robinton this meant that at least the two holders had resolved their differences. A small satisfaction to take back with him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It was easier to be in the Harper Hall again, surrounded by the hopes of the new young apprentices, immersed in his studies for his Mastery, which was what Master Gennell suggested he apply himself to for the rest of the summer.
But it was still a shock when Robinton heard the unmistakable music of his sonata pouring out of the open windows of the rehearsal hall.
How dared they? How had they got the music? He had kept his copy, but he had never … Then he remembered that he had given his mother a copy when she’d come for their espousal. But surely she wouldn’t …
He tore out of his room, pounding down the stairs to the rehearsal hall, trying with the noise of his boots to drown out the music he had so lovingly created for his Kasia. He flung open the door, startling the instrumentalists, his mother and Petiron.
“How dare you play that?” And he advanced on his mother as if he would rip the harp from her lap.
“How dare you?” Petiron demanded, infuriated by the interruption.
“It’s my music. No one plays it without my permission.”
“Robie …” his mother began, rising to her feet and starting to come towards him. She stopped abruptly when he recoiled, holding
his hands out in protest as much against the sympathy and pity in her face as against any contact. He almost hated her. How could she have let Petiron see his music, the sonata he had composed for Kasia, only for her? “I loved Kasia, too, Robinton. I’m playing it for her. Every time the Kasia Sonata is played, her memory will be invoked. She lives on in this beautiful music; she will be remembered with it. You must allow her that! You need to allow yourself that.”
He just looked at her, feeling the anger drain away under her stern gaze. The other players remained so motionless that he scarcely noted their presence.
Then his father cleared his throat. “The sonata is the best thing you’ve ever written,” Petiron said, without a trace of condescension in his voice.
Robinton turned slowly to look at the MasterComposer.
“It is,” he said, and, turning on his heel, he left the room.
He put wadding in his ears when he went back to his room so that he wouldn’t have to hear the music. But some of it penetrated and towards the end of the rehearsal – which was almost a straight run-through, given the quality of the musicians performing – he took the wadding out. Listening to the rondo and the finale, he let the tears run unheeded down his face.
Yes, it was the best piece of music he had written. And listening to it, somehow he found he could think of Kasia without the terrible sense of loss and the constriction around his heart. As the final chords died away, he sighed and went back to his studying.
He tried to absent himself from the Hall whenever he knew they were practising the sonata – even if its chords sometimes seemed to follow him no matter how far away he took himself.
When it was performed at the Autumn Gather, he did not go to the performance. Instead, he saddled his Ruathan runner and took a long ride, camping out overnight. But his dreams were laden with memories of Kasia and he woke sweating, to lie awake until dawn, still remembering what he had loved about her: her laugh, the crinkling of her eyes, the lilt in her voice, the way she would swing her hips, deliberately enticing him.
Winter was just settling over Fort Hold with an early snowshower when Master Gennell came looking for him.
“Ah, Rob,” he said, coming towards him. Placing a fatherly arm across Robinton’s shoulders, he guided the younger harper into his office. “We’ve an emergency. Recall Karenchok, thin, dark-skinned
journeyman in the same group as Shonagar?”