Minstrel's Serenade. Aubrie Dionne

their evening meal. Every structure resonated with a different chord, each one more beautiful than the last. The plunk of a harpsichord accompanied their steps, followed by the trill of a flute and the swell of a fiddle. A solemn chant became a meandering melody and then turned into a lilting lullaby. Did the residents ever tire from making music? Surely they must sleep and allow silence to descend.

      “Music protects this village,” Valorian explained as if he’d heard her question. “We must churn out sound at all hours, each sentinel taking turns.”

      They followed the main thoroughfare to a domed cathedral at the town center. Crystal flutes hung from the ramparts, tinkling in the evening breeze. Once in a while, the wind hit the mouthpiece in the right angle, sounding a breathy note.

      Danika had imagined the House of Song as a giant cottage, or a vast and insurmountable fortress. But now, seeing the legend for the first time, the House of Song couldn’t possibly be anything besides a reverberating dome. The vault echoed the music like a massive speaker, resonating as each note careened through the lofty ceiling.

      Diaphanous moonlight shone through the pinnacle of the glass dome, illuminating a throne made from bluewood sitting on a stage surrounded by feathers. On the throne sat a middle-aged man blowing scales on a wooden flute. As he played, sparrows flew in twirling arcs above his head.

      Danika froze, unwilling to interrupt the tranquil scene, but Valorian gently pulled her forward. Eagerness shone in his metallic eyes, as if he’d introduce her as his new bride and not someone who’d trespassed in their forest.

      The King of Song paused on a low note, the sound echoing before tapering off into the ceiling. The sparrows settled on rafters above his head as he turned to greet the odd procession. Bron had tied the horses to a lamppost near a gushing fountain where they could drink. He stood behind her and Valorian. The boy hid in their shadow.

      “Father, may I introduce Danika Rubystone, Princess of Ebonvale, and her retinue.”

      Valorian turned to Danika, “And may I introduce to you, King Troubadir, my father.”

      King Troubadir set his wooden flute upon the throne’s arm with a click. “This is a long anticipated meeting, dear Princess. Come, take a seat.”

      He gestured to a row of satin pillows circling a low table on the stage. Valorian led Danika up three marble steps. Releasing his arm, she adjusted her skirts and positioned herself on the nearest cushion. After she nodded to Bron and Nip, they did the same. Bron sat at the opposite end of the table, where he had the greatest tactical advantage should he need the use of his claymore. Nip stayed by her side, pleasing Danika more than words could say. Valorian lit several lanterns of painted glass and took a seat by his father.

      A servant appeared, carrying a tray with steaming tea and an ale loaf. Nip whipped his hand out and fingered the largest piece. He stuffed his soot-streaked face until his cheeks stuck out. Danika watched the king’s expression, ready to correct the boy, but the older man smiled. “Help yourselves. You’ve endured a long journey, no doubt.”

      Bron sniffed the tea and took a hesitant sip. He nodded to Danika before she lifted the ivory chalice to her lips. She inhaled the scent of wilderberries and tasted sweetness.

      “Thank you, Your Highness, for such wondrous refreshment. Indeed, we’ve had a difficult journey. The wyverns have risen from the south, invading Shaletown, and I’m eager to return to my stronghold.”

      “Surely, you are.” Troubadir sipped his tea and crumbled a piece of ale loaf in his fingertips. “My audience will not detain you at length. However, I suggest you stay the night at least. The Forest of Song is protected by enchantments, but some beasts roam free, undeterred.”

      Danika flicked her gaze over to Bron and the warrior nodded his acquiescence. She buttered a piece of ale loaf with a tiny silver knife. “So be it.”

      Troubadir’s lips stretched into a pleasant smile. “My servants will arrange your chambers shortly.” The smile faded as soon as it appeared. “Now, to discuss the urgent matters at hand. We are both aware of the uprising of wyverns, as proven by your witness of Shaletown’s attack.”

      Danika glanced over at Nip but the remainder of the ale loaf distracted him.

      “I do not wish to sit here and talk of the past.” She raised her eyebrows, gesturing to the soot-covered boy.

      “Of course. My mistake.” He sipped his tea. “Let us talk of the future. I propose an alliance between Ebonvale and the House of Song.”

      Danika stiffened. Her father had warned her for years not to trust the song spinners. He had due cause for his concerns. They could change a person’s mind with only a few plucked notes. Dabbling with the minstrels was akin to stoking a fire.

      She narrowed her eyes. “With such superb defenses, why would you need our alliance?”

      “Excellent question, Princess. Why, indeed?” He stroked his beard, the silver and gold strands catching the lantern light.

      “We’ve lasted hundreds of years, sequestered within the bluewood forest with not as much as a skirmish with the wyverns. Our songs protect our village, much like the famous archers of Ebonvale.”

      The king waved over the nearest server and focused his attention on Nip. “Son, why don’t you follow my friend, Mira. She can show you our collection of leather-bone drums.”

      “I’m fine here, sir.” The boy crossed his arms. Troubadir cast a glance at Danika, but the princess didn’t trust these minstrels. Better if the boy stayed with her. She shook her head.

      “You are a brave boy.” The king paused, placing a piece of ale loaf on a china plate, untouched. Each plate had five staff lines painted with dotted eighth notes across the rim. Which song did each plate hold? Did the un-played notes bless their food or taint it?

      Troubadir sighed. “Our time of peace is at an end. Scouts have come from as far as Brimmore’s Bay claiming stories of a massive Mother-Beast, a leviathan of the sky.”

      Nonsense. Danika shot a glance at Bron. The warrior leaned forward, eyes alert as if the king piqued his attention. Danika ruffled her dress, thinking. If Bron paid these ridiculous claims heed, then she’d sit still long enough to hear him out. She nodded for the king to continue.

      “They say her tail spans the length of three warships, her wings spread the size of Shaletown’s borders. Her neck alone stretches farther than any of these bluewoods.”

      Danika breathed in to contradict him, but he held up a long forefinger.

      “Worse yet, one puff of her breath melts anything in its path within a mile’s radius. Traders from Kilra claim the beast took out the city of Talis within heartbeats.”

      His gaze flickered around the shadows, as if the beast would spring from any lantern flame. “Her eggs gestate while we speak. She’s building an army, a massive legion of sky worms capable of singeing this entire continent before any one of my minstrels could complete a stanza.”

      So quick to respond before, Danika could not summon a retort. His words stirred a sick current of bile in her stomach, and she regretted gulping down so much ale loaf. The boy sat in silence beside her. She should have sent him away with Mira.

      “Do you have any proof of these claims?” Bron’s muscles tensed.

      Troubadir spread his arm across the china plates and crusts and gazed down, wearing a sad smile of inevitability.

      “Holy Helena’s Goblet.” Danika fell backward and caught herself on her elbows.

      Bron jumped up at the same time, and the boy sat wide-eyed, running his hands along the oily surface.

      “This isn’t a table,” her voice croaked.

      A surface of blue-black, as shiny as a marble and as thick as her leg, glittered with swirls of hidden colors when she tilted her head. They’d eaten their dinner on a single scale--a mere shedding from a mighty beast.

      Troubadir