The Bone Flute by Patricia Bow Page A

mule were equally loaded down.
    â€œPresents for you, lots of them!” Alaric pushed his head under her arm so he could get a bit of window. “And some for me too, maybe.”
    â€œLooks more like bedding. Maybe he doesn’t trust ours.” She watched Diarmid, noting every detail. He was both handsome and young, so far as she could tell from here. He moved like a young man, dismounting with ease, and his hair caught the light and swirled like pale fl ame to his shoulders.
    Shiny things all over him and his belongings reflected the warm light. His horse’s bridle and saddle winked with gold and so did the strap of a big leather bag he lifted from the horse and slung over his shoulder. It was the one thing he carried himself. His harp, no doubt.
    â€œHe looks rich,” Alaric said. “The king must really favor him. Did you know he can sing the deer out of the thickets?
    It’s true! He can lure them out to the hunters’ bows, just by singing. Ned said so.”
    â€œThat doesn’t sound very fair to the deer.”
    Alaric laughed, but Rhianna hardly heard him. She was still watching the courtyard. Her father was out there now to welcome the guest. They’d just turned toward the house together when the servant clumsily let slip some strap on the mule and a pack fell to the stones with a crash.
    Quicker than you could blink, Diarmid turned back and cuffed the man to the ground. His head hit the paving stones. Rhianna heard the thud.
    Her father put out a hand in protest, but Diarmid laughed, a clear sound that rose like a musical scale to Rhianna’s window. He took her father’s arm and they walked into the house, disappearing from her view. The servant lay still.
    A moment later old Ned from the stables ran across the courtyard and knelt beside the fallen man. He helped him sit up. His eyes were open now, but there was blood on his face.
    A babble and bustle broke out in the room behind her and her mother rushed in with two maids and an armload of clothes.
    â€œHe’s here! Alaric, off you go and put on a clean tunic, that one smells of the stable. Rhianna, come away from that window and off with that dress. Quick now! Sara, where’s that comb? Child, your hair’s a rat’s nest! Never mind, tomorrow you’ll outshine the queen. I suppose that’s what you’ve been daydreaming about. There now, stop shaking. Wait till you see him. He looks like a prince!”
    This time tomorrow, Rhianna would be Diarmid’s wife. She bent her head against the pull of the comb and thought of Alaric’s tale of the deer. In her mind’s eye she saw them flicking their ears and stepping delicately from their thickets, following the lure of a song, never seeing the archers.
    That night the old hall looked brighter than it had since they celebrated Alaric’s birth. In honor of the guest, candles burned in all the sconces, and the best silver and linen decked the high table. Someone had even taken a long pole and cleared the cobwebs from the corners of the ceiling. Rhianna wore her second-best dress and her best gold pin, and felt as well decked out as the table, and for the same purpose.
    They sat Diarmid at her father’s right hand, with Rhianna facing him. “Well, well, well,” he said slowly. “Hair of the true red-gold, eyes like the sea, fairest maid in all the west country. So they say, and I see it’s no lie.”
    Rhianna’s mother beamed. Her father smiled absently, as if he were calculating something. Perhaps, thought Rhianna, he’s figuring by how much he can reduce my dowry.
    She was glad custom required her to look sweet and say nothing. She could not have spoken a word for all the king’s gold, not with Diarmid’s eyes on her face. Eyes as gray and cold as a winter sky.
    â€œSo far, I’m pleased,” he told Rhianna’s father without look–ing at him, a small piece of rudeness that lit a