But watching her then, he couldn't stand it any longer. He pushed away from the post and steadied himself. He had to know what was wrong; she had to tell him.
Using the soft footfalls the troupers had taught him so as not to make the floorboards creak, he made his way around the other players to halt next to Wren. She glanced at him, but immediately averted her eyes as they narrowed to slits, the gold stirring angrily within the green.
Garin stood for a few moments, trying to find the right words, then abandoned the fruitless effort. "Whatever I did, I'm sorry. I just want to know what it was."
"You can't remember."
He winced beneath the weight of her scorn. "Honestly. I can't remember anything from yesterday. So if I did or said something to offend you, I'm really, truly sorry."
Wren stared at him in silence for several long moments. As the frown lines began to ease away, Garin dared to hope his desperate plea had somehow worked.
"You really don't remember, do you?" She sounded more curious than angry now.
He eased closer. "I remember the night before that, though — how could I ever forget it?"
He'd hoped it would elicit a smile from her, but her brow only creased further. "Then how could you not recall your promise?"
"What promise?"
Wren sighed, eyes casting downward. "After our morning practice, I stopped you in the hallway, and we agreed to meet again. But last night, you never came."
His heart wrenched in his chest as he realized the opportunity he'd missed, the chance that might never come again. "Wren, honestly, I don't remember any of that. The whole day is a blur—"
But she was turning away. "I think I understand. You got cold feet. Maybe it was my father. Maybe it was Tal. Maybe you stole a kiss and had enough. So you didn't come." She laughed, short and bitter. "I guess that's that."
"No, it's not—"
"I have to go." She brushed past him, not meeting his gaze. He wanted so badly to reach out and stop her, but he let her drift past. All around, he felt the eyes of the other troupers on him, all too knowing for his liking.
A hand closed tightly over his arm, and he jerked around to see Falcon Sunstring standing at his shoulder, wearing a pronounced scowl.
A pit formed in Garin's gut. Had he heard? Was he here to make sure Garin didn't hurt his daughter's feelings again?
"Garin," Falcon said, voice hoarse as if he'd recently been yelling. "We have to leave. Now."
"Leave?" This didn't seem about Wren, then. Garin glanced toward the curtains where she'd disappeared. "But I'm supposed to go on soon."
"They'll have to make do without you. There's no time — Tal's in trouble."
"In trouble? Now?" Garin tried to imagine what trouble Tal could be in, and how Falcon expected him to help.
"Yes, boy!" the minstrel practically snarled. His grip tightened on his arm. "We have to go. Now."
With his other hand, Falcon pressed something into his hand, and he looked down to see he now held a knife. Fear lanced through him like sharp ice in his veins. He glanced back toward the stage. Strangely, despite how much he'd been dreading it, he found part of him was disappointed he'd miss his debut on the stage.
But Tal was in danger. And if he could do anything to help, he had to go.
He gripped the knife tightly and nodded. "Lead the way."
The bard wore a small smile as he led him toward the door.
Tal stared into the dying flames of the fire. Elsewhere in the castle, the Sendeshi delegation watched Falcon and Garin perform their play. He wished he could see the youth in his role, small as it was. He'd said he would. But just as it had been since he'd brought him to the castle, Garin came second to upholding his bargain with the King.
"Nearly there."
Tal bolted up from his seat and moved to stand by Kaleras' shoulder. The warlock looked out of place in the cramped room, but his air of gravitas had faded as he grew ever more absorbed in the work before him, bending further over the black-gemmed necklace and muttering to himself. Now his eyes glanced up at Tal, the deep brown bright with avidity.
"Nearly there?" Tal asked as he studied the pendant. He saw his face reflected in the gem, fragmented across its dark facets. "Then you'll know where the Extinguished hides?"
Kaleras stared at the pendant again, his hands poised above it. "Yes. I would make any preparations you deem necessary now."
Tal straightened. Velori hung at his hip, but the rest of his gear was back in his room. He glanced at the bed in the corner of the room and saw Aelyn's eyes slitted, watching him.
"Don't tap the barrel without me," he said as he moved to the door. "I'll be back in a moment, and I wouldn't want to miss the celebration."
"We wouldn't dream of it," Aelyn's thin voice called after him.
Garin stopped short of the castle doors that led out into the central courtyard. "Where are we going?" he asked as he had sporadically throughout their walk down.
Falcon turned back with a scowl. "I told you, boy. Tal needs our help."
Boy? Garin repressed his annoyance. "Out there? Where exactly did he go?"
He glanced down at himself, still dressed in his pageboy costume. But if Tal was in trouble, it was hardly an excuse. He squeezed Falcon's knife tighter in his hand.
The Court Bard finally relented. "He took a horse and went riding out into the city. Now we must follow or risk losing him!"
As Falcon stepped out of the grand double doors, Garin followed him, shivering in the blustering wind outside. Slate-gray clouds covered the sky, killing off the last of the sun's light and making it as dark as a moon-cast midnight. A storm was stirring.
Why would he go out in this? But he knew why. Only one thing could compel Tal to meaningful action and shed his drunken dandy act.
They reached the stables, and Falcon moved from pen to pen, muttering, while he ignored the stablehand's repeated remarks to let him help. Finally, the bard stopped in front of the enclosure of a large, gray gelding. "Ready him!" he snapped at the stablehand, and the boy scrambled to obey.
Garin shifted from foot to foot, glancing back at the dimly lit courtyard. Rain began to patter on the paving stones. Even if they left now, he didn't see how they'd follow Tal. Where are you going? he wondered again.
"Garin!"
He turned back to see Falcon mounting the gray gelding, then holding a hand out to him. "Come," the minstrel said. "No time to prepare another horse. You'll ride with me."
Garin hesitated only a moment, then took Falcon's hand. The bard was surprisingly strong for his slight stature, and he easily hoisted him up into the saddle behind him.
As Falcon spurred the horse forward, Garin had no choice but to wrap his arms around the bard's waist, and they left the stables at a gallop, the stablehand scrambling to get out of the way. The droplets of rain pelted his face as they rode hard for the front gates.
"Halt!"
The horse whinnied its protest as the minstrel pulled them to a stop, then whipped his head around, a small smile on his face. Garin turned as well and felt his insides writhe and twist.