“What’s your place?” I ask, genuinely curious. The broad slope of his shoulders under his Bard’s cloak is rigid; he is so hard to read, the need to know what he is thinking is strangely consuming.
Maybe he’s hiding something.
Ravod glances at me with one eyebrow raised. “I see you’ve already decided to ignore my advice about being too curious,” he says.
“And you’re deflecting my question,” I counter. “I’ve seen you collecting tithes from my village and mentioning recruitment to Lord Cathal, so I’m going to hazard a guess that you’re some kind of envoy?”
Ravod barks a laugh, but the harshness of the sound is offset by the brilliance of his surprised smile. Two dimples appear on his cheeks. I feel red heat rise in the tips of my ears. A few of the nearby Bards glance at us curiously before returning to their duties.
“An envoy. Very well, let’s call it that.” Ravod’s amusement fades as if he’s embarrassed to have shown it. But the pleasure of it, like a quick burst of sun, leaves lasting warmth on my skin. I watch his dark eyes pass over the training grounds. “If you simply must know, Cathal honors me with the task of watching over the other Bards. I go wherever he needs me, to ensure order is maintained among us.”
“That sounds difficult,” I say. “If all the Bards know you report to Cathal about them, don’t you feel mistrusted?”
“Their trust is irrelevant,” Ravod replies. “They know their duty and I know mine.”
My brow furrows at the coldness in his voice.
I look around at the Bards on the training grounds. There is clearly a sort of camaraderie that exists. The off-duty Bards murmur with one another and laugh, but somehow there is the same impersonal air between them that Ravod is displaying. Thinking back to when I first saw him interact with his fellow Bards in Aster, it was the same then as well.
“This is the Bards’ Wing.” Ravod’s voice interrupts my reverie as we reach the other side of the training grounds and reenter the castle. Metal braziers light the area inside, and the halls feel older here, as if frozen in time from long ago.
Ravod halts in the center of the main room, pointing at a door to his left. “The refectory. Meals are served promptly at sunrise, midday, and sunset.” His finger redirects to a door on the opposite side of the room. “The scriptorium. The only one in all of Montane.”
Scriptorium. I have never heard this word, but he says it with complete and total reverence.
As if aware of my uncertainty, he adds, “It’s High House’s repository for written knowledge. This is where elder Bards learn the art of written Telling.” My eyes widen in horror, but he continues, “As a Bard, you will eventually be instructed in the written word. It is one of our many responsibilities in maintaining High House’s careful order.”
Cold dread knots at the back of my throat. The artifacts Constable Dunne kept in his office flash through my mind, and I can’t help shivering. I exhale shakily, realizing that I’ve surreptitiously stepped away from the door of the scriptorium.
“This is part of how the Bards protect Montane,” he says with unexpected gentleness. “We must be familiar with the danger if we are to protect others from it.”
He pauses, and even in the dim light of the hall, I can feel the way his eyes move over my face. He is probably wondering what Cathal saw in me, or how I will ever prove myself worthy of studying with him and the other Bards.
To be perfectly honest, I have the same questions. Part of me feels sick, wants to curl up in a ball and make all of this go away. It’s too much. I’m not sure which outcome is more terrifying—that I will disappoint them all, or that I won’t. Both possibilities feel like heavy rocks strapped to my body, pulling me to the bottom of a dark ocean.
“Follow me,” he says finally, leading me through an ornate arch and into a long hallway. “I’ll show you to your quarters.”
I fall in step behind him, knowing that no matter how afraid I am, I have no choice.
The faint sound of chanting hums in the air of the Bards’ Wing. It’s a slow, deep monotone that is both beautiful and haunting, and so quiet I have to strain to hear it.
“What is that sound?” I ask.
“There’s a constant Telling done by the elder Bards for the protection of High House,” Ravod explains. “If you become proficient enough yourself, you’ll start to hear it from anywhere in the castle.”
“That’s amazing,” I whisper. “It must take a lifetime to become that powerful.”
Ravod does not answer, instead turning a corner into a shorter hallway, lined only with rows of simple wooden doors.
“These are the ladies’ dormitories.” He gestures. “Because there are so few women, you each have your own room.” I stare in wonder at the other closed doors. The other women. I long to knock on each door and meet them. Perhaps then I won’t feel quite so intimidated and alone. He walks to one of the last doors and retrieves a small, bronze key from the lock, handing it to me. “I know how bad you are with instructions, but believe me, you do not want to lose this.”
I take the key and clutch it tightly. I’m not sure if he’s teasing me; the look on his face is his usual—deadly serious.
Ravod opens the door and gestures me inside, remaining on the threshold with his arms crossed over his chest.
“I hope it’s to your liking.”
It’s likely modest by High House standards, but it’s the grandest room I’ve ever been allowed to stay in. Like the rest of the wing, the walls and ceiling are stone, but there’s a lovely window overlooking the training grounds and a cozy little bed, laid with crisp white linen sheets. There’s also a chest of drawers, a desk, and a chair, all made from rich, dark wood. An adjoining door leads to a simple but elegant washroom. I gasp when I notice my fireplace. I rush to each thing in turn, running my fingers over every surface if only to ensure that it’s all real. The room is nearly the size of my entire home in Aster.
“This is all for me?” The words come out in an astonished whisper.
“There are training clothes provided for you in the chest.” Ravod ignores my question, tilting his head to the bureau. “You’ll be expected to wear them tomorrow when you report in. We can have them altered for you later on. You have a private washroom over there…”
“Are you just going to lurk in the doorway to explain all of this?” I ask, turning to Ravod, who has not moved since he ushered me into the room. His face takes on a look of shock at my question, and a faint hint of color rises in his cheeks.
“Entering would be highly improper,” he says, his voice somehow even more stern than before. He indicates the fireplace with another nod of his head. “And please don’t set the dormitory on fire. It’s happened before.”
I roll my eyes. “I know how to properly light a fireplace.”
“Not by Telling,” Ravod corrects me. “Which, by the way, you are strictly forbidden from practicing alone.”
My nose begins to twitch in indignation before what he’s saying can fully land. You can do that? And, quickly after: You think I can do that?
“You’re at High House now. Those are the rules and you will obey them.” Ravod’s eyes flash, adding silently that the topic is not up for further discussion. Before I can ask anything else, he takes a step back into the hall. “Your evaluation begins tomorrow on the training grounds. Report to Kennan in the morning after breakfast.” He closes the door. After the latch clicks, I hear his stiff footsteps retreating back down the hall, leaving me alone.