Fy wasn’t sure which he preferred, the surprise appearance and disappearance of bushes and trees and flowers, or knowing that he could show up to one of these planned gardens whenever he liked and he would find something beautiful. The first at least slightly more than the second, he finally decided, although he couldn’t have articulated why.
That was likely more Tialttyrin influence. The Tialttyrin were favored by the fae and had been for centuries, which made them a bit strange, but most of them were also loyal, dutiful, and oddly kind. Fy was happy to serve them, although of course, Fy was a bit strange too. Proof of that was in the fact that he had been selected to accompany the Tialttyrin family to the capital for the royal wedding, and despite the fact that it was Fy’s first and likely only visit to the capital and the palace, he had sought out the quiet of the gardens shortly after his arrival.
It might also have had something to do with being a child of sworn guards who had been raised to protect a noble family without much political power, who had then wound up serving another noble family altogether, and that new family tended to stick to their distant valley, so Fy had never expected to visit the palace, and the number of people and sights to see had been overwhelming.
And maybe it was also that, although the capital and the vast palace within it were alive with merriment over the spectacle of the royal wedding, Fy couldn’t bring himself to take part in the wild celebrations—surprising him as much as it had surprised the other guards with him. Perhaps, as his brother might have said, Fy was finally maturing. But the dangers that had led to this wedding, years of chaos and fighting and bloodshed finally ended by the love of the Traitor King, first for one husband and now for the other, couldn’t be forgotten. They had cost Fy his family—his former family—and done such damage to noble houses like the Vallithi that people still hesitated to speak of it.
That was probablywhymost people were so glad for the fuss and pageantry of this wedding. The king had fought and bargained with the others nobles, and then, somehow, through luck—or fae interference—fallen in love with someone who pleased the remaining noble holdouts. And then the king’s husband had fallen in love too—or maybe it hadn’t happened in exactly that order, but it had happened, and people were in the mood to cheer and drink themselves silly.
Fy should have joined them with a light heart. Yet, though Fy had been told by Zelli of the Tialttyrin himself to take a night to enjoy himself before even more pageantry was required tomorrow, Fy hadn’t done much more than wander around the capital after a drink or two, then slip back into the palace to find a place to rest where the noise of countless celebrations was distant.
Hewasgetting old.
Someone was singing in some other part of the palace, their voice barely a whisper by the time it reached the snapping banners and curling ribbons hanging from every palace wall as part of the wedding festivities. Laughter was louder and came from all directions. It made Fy smile and wish he’d brought a drink with him.
The wedding and all the joy of every party around him had been needed. The displays the beat-of-fours would put on tomorrow, less so, but maybe displaysand spectaclewerejoy to nobles. Nonetheless, Fy stayed in his chosen garden on a stone bench with his back against a wall, staring up at the moon and the stars and a few branches of the trees sheltering him.
He sighed, not unhappily, more confused. Perhaps it was being so close to a happy wedding, or always being around well-matched partners and then finding himself at a glorified hand-fasting where the parties involved were unable to hide their pleasure in each other. Maybe it wasn’t that he was getting old. Maybe it was that he was alone at such an event, and he could pretend he was fine with that back home with familiar faces, but here,alonemeant listening to celebrations yet having no part in them.
He sighed again, then went still when the sound was echoed by the strum of plucked strings. He brought his gaze down from stirring banners and the silver moon and blinked to see a person seated on a bench not far from him. They were idly playing a kit, an old-fashioned instrument, although some bards still preferred them.
Fy couldn’t tell if this was someone merely fond of music or an actual bard. Not that all bards were descended from the fae or presented themselves as fae-like, but enough of them did that it was usually obvious. This one wasn’t small like Zelli, and they had a funny, slouchy fabric cap on that fell down over their ears and hid much of their hair. The rest of their hair was long and gathered back, but the color looked dark by the light of the moon. Hardly the sunset-and-rainbows of Zelli’s hair. So they probably were not of the fae.
They plucked at the kit strings instead of using a bow, which was odder than choosing to play a kit in the first place, but Fy was starting to recognize the melody now that he was paying attention. It was familiar, but then, so many songs written to spread current news and gossip were just new words set to the tunes of existing songs. The best songs tended to linger and last for years, but the majority lived brief lives as far as the public were concerned.
“You’re frowning,” the bard, or possible bard, remarked, startling Fy into straightening up. He hadn’t realized the musician had known he was there. “Are you not enjoying it?”
They had a husky but light voice. Pleasant, like one of the bright wines Zelli preferred.
And, well, yes, Fy preferred them now too. Another Tialttyrin interest that had rubbed off on him.
“It’s fine. Lovely. I was trying to place it,” Fy explained himself, sinking back against the wall since apparently his presence was known and perhaps welcomed.
“I thought you might be upset, though everyone else here seems to be very happy.” The bard turned slightly in Fy’s direction, revealing an ordinary face with smooth, verging on chubby cheeks, dark eyes, and possibly some freckles. “Very happy indeed,” the bard added.
“The wine,” Fy waved a hand to indicate the many parties that surrounded them. “And the wedding. Relief, and peace, and a blessed marriage.”
“Blessed,” the bard echoed, then strummed the kit again. “Yet you are here. And compared to some of the others, you do not seem… what do they say? Deep in many cups?”
Fy hadn’t realized the capital had different expressions than elsewhere, but supposed the Tialttyrin estate was isolated, so it made sense that he wouldn’t know current trends. Maybe kits were coming back into fashion here as well.
“Ah, no. I’m not,” he admitted. “But I’m content for now.”
More strumming, teasing Fy’s memory for a moment before the melody dissolved into Honey Bee, a sometimes bawdy, sometimes sweet love song that had been sung everywhere by everyone, probably for centuries.
“But your sighs fill the air.”
Fy lowered his eyebrows at the observation but couldn’t exactly argue it. “You know how it can be around weddings for some of us,” he replied at last, making his tone merry. “That’s all.”
The playing trailed to silence. He got another dark-eyed stare that made him think of Zelli, and a look like that from Zelli was never good. It meantquestions, and then something embarrassing would happen, and Fy would have to work harder to smile for a while and Zelli would be distressed.
Zelli always got like that about problems he couldn’t fix. He forgot sometimes he wasn’t actually fae—not completely, anyway—and couldn’t answer wishes as they did.
“Oh,” the bard said at last, “I see.” Their tone said they didn’t actually see but were being polite.
“Just loneliness. It’ll pass,” Fy assured them. “I work with my family, and there’s a village nearby where I could look for someone… but I’m not the serious one, I never have been. And everyone there is so pretty—maybe it’s the fae blood, I don’t know. But I’m large, and I laugh at the wrong things, and I’m surrounded by love there, too, but at least my family is around. Here it’s me, and some friends, and a beautiful Vallithi and a terrifying Tialttyrin, and so I’m more alone than usual at the moment. And now a wedding forthreegorgeous besotted fools with open hearts? It’s… It will pass. Iama little ‘deep in my cups’ so I’m sure that’s part of it. And this is a lovely garden.”
“It is.” That, at least, had not confused the bard. Maybe they were beautiful too, and in daylight Fy would have seen it immediately and understood why they might not comprehend something like loneliness.
