Summer Pearl evidently recognized the quote, for she responded, “ ‘Memories deepen as the snows deepen; they drift over our hearts; our hearts, frozen in ice, wait for spring.’ ” She poured a tiny cup of fragrant tea for the prince and lifted her own cup to him. Taudde found himself wondering whom the keiso had loved and lost.
Mage Ankennes, evidently willing to allow the keiso to ease away from the difficult moment, quietly took a place toward the foot of the table and nibbled nikisi seeds. Taudde studied him discreetly, but came to no further conclusions.
Two more keiso came into the room. The first was a young woman with the look of a Samenian, coarse boned and over tall. Despite her lack of beauty, she had the confident air of one who sets her own worth very high. She wore a blue overrobe with falling leaves and rising birds embroidered in rust.
However, the second girl, once she came into sight, utterly eclipsed the first. She was a truly lovely girl, with beautiful creamy skin, clouds of twilight hair, and the most exquisite eyes Taudde had ever seen. She wore a rich blue overrobe with white moths fluttering in a spiral over the great blossoms of moonflowers.
She was also, Taudde realized slowly, extremely young. Everything showed this, but most especially the girl’s obvious nervousness. Her shyness, however, did not detract from her beauty. Quite the reverse. Glancing around, Taudde saw that every man in the room was as captivated as he. Even Jeres Geliadde appeared to have been charmed. The prince set his wineglass down, making no attempt to disguise his interest.
The other keiso, Taudde saw with some amusement, were unsurprised by the effect the girl had produced. Summer Pearl had a tolerant, humorous curve to her mouth; her eyes were alight with gratification. Meadowbell and Featherreed were exchanging glances filled with enjoyment that approached hilarity.
The girl bowed shyly and said in a soft, timid little voice, “I am—I am Moonflower, my lords. I beg my lords’ indulgence. I don’t—I—This is my first week as a keiso and I know nothing. I beg my lords will permit me to—to merely observe their banquet.”
There was a general murmur through the room that encompassed, Taudde thought, disappointment and approval and resignation. The prince gave young Moonflower a nod and then looked deliberately away. Compelled by this royal example, the other men sat back on their cushions and also turned their attention elsewhere.
Moonflower’s companion murmured to her, and the girl found a place at the end of the table and settled there with her eyes cast down and her hands folded in her lap.
The other keiso then made her bow to the prince, who rose and took her hands with obvious warmth. He said, “Rue, my beauty. You will dance tonight?”
“Of course, eminence, if it would please you,” agreed the Samenian keiso, and went to murmur with Summer Pearl and Meadowbell while Featherreed poured tea and wine for the men.
There was suddenly movement both within and without the banquet chamber, apparently on some signal Taudde had missed. Servants served broth in bowls painted with waving sea grasses, and, on small plates painted with dragonflies, translucent noodles sprinkled with chopped abalone.
Summer Pearl settled herself with her knee harp and began to play, with confidence but without seeming to give much attention to the music she made. Another older keiso who had entered quietly joined her, playing the kinsana. This newcomer played with great skill, but also with feeling that transcended skill. Taudde assumed that this was Bluefountain, for it was only natural that anyone should think of this woman when music was mentioned. She found the heart of the demanding instrument effortlessly. Taudde refrained, with difficulty, from showing excessive interest.
Koriadde told a story of sledding down the Laodd road and nearly into the churning basin where the Nijiadde Falls came down onto the rocks. “Only Lord Geriente drove his horse sideways and knocked my sled into the snow beside the road. I broke my arm and his carriage wheel and my father nearly threw me into the river himself.”
Everyone laughed. Meadowbell, who had taken a place next to Koriadde at the table, said cheerfully, “Sledding below the Laodd! Only you!”
Jerinte Naliadde ken Miches said unexpectedly, “Oh, no. I was there.” He was smiling, for the first time Taudde had seen. “There were several of us who stole trays from the kitchens for sledding, but only Koriadde broke his arm.”
“The ending to every tale,” Koriadde said wryly. “If someone must break an arm, it always seems to be me.”
Bluefountain and Summer Pearl brought their song to an ambiguous close, as though the music might continue if one listened for it, or might at least be meant to continue. Taudde tilted his head, intrigued. But Summer Pearl set her harp on the floor beside her cushion and went around the table to pour more wine for anyone who nodded, ending by pouring a glass for herself. She settled on a cushion between Lord Miennes and Mage Ankennes and said, “Oh, tales of our foolish youth. Mine are modestly lost in the distant past, which is fortunate for my present dignity.”