Bluebirds flitted about the outstretched boughs of oaks planted in the days of some King Durent or another, sounding out their love calls to the sun that hung at its zenith in a sky of white, windblown clouds.

Lydus wanted nothing right now more than to shoot them. Had he fired a musket before? Well, no, not exactly, but how hard could it be? Simply point, fire, and rid yourself of whatever chattering annoyance you fancied least. He would like to see them dart away from a ball of molten lead with as much vigor as they had while…

The arrival of the first course took his mind away from his violent delights and back to the setting. By all accounts, it was a lovely morning, except for the birds, and the earliness of the hour, and the deeply rutted road from Gente to the Jeretheel family estate just outside the city, and most of the present company—Ada excluded, of course. But did he truly despise so much of it or was he only hungry? That was a truth he would have to discover one bite of pork sausage and roast mutton at a time.

Around the table sat a fine collection of the people Lydus wanted to see least. Master Fredick Jeretheel, grown soft around the waist and always quick to remind any who wandered too near him that his grandfather had been a lord actually, was at the head of the table opposite Lydus. Spots of sunlight that darted in between the gently shifting leaves above give him the appearance of a swollen, velvet leopard. If there was anything stronger than diluted spiced wine served with this noon meal, Lydus might have even said so.

Next to him in a dress two fashions out of date sat Aelis Jeretheel, who must have been some great beauty in the bygone days of Lydus’ own namesake for his Ada to have snatched any trace of loveliness from amongst the aggressive dullness that was her father. Hesia, Ada’s older sister and recipient of every parental quality which Ada had been favored to avoid, was off doing whatever it was that Hesia did when she was not offering up criticisms as if she thought them to be dearly sought-after treasures.

Ada’s hand on his lap—for now, at least—and the sausage were the extent of Lydus’ present comforts.

His Dullness spoke.

“So, Lydus, Ada tells me you met with the king again recently.” Fredick nodded briefly to himself and the air filled again with those awful birds before Lydus reasoned that that was all he wished to say. Beside him, Aelis smiled pleasantly. Too pleasantly.

Lydus cleared his throat.

“She tells it true, Master Fredick. Naturally, it was quite a spectacle. The, uh, the royal rising, that is. Have you ever been?” Lydus asked, and nearly yelped as Ada’s hand gripped his thigh like the talons of some fearsome bird. He knew she hated these stories like the one Lydus had just prompted, which was the only thing that made them bearable.

“Myself, no, I have not had the honor of attending such a grand event. But,” he said as he raised a finger and bowed his head, “my grandfather, Lord Edrick Jeretheel, was once called to the palace for quite a similar occasion. You see, in those days the war up in Honta was growing fiercer by the day and… No, no, my mistake. The war down in Ossiria, that is it! The war in Ossiria was growing fiercer by the day and the king at that time, Durent II, he had a proposition for my grandfather. One day he called him to the palace and said with much solemnity, I am sure, that all he needed to secure our southern border against those foul Cyrnnish heretics was one good man. Well, one good man at the head of five hundred other good men. And so it was that King Durent made a proper lord of Edrick Jeretheel and sent him off to the Ellorin with an entire company of Gente’s finest pikemen at his back. The Company of the Lion, they were called; theirs is a most prestigious history if you should care to read up on them further. I have their records in our family library, you know.”

Master Fredick gave Lydus a broad grin, which Lydus returned as best he could. Everything must go back to Grandfather, he thought, and wondered how Ada had managed so well for so long.

It was a strange thing to behold: a man who seemed to relish living in another man’s shadow. Were Lydus significantly more inebriated, he could have elaborated on why that was. More precisely, on why hearing it from a man who he sincerely hoped would be his father-in-law caused such loathing that he found himself wishing death on harmless songbirds.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Another time, perhaps. Now he only had to make it through the rest of this luncheon, whatever tour of the estate Master Fredick had dreamed up, and then a bumpy carriage ride back to the city. Still, Lydus reasoned if he could sit through Schaeren, he could sit through this. At least the food was good.

Pear tarts followed the mutton and sausage, with a crust so rich with butter and honey that he hardly thought to note that even the Jeretheels could still not afford fine Achogan sugar. Or at least if they could, then they wasted none of it on him. He supposed it was only fair. Still, it felt as if his mood was lightened by it—or else it was the brightness of sweet wine in his tart—such that he did not even recoil at Master Fredick’s next question.

“So Lydus,” he asked, settling himself in his chair and becoming somehow even broader. “Do tell; how goes the commission?”

“Yes, how is the music these days?” Mistress Aelis interjected. Hesia, meanwhile, only regarded Lydus with something approaching a glare.

He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin.

“Well enough, I should say, in no small part due to the particular inspiration of one Miss Ada Jeretheel.” This time he squeezed Ada’s hand back and he thought he heard her choke down a yelp of surprise. She only grinned broadly.

Across the table, Mistress Aelis clapped her hands together.

“Wonderful news!” she exclaimed. “I simply cannot wait to hear it!” This time is was Lydus’ turn to choke.

“The premiere is, um, still some time off yet,” he replied. “An entire symphony is no small task.”

Down the table, Master Fredick cleared his throat.

“Oh but there is no need to wait so long,” the man interjected. “Why, just inside we have our own harpsichord. A bit dusty, I fear, and perhaps it could stand a good tuning but surely it is up to the task. Surely you could share but a snatch of the music for your dear beloved’s parents?”

In that moment, it was as if every bit of music Lydus had ever committed to hands and heart vanished from his mind. With nearly twenty five years now passed between the time when his father first pressed his chubby infant fingers down onto the keys to the present, it was an alarming number of bits to have vanish but vanish they did. Even to be forced to hum a tune would be a torment worthy of the Great Inquiry at present.

Thankfully, Ada came up with a better explanation first.

“I am certain he would love to. If not for the king, that is,” she said, squeezing his hand gently once more. The king, Lydus thought.

“Yes,” he continued. “Quite right. Believe it or not, the contents of this commission are a secret to be known only to the king and those chosen to assist me in my work. To reveal anything now would be… Why, I cannot imagine it to be anything less than treason.”

Master Fredick, the petty grasper that he was, blanched a bit at that. Silence fell over the table like a heavy blanket.

“He only teases, Father,” Ada interceded finally with a forced laugh. “Some other time, perhaps.” Laughter just as contrived then burst forth from Master Fredick.

“Of course! I would never mean to interfere with the king’s business,” he replied.

“Nor can art be hurried in the least!” added Mistress Aelis, nodding solemnly.

The conversation that followed was more tedious than that which preceded it. Lydus took it as a good enough sign that his reprieve was nearing when he could return to the city, if not immediately back to work. There was much to do that was not composing yet far more engaging than attempting to play nice with more nobility when there was no commission to come at the other end of all his flattery.

There was Ada, to be sure, but by no means was she something to be won. At any rate, he counted it a welcome but undeserved blessing that he and his bride to be were to live in the city. He only prayed as best he remembered how that his pace of work after this symphony be sufficiently furious to save him from her relations but not so much that it keep him pleasure. A youth was a terrible thing to waste.

By the time they had finished off the last of the cheeses and honeyed fruits, the sun was already well on its way toward the horizon.

Lydus was thankful that little remained to be said, at least to him. Details of the wedding were Ada’s alone; that was what they had agreed upon. If there was anything which Lydus truly wished to discuss with Fredick Jeretheel, then in these past two years of closeness to his daughter he had not found it and was of no mind to find it now. Even thinking to search for it nearly brought him to hunting down wine or something stronger instead.

They bid each other their goodnights in something resembling pleasantness. Ada sat beside him, though not near. Instead, Lydus felt the space between them as a sliver of ice where warmth should’ve prevailed.

It was not until the bouncing of the carriage under his seat told him they had reached the main road that Ada spoke again.

“You didn’t have to mock him like that,” she said, and left Lydus to respond as he would.

He didn’t.

The carriage only creaked onward into the night.