The entrance steps to the Citadel were an imposing feat of
architecture. Each spanned the length of a dozen grown horses and each rose a
foot into the air. There were fifty of them, made of pink marble, veined and majestic.
Centuries of use had worn depressions into their centre, giving the flight of
steps a warped appearance even at a distance. Adding to the aura of grandeur
were two matching columns standing at either side of the stairwell. Despite
supporting nothing but air, they caused a great impression, framing the entryway
to the most spectacular building in the realm.
At the foot of the structure stood a young man bearing a shabby
satchel and a lute. He clutched both of them tightly as he looked up at the
stairs in awe. Poor though he surely was, he wore a clean woollen tunic and
sandals. His curly locks fell across a handsome beardless face, no older than
twenty. He had spent most of the morning in the square facing the steps, while
a silent struggle raged on inside him. The two sentries stationed beside each
column exchanged sniggers whenever he looked as though he might attempt the
climb, but still the youth had not found it in himself to march up the steps.
Mia had worked in the Citadel's kitchens for two years now.
At first she had been certain she would end up in the streets whence she had
come. But months of the cook's bossiness had worked some efficiency into her:
she no longer dropped the royal pans or soiled the royal floor by spilling the
royal juice. In all, she had come to love her life in the kitchens. Though she
worked endlessly at the most menial tasks, she now had a bed and daily meals. Besides,
her main concern, which had been that of having to expose her blatant rough manners
to the court, had dissipated within the first few weeks, as she had discovered
the kitchens were seldom visited by anyone important.
She only had one friend inside the Citadel, her roommate Clara,
daughter of the king's armorer, but that didn't bother her; one friend and a
job were far better than no friends and the streets. Nevertheless, she did miss
her brother. Her brother, who had always cared for her, had made sure she got a
place in the kitchens when she turned sixteen to save her from winding up in a
city brothel. They hadn't seen each other since.
‘Mia, have you seen the new singer?’ her friend asked her as
they scrubbed tiles on their knees. ‘Singer? There's a new singer?’ ‘You
obviously haven't,’ Clara sighed. ‘He arrived this morning and he's gorgeous!’ She arched her eyebrows for
effect. ‘But he forbade it.’ Mia said. ‘Yes, yes I know.’ Her roommate rolled her eyes. ‘Apparently the princess
requested permission for a personal bard, and he's allowed her to choose one.
Not that many have auditioned, actually. They must be terrified of him.’
The queen had always made sure the Citadel's halls were
filled with music. She used to sing herself, often. Her husband had banned
musicians from the court the previous year, when she died. He called it “mourning”
and “respect”, but everyone in the castle knew that music reminded him painfully
of his late wife. Their teenage daughter, who had inherited the queen's taste
for tunes, missed it sorely.
‘Will he stay?’ Mia asked, now excited as well. ‘I think so.
Let's hope the king's patience holds.’ ‘Oh, I hope he does. I'd like to hear some
music in the castle again.’ Mia was secretly thinking of her brother, who had
always dreamed of becoming a musician. He used to sing when they begged in the
streets, but he could never have afforded an instrument. Clara gave her a
roguish smile. ‘And I'd like to see myself some fresh meat; all the kitchen
boys have gone stale!’ They chortled and continued scrubbing.
