Hearts Return - Part 13a

That evening, laughing citizens throng the main square of the village, gathering to hear the competitors display their skills. The mayor introduces them in a fulsome and self-aggrandizing fashion, giving himself full credit this competition that is bringing visitors and coin to the community. All around the square, local merchants have set up stalls, chiefly of food and drink, and a raised platform has been set in the middle of the square, just in front of the fountain, for the performers.

Some of the musicians prove to be mere country yokels, who can hold a tune no better than they can hold their beer, but these unfortunates still provide amusement – and, in a few cases, target practice – for the crowd. Others, however, are quite good, and Emra and Zandrianna realize that the competition may be stiffer than they had anticipated.

Only one group will be invited into the villa, to entertain the wedding guests themselves, but two or three others will be allowed past the walls, to play for the more informal gatherings in the large courtyard. Zandrianna bites her lip, hoping that she and Emra can be good enough to make it into that second tier.

Emra taps her toe in time with the small group playing ahead of them, her eyes half closed as she listens carefully over the noise of the crowds. She nudges Zandrianna's side and motions her closer. "They're good - really good. And the band before wasn't so bad either. This isn't going to be easy."

Zandrianna frowns. "We’re going to have to be better if we’re to have any chance of getting inside that ... place to rescue Immalaine." She turns as the crowd clap enthusiastically for the previous band, the last notes of the song fading into the air. "I think we're up soon," she whispers, wiping her hands against her skirt nervously.

"Don't worry. We'll manage, one way or another," Emra insists, her voice steady despite her own uncertainty.

Eventually, their turn approaches, and the two take their place on the lesser platform, abutting one side of the performers' higher one, to prepare. Emra lightly strums the lute Zandrianna has loaned her, noting that – like everything else the lady possesses – it's meticulously tended. She shakes her head; Zandrianna must do everything in the same ladylike manner. Satisfied that the lute will sound good, she watches Zandrianna fussing with her harp, her hands trembling despite the clear, low notes she pulls from the taut strings.

To one side, the judges sit at a long table with the mayor and other town dignitaries, enjoying their free samples of food and drink from the various vendors. They seem to pay little attention to the performers; this is, after all, merely an exhibition. The competition itself won't be until the day of the wedding, to prolong the suspense and excitement as long as possible. Yet every so often, one of the trio shoots an appraising gaze over at the musicians, particularly when an act is either quite good or especially awful.

Emra looks past the current performers – they’re producing something that sounds more suitable for a drunken revelry than a wedding – and watches the judges with a gleam in her eye. The young man Raiddion, who had taken a particular interest in her, had described which judge to look for when he relayed some choice gossip that afternoon. After studying the three, she nods to herself. But as she steps forward for a closer look to be sure, she feels Zandrianna's hand on her shoulder.

"Remember," Zandrianna says, leaning up to make herself heard over the music, "We've got to stay in time on these songs. Follow my lead, and try to remember what we practiced."

Emra rolls her eyes, but turns a serious expression back to Zandrianna. "Of course."

The crowd, much of it well-lubricated by now, seems to be enjoying the lively beat of the current song, and three or four different sets of lyrics are being sung in different parts of the square. A disturbance catches the women's attention; to their right, as a small group dressed in matching blue-and-cream outfits, pushes their way past a knot of revelers and makes toward the platforms. Judging by the instrument cases they carry, they're likely the group that's to follow Zandrianna and Emra. As their leader - a tall woman with long, slightly greying hair - takes a seat on the edge of the fountain, the two are able to see the player behind her: a dark-browed youth carrying a mandolin case. Half of his face shines an angry red in the torchlight, revealing the tight skin of healed burns.

Zandrianna's eyes pass over the group, taking in their professional looking attire and demeanor, before looking down at her own dress and the one she had loaned Emra. She opens her mouth to tell Emra to adjust her bodice when she pauses with a look of confusion. That face, hadn't she seen it before? But the young man who has now turned, speaking in low clipped tones with one of his bandmates. Even as the last notes of the previous act die down, she waits, harp in hand. Turn, damn you, she thinks as a flunky calls her and Emra up. Just at that moment, the man looks over and Zandrianna's eyes widen. 'It is him!' She reaches to catch Emra’s arm, only to realize that the dark-haired woman is already making her way onto stage.

As the women mount the stairs, an announcer - the junior town crier - hoists himself to his feet, sets down his mug, consults his notes, and bellows "Give a warm welcome to the Wildflowers, Beth and Ida" - he uses the aliases Zandrianna had given - "come here all the way from Combe." Few of the crowd pay the crier much attention, preoccupied as they are with their own drinks and diversions, but the judges pause in their conversation with the mayor and glance over briefly, putting faces to the announced names. There's an enthusiastic burst of applause from a single pair of hands just at the foot of the stage, and Emra looks down to see Raiddion, the young man with whom she stepped out earlier that afternoon. He gives her a wink, then lifts and waggles a wineskin, clearly suggesting that they should share it once the two are done playing.

Zandrianna lifts her harp to play and stares out at the crowd of people. Feeling a nervousness she's not felt in a long time, feeling the weight of what was riding on the next couple of performances bearing on her heavily, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She has to do this - perfectly - she thinks, her hands trembling.

Emra glances over at Zandrianna, taking notice of the woman's sudden pallor and quickly strikes the first chord of their opening number, noting with relief that Zandrianna automatically joins in, despite her fear. Soon the two are playing the song - a simple melody about first love lost and found, Emra's clear voice drifting over the crowds.

Emra's admirer smiles encouragingly and taps his foot along to the music. The judges seem less taken with the song, leaning forward into their own conversations at table. The one with whom the mayor is speaking throws back his head and laughs at some comment.

The song finishes, and Emra glances at Zandrianna once more, seeing the woman is still pale but now focused on her playing. With a wide grin, Emra strums the first chord of their next song - a lively ballad often played at festivals - and Zandrianna follows with the harp, playing accompaniment to Emra's melody. The two women sing together, their voices blending well with each other and the stringed instruments.

As they play, Emra scans the crowds for signs of interest. Most of the people gathered seem to be intent on their own conversations and paying little mind to the stage. She catches sight of someone deep in conversation with that angry young man from the Flagon, Talthos, though perhaps argument would be a more apt description, given the strong gestures of both men. Wait, it’s not just someone, it’s Rastellion. Rastellion?! Thought the old man said he was to stay away from town. Too dangerous here for him. Emra taps her foot on the stage and stares at Zandrianna until the other woman glances over in annoyance, then pointedly stares past her.

Zandrianna frowns at Emra for a moment, before turning toward where the girl seems to be focused. Nothing there, Zandrianna thinks. A group of old woman - oh there's Madame Greenvale and Delliah, a couple dancing to the music, Rastellion talking to some … Rastellion?! What is he doing here? Her finger slips and the harp protests with a discordant sound, but she recovers quickly and turns back to Emra, her eyes wide. One of the judges glances over at the false note for a moment, then returns to his conversation with the mayor's wife.

The ladies manage to finish up the second song, both of them trying not to look back over to the group where Rastellion stands. Emra nods to Zandrianna and they begin the final song. As Emra hums along to the tune, a wordless melody, a movement in the crowd catches her eye. A pair of watchers, with a parchment in hand, are scanning the gathering. Some poor sap's in trouble, she thinks, then looks more attentively. One of them is pointing to the group where Rastellion is standing. The two start in that direction. That can't be good.