The Stillness of the Sky by Starla Huchton Page A

it you miss most?”
    There was a long pause as he thought, but he came to an answer eventually. “My youngest brother, Willem. Well, I miss both of my brothers, but him especially.”
    “Why?”
    Aaron stretched, releasing a wistful sigh. “He’s the cleverest person I’ve ever met. His jokes could keep you laughing for an hour, if he had a mind to lift your spirits. He was none too shabby with a story, either, though not as talented as you are with it.”
    My interest in speaking waned, although a small part of me was curious about anything that had nothing to do with life in Oria’s castle.
    “You’d like him, I think,” he continued. “Most people do. He has a way about him that makes him easy to talk to.”
    One more person I’d never get to know. One more face I’d never see.
    Even after beatings, even when I’d been forced to march the cows to market, I’d never felt such sorrow. It ate at me, tearing at places I didn’t know could hurt so badly. The sensation suffocated me.
    If I had known how, I would have given it away.
    Lady Oria chose that moment to bring dinner. She pranced in with steps surprisingly light for a giant, first delivering a tray to Aaron before unlocking my cage to reach her massive hand inside. The platter of cheese and bread and stew looked tiny between her fingers, but took up over half of the table she set it on.
    “I’ve only got the one enchanted pot, but if you’d like some tea, Aaron could bring you some,” she chirped.
    I shrugged, absently plucking at a lute string. The beautiful note rang through the study, and I shivered. The instrument called to me.
    “Oh, lovely,” Oria said as she seated herself. “Have you finally decided to play again? I’d be ever so happy if you would.”
    Frowning, I didn’t wish to do anything that would bring her pleasure. I rose from my seat instead, laying the lute across the chair, opting to eat rather than perform. She scowled a little, but there’d be no forcing me to it.
    As I ate, I dwelled on the situation. If she could feel but a sliver of my misery, share at least some of my burden, I’d be lighter for it. Oria was determined to be happy, however, and nothing I could do would make her feel…
    The spoon stopped halfway to my mouth.
    Hadn’t they told me I was a Bard? My first performance reduced the both of them to whimpering sobs one moment, to laughing uncontrollably the next. If I could do that, surely I could share how utterly miserable I was the same way, couldn’t I?
    The idea gave me hope, which was more than I’d had in days. The only problem lay in my own lack of knowledge. I barely knew what a Bard was, let alone how to be one properly. What if they were mistaken in their assumption? Perhaps I was simply talented rather than magically inclined. I didn’t know all that many songs, and most weren’t particularly sad.
    The problem plagued me through the remainder of my meal. I paged through the list of songs I knew, which came surprisingly easy, but none held the emotion I wanted. There simply weren’t any about the tiny joys I longed for. At least, none I’d heard in my very limited exposure to music. My father never brought me to the public house he frequented, and I was only ever in Breen on special occasions, perhaps three or four times a year. And it wasn’t as though we were ever invited to small gatherings on neighboring farms. No one wanted my father in their home, not that I blamed them.
    After my meal, I returned to the stuffed chair and continued to think. If a song such as I wanted didn’t exist, perhaps I could create one. An original melody? Did my gifts extend to such a length? I supposed there was one way to find out.
    When I held the lute to play it, Lady Oria leaned forward in her seat, and Aaron watched me with keen interest. Having an audience was unnerving, as I wasn’t entirely sure what might happen if I played freely, rather than from a song I knew. I would’ve much preferred privacy,