Where Light Meets Shadow by Shawna Reppert Read Free Book Online

offense.
    The harp had done wonders.
    Alban opened his mouth to say
something about a host’s duty to provide company, a healer’s duty to check on a
patient. “I wanted to see how you were doing,” was what came out.
    “Most of me is fine, other than
being stiff from lying abed and bored with my own company. The ankle is still
broken. I expect it will be for a while yet.”
    “Sadly so. I fear I am not the
legendary Nolan, who could heal with a touch.”
    “And I am not Bevin, who could
still the winds with a song. So we are on even footing.”
    “I would say you are closer than
I.”
    Kieran cocked his head, silently
asking for clarification.
    Alban sat beside the bed. “I
listened for a while outside the door. You were amazing.”
    “My father, I am told, was
better.”
    “Your father had many more years
to perfect his craft.”
    “Though not enough,” Kieran said,
voice tight with emotion. “Not nearly enough.”
    Oh, mercy of healing. They were
back to the war. Yes, they were enemies but, given that they couldn’t be rid of
one another until Kieran’s ankle healed, couldn’t they just set it aside for
the moment? He braced for another blast of the Scathlan’s icy anger, but Kieran
just shook his head sadly and looked out the darkened window.
    “I brought dinner. You should
eat.” Alban uncovered the tray.
    “There’s enough there for half a
village,” Kieran said.
    “Enough for two, anyway. I
thought I would join you.”
    “Breaking bread with the enemy?”
    “The war is over.”
    “Peace was never declared.”
    Alban sighed. “Can we call a
private truce between ourselves, then? Just for as long as it takes for you to
heal?”
    He expected another
argument—Kieran seemed as born to conflict as he was to music. But after a long
moment, the Scathlan nodded. “A truce, then. For now.”
    “Thank you.”
    They ate in silence as Alban
desperately tried to come up with some topic of conversation that would not
renew hostilities.
    “That song I heard you playing.
Does it have a name?”
    Kieran smiled. “The Gold on the
Water. I wrote it for a stream where I like to sit and think. At a certain time
of day, the sun turns the water all silver and gold.”
    “I did not think your kind cared
for the sun.” The words were out before Alban thought, and he could have kicked
himself. So much for the princely diplomacy he was raised to!
    The Scathlan’s face hardened.
“Just because we love the earth and are wise enough to shelter in her arms does
not make us twisted creatures that cannot abide the sun.”
    “No, of course not,” Alban agreed
hastily.
    Though the tales his cousins told
him to frighten him as a child had implied as much. Alban’s parents had set the
story straight when he was older. It was important that he knew the world and
its history as it truly was to be a good prince. Once, the Scathlan and the
Leas had lived together as one people.
    He floundered for a way to bring
the conversation back to a more civil track. “So that song, then, is your own
composition? It’s quite beautiful.”
    The Scathlan narrowed his eyes
but said nothing. Did he not think Alban sincere in his compliment? Surely he
must know how stunning his talent was?
    “Is that the sort of thing you
played in the mortal taverns?”
    Kieran gave a short laugh. “No,
not hardly. Well, sometimes. If I have a sense that someone in the room might
appreciate it. Then I’ll play it, even if most of the audience wonder when I’ll
finish and get back to the real entertainment. Mortals like their songs quick
and lively and cheerful, for the most part.” He set aside his food to pick up
his harp for a quick snatch of a song with a rhythm like a frolicking horse,
singing a light verse about the joys of haying.
    Even in so simple and uninspired
a song, Kieran’s voice hurt Alban with its beauty.
    Kieran stilled the strings and
flashed a brilliant smile. “Fortunately, I am a quick study, and the first few
places I