Free The Singers of Nevya by Louise Marley

touch her. If they didn’t, their parents would speak to them sharply, even fearfully. As Cantrix of Bariken, Sira had only her senior for real company.
    She looked around the great room as she drank her tea. By now she could distinguish between the House members and their guests. Some were here to trade for limeglass, bringing worked leather goods from Amric or obis -carved ironwood implements from Tarus. In the far corner of the great room, two itinerants sat negotiating with the Housekeeper for work. Summertimes could be difficult for itinerants. For a few short weeks, Nevyans could move between Houses without hiring Singers to protect them. Itinerants had to find some other work to do while both the suns shone.
    Sira leaned her head on her hand, remembering the visit her family had made to Conservatory last summer, five years before. Her mother had been silent and worn-looking. Her father was awkward and formal. Though Sira had not yet reached the status of full Cantrix, they did not touch her. They held themselves apart, as if she had become something alien, something awesome. She had been relieved when they departed, leaving her to her music and her friends. Since then, as before, she had received one message a year, carried by some traveler for the price of a small bit of metal, on the anniversary of her entrance to Conservatory.
    Sira was not sure how many children her mother had. When she left, there were already three older than herself, and two younger. Of all her family only her father seemed vivid in her memory, full of energy after a hunt, striding into the family’s apartment with a joy in life her mother had never shown. Sira had not liked the rough-and-tumble of her siblings, and once her mother had accused her of thinking herself better than her brothers and sisters because of the Gift. That memory stung, partly because there was a substantial amount of truth in the criticism.
    Good morning, Sira , Magret sent, sitting down opposite her.
    Good morning, Cantrix . Sira welcomed the interruption of her dark thoughts.
    Summer at last . Magret and Sira had fallen into the habit of sending everyday pleasantries. Less trivial thoughts they spoke aloud.
    Sira looked again at the children crowding against the big windows. She now knew a few of them by name. Denis was among them.
    Magret followed her gaze. In a few days, they will be playing outside. Magret sipped her tea, and spoke aloud. “Last summer,” she said softly, “Denis ran off into the woods, and Trude had the whole House looking for him.” She shook her head. “The Magister treated it as a joke, but Rhia was furious. None of the children were allowed out again the rest of the summer.”
    “That was hardly fair.”
    “Certainly not. And it still did not change Denis’s behavior.”
    Sira finished her meal, but waited politely for her senior. It was burdensome to speak aloud with another Gifted one, but Trude sat at the Magister’s table, reminding her of the need.
    The quirunha went on as usual, since the thick stone of the House walls shed the warmth of summer as effectively as it did the more cold of the winter. The daily ceremony was Sira’s chief pleasure, the more so as she and Magret grew to know each other’s musical inclinations.
    Cantrix Magret seemed to be almost without ego. She allowed Sira to dominate the quirunha , enjoying the freshness of her ideas and the effortlessness of her technique. Sira enjoyed each opportunity to perform, though the sparse attendance was still a disappointment.
    Magret, one day, saw her searching the listeners when the music was over. “You know, Cantrix Sira, it is only important to sing; it is not so important for whom you sing.”
    “I am sorry, Cantrix,” Sira said, abashed. “Of course you are right.” It was not wasted on her that Magret had spoken her rebuke aloud, so that Trude should not hear.
    Magret put a soft hand on Sira’s arm. Sira started, and realized it had been many weeks since