Free The Singers of Nevya by Louise Marley Page B

position.
    “His mother was teaching him,” Devid said. “Now I must find someone else.”
    “Why did you not send him to Conservatory?”
    “There was no need for that.” Devid’s gaze was hard, and his mouth looked stubborn. “His mother was a Singer. And we didn’t want to part with him. We needed him at home.”
    “But he longs to be a true Singer.”
    An old anger sparked in Devid’s eyes. “He will be! I will apprentice him to an itinerant Singer and he’ll learn all he needs to know, just like his mother did.”
    Sira frowned. “It is very late for him, but you could still send him to Conservatory. I can send a message to Magister Mkel.”
    Sira was so intent on her purpose that she was caught by surprise when Devid punched one big fist into his other palm. She jumped. She had not realized he was losing his temper.
    “Why do you Cantors always think yours is the only way?” he thundered.
    Sira had no answer. He was right. For a Conservatory-trained Singer, there was only one way. She stood tall, keeping her gaze steady. For a frozen moment they stared at one another, until Devid suddenly remembered himself.
    He looked down at his furred boots. “Forgive me, Cantrix,” he mumbled. “You saved my life, and now I’ve offended you.”
    Sira looked away, up at the dais where she had so recently sat and played. She tried to soften her own voice. “Nevya needs every Gifted person to be fully trained and capable. My class at Conservatory had barely one Singer for each House. We cannot afford to waste any.”
    “We love our children,” Devid said, and there was fresh misery in his voice. “To send one away so young—we couldn’t do it.”
    “But a Gifted child suffers without training,” Sira said, turning back to him. “If he hears other thoughts, sense other feelings, and cannot direct his own, he will go mad. He will be dangerous to those around him.”
    “It’s been hard on him since his mother died. But I’ll find someone. He’ll be all right.”
    Sira had no further argument to offer. She bowed to Devid in grim silence, and left the Cantoris. Poor, unhappy Zakri. If his father could feel his emotions as she did, he would know the child wanted nothing more than to go to Conservatory to train, late or not.
    Sad and thoughtful, she went to her room and spent her emotions in long, painstaking practice with her filhata . Later she heard from Magret that young Zakri had stood in the hall outside her room for an hour, listening.

    The brief weeks of summer fled by. The children grew brown and strong with running in the woods around Bariken. They laughed and chattered at dinner, and ate prodigiously, making the adults smile. The hunters ranged far, bringing back many caeru to be skinned and dressed, preserved for leaner times. One trip netted them a tkir pelt, and the entire House gathered to exclaim over its tawny, speckled richness, and to praise the hunters who had brought it down. They saved its great serrated teeth to be made into cutting tools valued in the abattoir. The children clamored to touch them, and when they were allowed to do so, cautiously, they put one finger to the yellowish points and then ran away, shrieking with mock fear.
    In the forest around the House, the softwood shoots sprang up, growing visibly every day. Even the children were careful with them, never stepping on them or pulling them. Every Nevyan knew how much they were needed.
    Sira had time to spare after the quirunha each day. She took to spending it in the courtyard, enjoying the suns, and playing little tunes on her filla for the children. Zakri sat near her one afternoon, and she smiled at him. She offered him her filla to play, but he shook his head, embarrassed. A leather ball lying near his feet suddenly rolled away over the cobblestones to smack against the side of a bench. Sira watched, trying not to show her surprise.
    Zakri possessed a powerful Gift. It would cause serious problems if not harnessed soon.