Dassa Moonwhisper's Arc

Chapter 3 of 4

The third day came. Dassa wore Asha's gown and climbed the road to the castle. Vines wrapped its towers. Green blossoms glowed along the stone. She had never seen a place so beautiful. But her hands would not stop shaking, and the reason sat in her arms. Her lute. The swamp damp had cracked its neck. A thin split ran down the wood, and the strings pulled tight over it. One hard chord could snap them. Her whole chance rode on an instrument ready to break. A servant led her up a curved stone stair to the throne hall. Royals waited on high seats, still and cold. Dassa's throat closed. She looked for a friendly face and found only judges. Then she saw him near the wall. Cornelius Brightwood, the court wizard, leaned on his gnarled staff. A single green flower glowed at its top. He had come to her swamp days ago and told her the court needed her true music. He gave her one small nod now. That nod said: play. Dassa lifted the lute. If she plucked hard, the strings would go. So she closed her eyes and played soft. Just her fingers and her breath. She let the fear fall away and smiled into the first line of her song. Warmth spread through her chest. Her aura brightened until it lit the room. Under her hands, the crack in the lute sealed itself. The wood turned smooth and new, the strings firm and bright. She felt them hold. She played louder now, unafraid. Around the hall, potted plants stirred. Buds swelled and burst into bloom. Vines crept up the pillars. The royals leaned forward, mouths open. Dassa reached her closing line, the one about her mother she always fled. This time she sang it whole. Her voice did not break. Silence. Then a royal woman rose from her seat, pale. "How do you have magic?" she asked. "It drained from this land ages ago. There is none left here." Dassa lowered the lute. "I don't know," she said. "It has always been with me. Since before I can remember." Whispers ran through the seats. Some faces held wonder. Others pulled tight with fear. Cornelius stepped forward. His staff tapped the stone. "She speaks true," he said. "Her magic is real. It came from no spell." He faced the royals. "Whinix is dying. The magic bled out and never returned. If she plays here, protected, her gift could bring it back." The royal woman studied Dassa a long moment. "Living magic, walking into our hall," she said quietly. "We cannot decide this now." A royal man nodded. "We need time. Come back, bard. We will send word." Dassa bowed. Her lute was whole in her hands. She had sung her mother's line without flinching. But she walked out of Blossomkeep Castle with no answer, only a promise to wait.