Luna Meridian had six weeks to reach the Solstice Court, and she was going to ride in alone unless she found other women who played loud. She stood in the road with her lute strapped across her back and read the notice she had nailed to the post outside the tavern. WOMEN BARDS WANTED. TOUR EVERY HOLD IN COPSEFIRE. NO SOFT SONGS. Her red hair stuck to her neck from the walk. No one had answered the notice in three days. The king's court had never let a woman like her onto that stage, and one woman on a road was not a troupe. It was a rumor waiting to die. She pulled the notice down and walked toward the abandoned church at the edge of the village. The roof sagged. Weeds grew through the doorstep. She had slept in worse. Inside, she meant to practice until her voice gave out, then sleep on the stone. She stopped in the doorway. Someone was already inside. A short girl in a battered leather jacket sat on the altar with a flame-painted guitar across her knees. Purple streaks in her black hair. She was tuning by ear, head down, not looking up when Luna's boots scraped the threshold. Behind her, a blonde girl leaned against the wall with a bass, arms crossed. A third girl crouched by the empty font, drumsticks in one hand, tapping the stone in a slow, steady four. "Church is taken," the drummer said. "By who," Luna said. "Us." Luna stepped inside. "You play loud?" The guitarist looked up. Her eyes were bright and tired. "We play loud enough that a bar owner three towns back paid us to leave." "I'm going to the Solstice Court," Luna said. "I need a band. Women only. Every hold between here and the capital." The bassist did not move. "Why women only." "Because no one who looks like me has stood on that stage," Luna said. "I want four of us walking in, not one." The drummer stopped tapping. She looked at the guitarist. The guitarist looked at the bassist. None of them spoke for a long moment. Something moved in the corner of Luna's eye, near the broken window: a pale, drifting shape, small and sad, watching them. It faded when she turned her head. The guitarist swung her guitar around and struck one chord. The sound hit the stone walls and came back doubled. Dust fell from the rafters. "Jade Riff," she said. "That's Riley on bass. Other Riley on the sticks. We were headed east anyway." "Luna Meridian." "We split the take four ways," the bassist said. "And we don't wait for you if you're late." "Fine." The drummer stood. "First hold's two days out. We leave at dawn." Luna set her lute down on a pew. The troupe had four names now. It also had a problem she had not thought about yet: four bards, one road, and no wagon to carry them.