Author's Note: Many thanks to Rasielle and Zorpisuttle for the reviews. Here's more wittering from Kari.

Disclaimer: I don't WoT. I just covet it.

---

This is an unexpected delight. I do so enjoy visitors - DuMerle

The Magpie and the Nightingale (Part II)

Ridiculous, impossible, foolish beyond measure.

All the same I yearned, entranced by his hands and wicked smile, his narrow shoulders and hips and the way he draped them in black.

I still lay with Fairworth, but when he reached for me in the dark it was a defter touch I craved, another's name on my breath.

Never before had I felt such longing. Desire, pure as pain, raged with my pulse.

Why I do believe you're blushing. Is it wrong to want a man then? What makes my yearnings any less that yours, or those brutes who sear me with their hot eyes?

I cared not for decency then, I make mere pretence of it now.

And in my dreams I heard those two glorious notes again and again, the sweetest music ever heard.

dumerle dumerle dumerle…

---

Naturally, DuMerle timed it to perfection - from that slow, calculated wink he knew he had me.

Treacherous crow.

But he was not the Magpie then. Not quite. The germ was in him, the seed that would become his black heart; yet some part of him was untouched, a part not yet cloaked with lies.

I saw it when he played his music, when he tweaked Tilly's ear or played nonsense songs that sent her into fits of giggles. I saw it when Fairworth praised him, in the guilty twitch of his cheek.

I saw it the first time we performed in court.

Thrilled I was, jubilant and so dizzy that Fairworth pleaded with me to sit still lest I make myself sick.

DuMerle was collected as ever, as though born to opulence. I knew he was planning something; he had been gracious to me that morning, bowing as I sat for breakfast, opening the carriage door, enquiring after my voice, even bringing chalked water to gargle.

My glares went unnoticed. I clenched my fists as we were called forth and tried not to tense my delicate muscles of my throat.

A patter of applause as we entered the hall, clipped and polite. The room was like a huge crystal, pleasing or piercing with the shift of an eye. Perfume and incense made me pinch a sneeze.

On stilted legs I approached the farthest reaches of the hall, dazzled by the gowns and wigs and chandeliers.

DuMerle swaggered to the golden clavichord with its keys of pearl and onyx. But he was not to be outdone by the instrument.

Without so much as a nod for cue he launched a frenzy of notes.

I could sense Fairworth's dismay, for I had hardly warmed my voice and it was custom to begin with a temperate piece.

Fans began to wick the air and my voice choked in my throat. The nobles were displeased – this deviation was improper, impolite, an offence to tradition.

DuMerle was smiling, a true smile, hair whipping about his brow as he slammed the keys. Light. Fairworth would be disgraced.

Desperate, I opened my throat and sang. I felt as though worms were turning through my breakfast, but my voice did not flutter like my belly. It soared, it peaked, it chimed in the chandeliers.

DuMerle, furious now I was certain, sent scales wheeling and dipping and swirling like skylarks and I chased them, as though sensing what notes he would let fly. Sweat began to wend between my breasts. Grey spackled my vision, and I knew I had not the breath to go on. But on I went, like a bird singing fit to burst its heart, years of sorrow pouring from my lips.

With a last dazzling trill, it was over.

As our final cry mingled and faded, another sound took up. It was deafening. I almost covered my ears before I realised it was applause. Our audience was ecstatic, baying in an utterly un-noble fashion.

I spun, eyes full, to DuMerle. His cheeks were flushed, his skin dewed with sweat, his lips parted slightly and curled in a smile. He was staring at me, staring, as though I was suddenly worthy of his attention. In that moment I knew something greater than desire.

I knew love.

---

It was downhill on a greased platter from there.

I could not bear to be parted from him, shadowed him about Fairworth's big, drafty house like a wisp from one of those old stories; pale and hardly there, doomed to pine.

At times I raged against the ache in my chest, at others abandoned myself to it, lying a-bed for hours with nothing but sighs for company.

Our little duet was the talk of Caemlyn's lower echelons, but I cared not.

I cared only for my blackbird.

Naturally, he acted like nothing had ever happened, as though our performance was merely a modest success. As though our song had never existed.

Music practise was bliss. To sit and watch – simply watch – that creature play…yet when I tried to sing he would remember a sitting with Ciara, or a game he promised to teach Tilly, anything that would allow leave of the room. Lies sugared with the most urbane of smiles.

I agonised over refusing his proposal to leave, certain that I had disappointed him. Terrified he would leave, I spent countless nights wide eyed, bolting upright every time a board creaked or Tilly shifted in her sleep.

Torture, bittersweet torture.

But the Magpie was hatching a plan.

One morning with the bite of winter on the wind, DuMerle appeared at my chamber door.

Again I saw that strange flush to his face. That I was not the cause stabbed at my heart, but his next words changed everything.

'Pack no more than you need.'

He was gone before I sputter a reply. Leave? My breath rattled as I flung everything from smalls to gowns into a trunk. I remembered Fairworth was on business and faltered. I should have liked to say goodbye and thank him for his kindness. But I could hear DuMerle downstairs; DuMerle, waiting for me.

Tilly was on the landing, eyes wide as I rushed past. On impulse I grabbed her hot little hand and hauled her down the stairs, infected with DuMerle's urgency.

I gasped when I saw the state of our home. Smashed ornaments jagged the floor - the ones DuMerle couldn't escape with.

He was dressed in his customary black, but for travel this time with high boots and a sturdy cloak.

'Hullo dearheart.'

'You robbed him?' I demanded, gazing at sacks lumpy with Fairworth's possessions.

'He can buy more.' I saw him flick a glance at Tilly, as though weighing her usefulness. 'Come along.'

'No.'

'Karietta—'

'No!'

Suddenly he was very close, white hand grazing my cheek. 'I cannot do this alone.' His voice was dark and smooth. 'I need you.'

I would have done anything for him then and he knew it, even help lug sacks into a waiting cart. A stolen cart, as it turned out.

Tilly clung to me as he raced us through the streets, but my heart was flying. I knew not where he was taking us, cared not.

I loved him and in that shining moment thought he loved me.

He took us to the city gates and suddenly I realised why. For days there had been talk of the Tuatha'an camped outside the city. Many gathered at dusk and daybreak to hurl stones at their caravans.

I pitied them, perished the thought of living like an outcast.

Now I was.

'Hurry now, little songbird.'

I stared at DuMerle's outstretched hand. Tilly had already scampered to a caravan bright enough to make me wince, straight into the arms of a small, jolly looking Tinker.

'We will be safe?'

DuMerle laughed. 'Safe, Karietta? Light, we shall be kings!'

---

I have had years to weep. Why shame myself with tears now?

Do I regret betraying Fairworth? Every day. Trusting DuMerle? Aye, 'til my deathbed. Am I sorry I fell in love? No. Call me not romantic. Fool would be closer.

Forgive my tears. They will not last. I have not the stomach for weeping.

---

For months we travelled, months of cold nights and colder looks.

We were reviled, hated. Every village spurned us, gave chase with dogs and whatever weapons they had to hand.

DuMerle delighted in the novelty of it all, galvanised by revulsion.

And how the Tinkers adored him; he danced like a spring leaf, strummed their crude instruments, sang the merriest of songs. At passing fayres he'd encourage me to filch perfumes and sweets and ribbons for our hosts. They never questioned where the gifts had come from. He had dazzled them beyond caring.

To me he gave the dregs of his affections. 'My heart, we shall leave soon,' he would croon, stroking away my fears. 'Before the leaves turn, I swear it.'

But the leaves raged red and still we remained.

Countless times I resolved to leave, creeping from my wagon like a sneak-thief. Then I would glimpse his candle in the gloom and my rebellions would crack and wither.

I suffered alone. Lust and resentment boiled 'til I could hardly fathom my feelings for DuMerle. I loved him. I hated him. I could neither leave nor stay. I was a half-being and I longed for the vibrant creature I had been.

But DuMerle was merely biding his time – he had a plan, he announced one crisp, spring morn, a plan to find a city in the south. No other would do.

Naturally, DuMerle merely expected me to draggle along. Not this time.

While the Tinker girls wept, I swallowed my tears and harboured a plan of my own.

I would stay with the Tua'athan until they rounded close enough to Caemlyn for me to return. I would be free of DuMerle and in my old stalking ground. Perhaps Fairworth would find me. Maybe I would marry him.

The morning DuMerle hailed as his grand leave taking, I made myself rap at his door.

Bold as I could manage I strode into the wagon before he had a chance to call out. Part of me hoped to catch him wrapped around some Tinker girl. That would fuel my resolve, resolve now weakening from the mere smell of his cologne. Dark was how the Magpie liked his den; crimson drapes hid the windows, sunlight stifled to shadow.

Teeth glinted in the gloom. 'Drink?'

I needed one – my throat could scarcely croak a word. There came the chime of crystal and a goblet was pressed into my hand.

I closed my eyes as he whispered past. When I opened them he was stretched on a sprawl of cushions, his dark hair tied with its customary black ribbon, his shirt unlaced to reveal a palely smooth chest.

'This is an unexpected delight. I do so enjoy visitors.'

Oh, I knew all about that. Not a night had passed where giggles and sighs hadn't drifted from his lair. I made a mocking curtsey. 'I live to serve.'

'You're a sigh of fresh air, Karietta. A frigid breeze, certainly, but welcome nonetheless.'

He grinned at my silence.

'I've hardly seen that pretty pout for weeks. I could almost believe you were hiding from me. Now why would that be?'

'Because you're an insufferable bastard.'

He laughed. 'And you're an absolute treasure! Lay with me tonight.'

I barely felt my nails curl into my palm. 'I've come to tell you I'm staying with the Tuatha'an.'

'Really? Until when?'

'Until Caemlyn.'

DuMerle leaned to peer at me delightedly. 'Well, I'll be - you're in love with Fatsworth.'

'Fairworth.'

'That's the one. Nice chap. Accommodating.'

'And ruined, thanks to you.'

His head tilted. 'You're lonely, Karietta.' Like a beak aimed for my heart. Vicious creature. 'Have I been neglecting you?'

I made myself jerk from his touch. His gaze flickered, momentarily uncertain. I smiled.

'Take care, DuMerle.'

His dark glare chased me into sunlight.

Throughout that day DuMerle ignored my presence. He unearthed a hoard of stolen trinkets and traded them for a sturdy dappled gelding he named Callha'an, trusty mount of Ghered the Hunter, and atop his new steed he was almost like a hero of old, black cloak billowing and hair swept from his smiling face.

Ever the performer.

Unable to bear the sensuous goodbyes of the Tinker girls, I took to the woods. There I wept and wandered, plucked silkthistles and merryworts and all the flowers that whispered of childhood. I trudged through fields, waded in streams, anything to ease the storm beneath my flesh.

It was past midnight when I returned. A candle burned in only one wagon. DuMerle's.

I crept up the steps, my heart quickening. A joke, that was all. A final blow from the blackest of crows. The door was cold under my palm.

I saw a shape in the candle-glow; someone slumped at the small table, hands clamped to its edge.

'Why?'

He didn't answer. Black hair hung loose of its ribbon, hid his bowed face. I could see scratches on the wood beneath his fingers, worn markings that looked almost like keys.

Gently, his fingers began to touch, to play, the etchings. Light, I could almost hear his music. Broken. Hollow.

I ached for his voice. Even his most acid tongue would have been better than the ghost of a song.

'Why?' I asked again. This time he looked at me. His eyes glittered like moonlight through leaves.

You.

Oh, how I could fool myself.

I came for you.

I watched him lay his head on the table, fingers of one hand still drifting over the table.

'Do you miss it?' he murmured, so softly I had to strain to hear.

His eyes drifted shut. 'The music we made.' A sigh, fingers beating faster now. 'Light, we were…'

His hands slammed the table and then he was up, pacing the wagon with long strides.

'They know nothing about music. Nothing! Sawing those dratted fiddles, screeching like cats. Imbeciles, the lot of them.'

Something in me flinched. This was not DuMerle.

'Light, I cannot bear it. The filth I can stand, but not this…this…blighted itching in my skin!'

To see him thus was more that I could bear. Music was in DuMerle's blood; to ask him to abandon it was like asking a fish to drown, a bird to fall in flight. Had he felt this way since we took up with the Tinkers? I could almost fool myself that he had suffered as much as I.

DuMerle flung himself into a chair, one leg cocked over its arm, black hair draped about his shoulders. I grasped the decanter, poured, thrust him a glass of wine.

'Leave.'

Was that my voice, so strong and resolute?

'Go to your southern city, start again.'

Were those really his eyes, so wild and wicked and utterly fixed on me?

'Leave tomorrow. Now, even! Why are you still here?'

'Come with me.'

I slapped his cheek. His eyes burned savage, lips drawn from teeth as though the pain delighted him.

'Do not toy with me,' I warned. 'I bear this no better than you.'

He rose from the chair, eyes narrowed. 'Then come.'

Light, the promise of it - he and I. Alone. Together.

How close we were; my breasts grazing his unlaced shirt, his salt-sweet smell, the lax, fathomless depth of his pupils.

Did he move first? Did I? No matter. We were one in the end.

I tried to drown in him, clutched his face, his back, his hips. But Light, I was as fire, belly molten, red hair like licking flames, urging him deeper and deeper 'til there was only blessed warmth and a sweet ache in my bones. I curled into his chest, suddenly very small and soft and young.

'Such passion, Karietta.' A low chuckle. 'I hope you kept some for your voice.'

He slid from me and into his clothes, boasting of his great city and the songs that filled his head. I saw not a trace of the mournful creature I found hunched over a scarred desk.

The door slammed on a chill breeze and I was left cold and alone, not knowing who had won after all.

---

He had scars. I sometimes remind myself of that, perhaps as proof that he's human after all. Pale ridges cross his back and shoulders. I traced them while he slept, in awe of imperfection.

Had he left alone that day I would never have set eyes on his city in the south.

Ashes, why didn't he leave?

---

DuMerle's great city lit the sky for leagues. Dawn gleamed on distant domes and spires as we crested the grassy rise, their sheen like molten pearl

DuMerle urged Callha'an forward, shoulders straight, eyes drinking in that sprawl of light. 'I'm back, you old whore,' he murmured before breathing deep, arms flung wide. 'I'm back!'

Shaking with his savage cry, DuMerle turned to me, eyes fevered, grin tight.

'Welcome home, Karietta. Welcome to Amador.'