The Priest had her cage brought down at sunset and installed on a special stand in his tent. She was scrupulously fed the freshest of fruit, and the water in her little cup was renewed. Despite the warnings that she could not fly away, she watched avidly for an opportunity to escape, but the cage was cleaned and the provisioning made without the door ever being opened. Revaner evidently had planned a dinner party; he greeted visitors, placing them at a table well within clear sight of her cage. When all were assembled, he lit branching candles with a wave of his hand, the golden light falling clearly upon her. The guests sighed in wonder-her spirits sank to their lowest ebb-she opened her beak and sang and her music was at its most lovely. The celebrants congratulated the Priest on his latest acquisition. He preened visibly, casting a malicious glance from time to time back at the cage where Gwyna drooped on her perch. It was unbearable, yet she had no choice but to bear it. Torture of the body would have been far, far preferable to this utter misery of the spirit.
At last the long, bitter day was over. A cover was placed over her cage; in the darkness, bird-instincts took over entirely, and despite sorrow and despair, Gwyna slept.
Talaysen questioned everyone who knew the Free Bards, and especially those who knew Gwyna herself. Always the answer was "no." No one had seen her since the previous day; the last to see her was Marek, and she had left his tent well within the time she had promised to return.
It was bad enough that she had not appeared last night, but as the day wore on, it became more and more obvious that she wasn't just dallying with a new, chance-met lover. She was missing. And since it was Robin, who truly could defend herself, that could only mean foul play.
As Talaysen searched the Faire for some sign of her, he could only think about the incident she had reported the previous evening. The Priest who had approached her-he wasn't one that Talaysen knew, which meant he wasn't one of the Priests attached to Kingsford.
He ran a hand through his hair, distractedly, and another thought occurred to him-one which he did not in the least like. Ardis had asked him to be on the watch for a Priest who might violate his vows to please his own desires-a Priest who would use extraordinary means to get what he wanted.
Could this Priest and the one that threatened Gwyna be the same?
Given that she had quite vanished from the Faire, it was not only possible, it seemed likely. Ardis had said that she didn't know the exact identity of this Priest, which meant he wasn't one she ordinarily worked with as a mage. So he would be new to Kingsford, and probably camped in the Priests' tents with the other visiting clerics. If he had Gwyna, in any form of captivity, he would keep her there. He wouldn't dare bring her into the cloisters, not with Ardis on the watch for him.
Talaysen made up his mind, called his Free Bards together, and passed the word. Look for anything that reminds you of Gwyna, anything at all. And look for it especially among the Priests' tents.
The next day was like the first, save only that she was left outside the tent when the sun set. Evidently since he had no reason to display her, the Priest saw no reason to bring her inside. Or perhaps this was but another sadism on his part-for now she was witness to the Faire's night life, with its emphasis on entertainments. The cage was lowered, cleaned and stocked, then raised again. Gwyna watched the lights of the Faire appear, watched the strollers wander freely about, and sang until she was too weary to chirp another note.
She was far too worn to notice that someone had come to stand in the shadows below her, until the sound of a whisper carried up to her perch.
"Gwyna? Bird, are you Gwyna?"
She fluttered her wings in agitation, unable to answer, except for strangled squawks.
A second voice whispered to the first: "Daran, this seems very far-fetched to me-"
"Rune, I tell you it's Gwyna! Nobody performs 'Walls of Iron' the way she does-but this bird replicated every damn note! Gwyna! Answer me!"
As a cloud of helplessness descended on her and her beak began to open to pour forth melody, she suddenly shook as an idea occurred to her. No, she couldn't talk, but she could most assuredly sing!
She sang the chorus of "Elven Captive"-
A spell-bound captive here am I
Who will not live and cannot die.
A bitten-off exclamation greeted the song. Rune gasped. "Wait, that's-"
Daran interrupted her. " 'Elven Captive'! No bird would pick that chorus just at this moment! It is Gwyna! Gypsy Robin, who did this to you?"
For answer Gwyna sang the first notes of "My Lover's Eyes" and the chorus of "The Scurvy Priest," a little ditty that was rarely, if ever, heard in Faires, but often in taverns of a particular clientele.
"Bestif and a Priest, probably the one she told us about. Oh hellfire, this is too deep for us to handle," Daran mumbled in a discouraged voice.
"Don't ever underestimate Talaysen, cloud-scraper." Rune sounded a bit more hopeful. "He's got resources you wouldn't guess-Gwyna, don't give up! We're going to leave you, but only to let Talaysen know what's happened. We'll be back, and with help! We'll get you back to us somehow, I swear it!"
There was a brief pattering of footsteps, and the space below her was empty again.