The Cuckoo had to shake his head as she rushed off, chuckling to himself as he watched from the balcony as the throng prepared for her song. In the crowd, he could see the Swallow Maiden standing side by side with a Great Lion. He could only smile to himself. Feather had found Creggan, the Seneschal’s son, or perhaps he had found her. The night would only end in one way for the two of them, the only way such a meeting between two like souls could occur upon Cuckoo’s Eve. In some nine month’s time, there would be a child with violet eyes. The story between now and then could take oh so many turns, though, and provide as he might even the Devil Himself could not foresee the obstacles upon Feather’s journey. He had provided all he could, though. Come the morning, when she awoke in Creggan’s bed and with his declarations of love for her and praises for her beauty, how would she react to finding the dream made real?

A minor lady, of course, of no real standing and with no servants. Born into fallen nobility, Feather would rise up in the ranks of society as the bride of the Seneschal’s son as he became caught up in the romance of it all. He would be her savior! Creggan would restore her to her rightful position, and they would be wed happily as all of Feather’s dreams came true! The cunning part was that it wasn’t any sort of fiction. Feather was distantly related to fallen house, and while the genealogy was torturous to follow it could be proven that she was of worthy station. It would take time and worry and dedication and anxiety… but, yes, she would have what she most craved as her reward for playing her part this evening.

Yes, their wedding would be joyous! The marriage itself? The Cuckoo had no idea! He had never promised her a ‘happily ever after.’ That was a story they would have to forge themselves. His part in that story was done for now, and the next chapter in which he would make an appearance was nine months and a violet eyed child off…

When the Swan Queen began to sing, The Cuckoo leaned against the balcony rail and closed his eyes. So someone had remembered something. The words were a little different than he recalled, the tune altered just a touch here and there… but it was enough to bring back the memories of other Cuckoo’s Eves and other singers and dancers. And bring back the worst thing that there could ever be for a forgotten god and devil: hope.

But time was passing. He had allowed her that small leeway in the rules of the game, but he could not allow her any other.

***

Tambernanny stretched out his arms and shoulders to relieve his muscles of tight knots and sore kinks from laying within the haystack. Yawning, he looked across the stables towards where the woman in black gown and wings stroked the muzzle and neck of a huge white horse, a powerful beast tamed to her will. The bard blinked at her owlishly. After a moment’s pause, he rose from the pile and brushed loose straws off of his jerkin and hose; he was dressed still much as he had been when he first appeared before the Baron and with little to show any spirit of the season. He wore no mask nor costume, his handsome face unobscured as he smiled wryly at her. If he knew her true identity, he gave no indication of such and treated her as though she might be anybody.

“Forgive me, your Majesty,” he called to her archly, “I was not expecting royal company. I had thought I found a young lady to sing along with me, but some blackguard seems to have made off with her and left me to my own devices. After years of traveling upon the road, sometimes a haystack is more familiar and comfortable than an actual bed!” Tambernanny gestured upwards towards the great hall. “A fine gathering of guests the Baron has to pay homage to him, is it not? Not for the likes of myself, of course, a sad seller of songs and stories who has strayed from his station. Although someone was singing a rather fantastical song not long ago, I could hear it even from down here in the stables, so powerful was the lady’s voice! I dare say, and this in my professional capacity as a jongleur, that it has been ages since I have heard either such a song or such a singer to sing it. Truly.”

He stopped before the white stallion and gave a low, appreciative whistle. “A fine steed, your Majesty, a fine steed indeed! Were you planning a ride this evening, then? Not that it means ought to me one way or another, but tis a passing strange outfit that you would be riding out in if that’s your intention.”

Looking back at her rakishly, the bard grinned widely again. “That song… did you hear it, your Majesty? The words themselves and what they mean?” Chuckling much as the Cuckoo had, the young man strolled away towards the open doors of the stables to stare up at the sky. Hand upon hips, he sighed happily. “Too late for an evening star now, I think. There was one before the singing started, I think, but now there’s only the moon rising higher and higher into the sky. And it’s bright, too. Look at all the shadows upon the ground, like fingers reaching out into the light to snatch away all that is brightest and most precious.”

Turning back to look at her over his shoulder, he raised another arched eyebrow. “But what of belief, your Majesty? What do you believe?”