The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island) by Mary Gillgannon

gestured. “My current circumstances don’t exactly inspire mirth.”
    Eth frowned at him, his broad face creased with puzzlement. Cori said, “Bridei means he’s not happy here, so why should he sing cheerful songs.”
    “Why don’t you like it here?” Eth asked. “We get plenty to eat and a warm, dry place to sleep.”
    At first Bridei felt exasperation. But then he realized Eth’s point. For many men, having food and a secure roof over their heads meant a great deal. But since he’d had those things most of his life, they weren’t enough to satisfy him. He glanced at the other men and considered how to answer. In this instance, it seemed the truth would serve well enough. “I’m sad because I no longer have a harp. I’ve played the instrument since I was a very young man, until it’s become almost a part of me. I miss my harp like some men might miss a family member or a lover.”
    “A harp.” Eth’s face creased in thought. “I wonder where we might get you one. I would like to hear you play.”
    “Don’t be foolish,” said Cori. “Harps are very expensive, the sort of thing you have to pay for in gold.”
    “How difficult are they to make?” asked Eth.
    “It depends on the harp,” Bridei answered. “The kind of harp I’m used to playing takes years to make.” He thought of his beloved instrument, with its elegant triangular shape and intricately-carved frame of lime and ashwood. “Such an instrument is beyond the skill of anyone but a master craftsman. But I’ve also used a much less complex kind of harp called a lyre. It only has six strings and is made of one kind of hardwood. Then you would need bronze or iron for the pins and gut or bronze for the strings.”
    Eth nodded. “I might be able to find a piece of wood and shape it. But you’d need a smith to make the pins.”
    “I’m certain Niall would be willing to make them,” suggested Cori. “At least if he knew what it was for. The few times we’ve had a filidh come to visit, he’s enjoyed their performances as much as anyone.”
    “And next time a steer or pig is butchered, you could have Cook save back the entrails,” Eth added.
    “That might mean she would make fewer sausages,” said Cori, grinning.
    “I’d willingly give up a few sausages to hear Bridei play the harp,” Eth responded.
    Bridei couldn’t help smiling at the farmboy’s serious expression. Although he’d brought up the idea of making a harp half derisively, the men’s obvious enthusiasm for the project made him consider that it might truly be possible to make some sort of simple instrument. Even a primitive harp would be better than none at all. Besides, all this focus on his musical ability might force Queen Dessia to relent and let him perform, instead of breaking rocks.
    “The frame’s the main thing,” he said. “You need a good-sized piece of hardwood. Ash preferably. I can show you the size and shape to cut it. You’ll need two pieces glued together . . .”
    * * *
     
    Dessia gazed out the tower window. From this vantage point, she could just barely make out the four men who were supposed to be building the stone wall guarding Cahermara. Instead of working, they were gathered around Bridei ap Maelgwn. She could see him gesturing, while the rest of the men watched with rapt attention. She gritted her teeth, then muttered, “I thought at least my workmen would be safe from his charm. But, nay, they’ve fallen under his spell the same as everyone else.”
    “Milady, did you say something?” Aife asked from behind her.
    “’Twas nothing,” Dessia responded.
    “Did you hear Bridei singing?” asked Aife. “He has a wonderful voice, doesn’t he?”
    “Aye,” Dessia admitted grudgingly.
    “Perhaps you could have him could sing in the hall some evening. After he’s finished his other duties.”
    The serving maid’s wistful tone sparked a pang of regret in Dessia’s chest. It seemed very harsh to refuse Aife’s request. Especially