Harper Rove-a-Day wished for a moment’s peace.

Her singing and lyre string-strumming had followed him all day, all week, all month, and he was sick of it. In sunlight and moonlight, he heard her. In the rain and the wind, he heard her. Even in sleep, her voice haunted his dreams. The girl was like music. (He had twice married music!) No wonder his master had loved her so.

“Balladry Sol,” she said, of a sudden.

Harper raised his gaze from their campfire to her face. “What?”

“My minstrel name.” Excitement and firelight sparkled in her eyes like stars in the gray evening sky overhead. “I’ve found it. My name is Balladry Sol.”

“No,” he said, “your name is Solwen. Minstrel names are for minstrels, not minstrel apprentices. You c...

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