Disclaimer: This story uses characters appearing on The Queen of Swords television series. No infringement of copyright is intended. (Not my toys, Paramount's. Used with respect and hardly mussed.)

Rating: G — unless you really hate musicians or something

Feedback: Constructive criticism is welcome. Flames will be used to toast marshmallows.

The day was unusually cool in Saint Helena, and the market was more crowded then usual as all that were able took a moment to enjoy the fair weather that was such a relief after the heat that typically scorched the town. Tessa was strolling through the market with Marta, baskets in hand as they looked for supplies to restock the hacienda's larder. As they passed the catina they saw a number of people huddled around a table. Then, drawing nearer, they began to hear the strains of a guitar and saw that the music came from Juan, the catina owner's son, who often played in the evenings for the customers. Tessa and Marta paused to listen as the strains of the song died away. In the midst of the knot of people, Juan cleared his throat nervously and tried a few experimental chords as he shifted a little.

"This song, I have written myself." Ignoring the surprised murmurs he re-set the guitar and began. The song was as energetic as flamenco and as smooth as a waltz, with an odd flair to the chords that Tessa had never heard before. Nevertheless, the song was the sort to stir the blood and Tessa felt the desire to dance. She glanced down and noticed Marta's foot tapping in time. Then Juan began to sing.

"Behind the mask, there's a secret life.
Behind the mask, there's a hero's eye.
Everyone wears a disguise; we've all got secrets to hide.
Behind the mask!"

Horrified, Tessa shot a glance at Marta, who was looking back, eyes dancing with amusement. Tessa grabbed Marta's arm and dragged the protesting Gypsy into the alley next to the cantina.

"I was listening," Marta said reproachfully as Tessa glared. "It is a good song, no? Good to dance to."

"Dance to? Marta, that song is about me! Why is he singing about me?"

Still amused, Marta sighed. "You have helped many people. They begin to see you as a hero. It is not that surprising that they should begin to treat you as such. Why does it bother you so?"

"I didn't ask to have songs written about me! He ought to have at least asked."

"And how would he have gained permission from the Queen? Get himself arrested and hope you came to save him?" Marta demanded sardonically.

"He could still get arrested, Marta. If Colonel Montoya hears of his playing he will be lucky if he is not hanged for treason," Tessa replied very softly, indignation dying. "The peasants already suffer from higher taxes because of me. What good am I doing if I get him arrested?"

"Perhaps that is how he hopes to gain permission," Marta said dryly. Upon seeing Tessa's unhappy face she sighed. "It is his choice to sing, Tessa, and all of Saint Helena knows how the colonel feels about the Queen. It is not your fault. And perhaps it will give them hope."

"Hope..." Tessa murmured distantly, turning back to the catina. Juan was still playing. She sighed, then smiled tightly at Marta. Montoya was nowhere in sight; there would be time to deal with the danger in this later. "Let us go listen, Marta. It is, as you said, a good song for dancing."

Later that night Juan sat alone behind the catina strumming softly to himself as he gazed at the stars. He heard a gentle scraping and stood, then whirled around to find the Queen of Swords standing behind him.

"Madre de Dios," he murmured under his breath, "How beautiful!" This was the closest he had ever been to the Queen; every other time she had ridden through town there were always dozens of other people running around distracting him... but up close. Madre de Dios indeed!

The Queen shifted a little, and cleared her throat. "Why do you sing about me?"

Juan was still reeling at the realization that the Queen of Swords was talking to him when he realized that he was expected to answer. He wasn't sure his tongue was up to it, but he swallowed hard and croaked out an answer. "How could I not?" There, that made sense. He hoped.

Apparently it didn't, for the Queen frowned. "What do you mean? Why do you risk Montoya's anger?"

"You risk more. You are strong and beautiful. You fight for us. You give us hope," Juan tried to explain.

The Queen tilted her head to the side a little, considering his words. "Hope..." she mused thoughtfully.

She turned to leave, paused, and turned back. "Just take care, Juan. I do not wish to give Montoya an excuse to deprive St. Helena of such a fine singer." She turned again and strode to a horse peacefully tethered a few yards away. She mounted the horse and reared back once before galloping off.

"Dios mio!" Juan exclaimed to himself, rubbing his eyes to convince himself that it hadn't been a dream. But the hoof prints were there. He looked across the desert and sat down again, taking up his guitar. Perhaps, he mused to himself, a verse or two about that corset....