“Really,” she spits out. “How so?”
I find my footing and rise. “Without me on his mind, Lukas might be undistracted enough to see you as you really are. And I think it’s safe to say that would make you quite a bit less attractive.” I straighten and look her square in the eye. “As if that were even possible.”
She’s on me in a flash, her wand to my neck, and I suck in a tight breath, pressed up against the stone wall.
“Play this game with me, Gardner,” she seethes. “See how it ends for you.”
The echo of footsteps starts on the stairs and down the hallway, coming in our direction.
Fallon smiles darkly at me and removes her wand from my throat.
Fallon’s military guard stops short at the sight of me standing in a large puddle, shattered vials and books scattered all over the wet floor.
“Oh, dear,” Fallon croons, shaking her head with a sigh as she glances at the vials. “Guild Master Lorel won’t be happy you’re so clumsy. Wait until she hears.” She looks at me with mock concern. “You might want to clean up the mess you’ve made.”
She shoots me one last evil grin before she turns briskly on her heel and leaves.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Of Violins
It’s dark by the time I finish my kitchen labors, and I’m glad to leave, worn-out by the work and from enduring the hostile silence and forced politeness of the other workers. I go straight to the archives to complete my assignments and pore over Apothecarium texts for several bleary hours, dismay spiking as complicated formulations refuse to stay put in my sleep-deprived head.
Exhausted, I drag my feet toward where Rafe, Gareth and Trystan are lodging. Gareth’s only with them until week’s end, when he’ll travel back to Valgard with the other Maritime apprentices, and from there to the sea.
My brothers’ lodging house is a long wood-and-stone building with multiple chimneys that sends up River Maple–scented puffs of smoke into the chilly night air.
I’m enveloped by warmth upon entering. Tapestries adorn the walls of a welcoming common area that houses a roaring fireplace, several benches and a number of chairs. There’s wood flooring instead of stone, and it’s soothing to my tired feet. The male scholars, most of them Gardnerian, mill about talking, eating and studying. I feel a sting of jealousy.
You could be living somewhere pleasant like this, I can almost hear my aunt say. You could be with your own kind, in the plushest of lodging houses. If only you would agree to fast to Lukas Grey.
And get an ice pick through my head? No, thank you. I shake away thoughts of Aunt Vyvian and stifle the memory of Lukas’s hot kisses.
I approach the House Master’s desk, get permission to meet with my brothers and make my way down a dim hallway. I count down to the correct room and knock briskly on the door.
The door opens, and surprise slams into me.
Yvan Guriel is looming over me, his brown hair tousled and sticking out at odd angles, like he’s run his hand through it in irritation one too many times.
I can see from his expression that he’s just as surprised to find me there.
“What are you doing here?” I demand, struggling to keep my composure in the face of his hostility.
“I live here,” he replies caustically.
Thrown, but undaunted, I try to look around him into the room. “Where are my brothers?”
He doesn’t answer, just glares at me hotly.
“Well, if this is where my brothers lodge, I need to drop off my violin,” I say testily, lifting the instrument’s case.
“Your violin?” he sneers, like I’ve said something offensive.
“So that the Icarals I’m being forced to live with don’t set it on fire,” I explain stiffly, trying to ignore how infuriatingly good-looking he is.
He flexes his angular jaw, and his intense green eyes burn into mine.
“Can I please just leave it here?” I finally ask, exasperated.
Reluctantly he opens the door wide, shoots me a look of hatred, then turns his back on me, stalking over to a broad desk lit by a small lamp. Thick physician texts are open on it, along with what must be an essay in progress.
Recognizing Rafe’s things, I slide my violin under my brother’s bed.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” I say to Yvan’s back, shooting him an angry look that I know he can’t see. Then I walk out and slam the door behind me.
* * *
Lukas is leaning against a tree, hidden by the shadows, as I walk out of the lodging house.
“You went in strong last night, I can tell.” His voice is silky smooth and warm with approval.
I stop in front of him as I let the startled feeling settle. It’s hard to make Lukas out, only the metal hilt of his sword and the gilded edge of his cloak catching the faint moonlight. My eyes adjust, and I can barely make out the subtle shimmer of his skin.
“I did,” I reply evenly.
“And? Are the Icarals afraid of you now?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He pushes himself away from the tree and strides toward me.
I step back and hold up my hands to ward him off. “Oh, no. I need to stay far away from you.”
His grin widens. “No, you don’t.”
I step back farther. “No, I really do. Or Fallon’s going to kill me.”
“She won’t kill you. She’ll just make your life miserable. But it’s worth it, don’t you think?”
Before I can comment on his audacity, he flicks his wand, and I’m bound and pulled straight into his arms. The bindings dissolve as he embraces me and kisses my neck. I halfheartedly push at him, and he gives a low chuckle. My resolve weakens, carried away on the cool night air.
“Why is she so obsessed with you?” I ask breathlessly.
He gives me a sly, dark smile. “You have to ask?”
I frown at him and move away a bit. “I thought your affinities clashed.”
He cocks his head. “They do. It’s like I’ve told you. She thinks it’s exciting. I find it off-putting.”
“And our affinities?” I wonder, his hand caressing the small of my back.
He pulls me in closer, his breath warm on my ear. “All that fire. And wood. We match up quite nicely, don’t you think?”
My breath goes uneven, my palm on his chest. He’s so warm.
Lukas grins and steps back, holding out his arm to me.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask with some wariness as he leads me back in the direction from which I came earlier.
“Trust me,” he says. “I want to show you there’s more to this place than crazy Icarals.”
* * *
We wind our way through the torch-lit University streets, past lodging houses and crafter’s Guildhalls. We finally come to a stop in front of an elegant building adorned with impressive wood carvings, scenes from The Book of the Ancients adorning every arch and crevice.
It’s a museum of Gardnerian art.
The young military apprentice on guard duty immediately comes to attention when he sees Lukas and hands him a ring of keys without question.
We enter the building, and Lukas leads me through the deserted exhibit hallways, lighting lamps with a tap of his wand as we pass. I follow him past sculptures and paintings and into a circular exhibit hall.
As Lukas illuminates the room, I marvel at the instruments on display here, many protected under thick glass cases. A grand piano stands in the center of the hall, covered in carvings of trees and different species of birds, flying about the dark, ebony branches.
I’m immediately drawn to one of the violins sheltered under protective glass.
“This is a Dellorosa violin,” I breathe, amazed. They’re the most expensive violins in all
of Erthia. Magicked to be perfectly in tune, the bow strings are made from the hair of Asteroth steeds, the swirling decorations wrought from pure gold.
Lukas pulls out his wand, murmurs a spell and points it at the case. A thin green light illuminates the lock before it clicks open. He lifts the glass cover, pulls out the open case and offers the violin to me.
I put my hands up to fend him off. “I...I couldn’t...”
He pushes the magical instrument toward me, insisting. “It was meant to be played, not stuck in a glass case.”
I relent and take the violin from him, the thrill of doing this forbidden thing coursing through me. I hold the exquisite instrument like a fragile newborn, feeling like I’m a child again and have just been given my most longed-for Yule gift.
Lukas goes to the piano and beckons for me to follow.
“What are we playing?” I ask in breathless anticipation.
He smiles and runs his fingers lightly over the glossy piano keys. “You’ll recognize it.”
Of course I do. Filyal’s Deep Forest Dream.
Everyone knows this piece, but played on these instruments, in harmony with each other, it becomes something altogether different. Gone is the nervousness I displayed at my aunt’s party. Here, alone with him, I dive into the music and wind the violin part around the piano music sinuously, as if we’ve played together all our lives. The music is one long, slow kiss, his fingers sliding the deep notes of his song against mine. I lose track of time as we play, his face serious as he moves his fingers deftly over the keys.
Much later, after Lukas brings our final piece to a close and his hands to rest on his knees, I lower the violin and smile at him. He smiles back and I can feel the heat in his gaze. Flustered, I turn away and lower the instrument gently back into its case.
I’m arranging the bow when Lukas comes up behind me. He wraps his arms around my waist, his breath warm against my cheek. “That was beautiful.”
My hands freeze in place on the bow. He begins to nuzzle my neck, untwining one hand from around my waist to gently pull my hair aside so he can kiss me just under it.
That’s when I stop breathing.
I release the bow in my hands and turn around, my back resting against the piano.
He twines his arms around me once more and brings his lips to mine. Lulled by the music, I let myself fall into his kiss, into the deep, warm pool of his caresses. As he kisses me, a strange, delicious tingle starts at the soles of my feet and dances around my ankles. I shift my weight, reveling in the sensation as Lukas pulls me closer. He smells wonderful—like pine boughs in deep forest, warm as midnight fire. I sigh and let myself fall deeper.
I run my fingers back through his hair. I can feel his smile on my lips as I lightly trace along the thick hair of his sideburns, the soft, bare skin just behind his ear. Lukas groans and kisses me harder.
Suddenly the sparking around my ankles pulls in tight, and the image of a tree made of dark lightning flashes through my mind, power arcing from the soles of my feet to the tips of my fingers in a fierce, branching wave of pleasure. I shudder and cry out, overwhelmed by the powerful sensation.
I push away from Lukas.
“What was that?” I gasp as a dark echo pulsates hot in my core, my legs now unsteady.
Lukas holds on to me, his eyes full of surprise. “I don’t know,” he says, his voice deep and ragged. “I’ve never felt anything like that before.” His expression shifts from shock to hunger.
He lunges at me, claiming my mouth, and pushes his body hard against mine.
I gasp as the image of the tree flames back to life, dark sinuous branches snaking through my body, his hands all over me.
But it’s too much. Too fast. Like being caught in the ocean’s undertow.
I try to move away from him, to push away from the black fire, but he tightens his hold on me. I wrench my mouth from his.
“Lukas,” I force out. “Stop. I want to go.”
He pulls back, just barely, and gives me a look so feral that it fills me with serious alarm.
My eyes dart nervously toward the exit.
Abruptly, Lukas steps away, eyes predatory. He holds up his hands in mock surrender as his mouth curls into a slow, dark grin. He bows to me and holds out his hand for me to take.
I hesitate, wary of him now. Wildly conflicted and acutely aware of my vulnerability.
I place my hand in his, unsure of what he’ll do. But he simply leads me, wordlessly, back out of the museum, past the young guard and out into the cool night air.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Unforgiving
Two Elves are waiting for me in the hallway outside my room when I return to the North Tower.
Wynter’s intimidating brother and the willowy Elfin lad who was with him this morning are leaning against the windowsill. They straighten as I enter, both of them armed with bows and well-stocked quivers.
“Elloren Gardner,” Wynter’s brother says, his face grave, his words heavily accented. “I am Cael Eirllyn, brother of Wynter Eirllyn, and this is my second, Rhys Thorim.” He makes a slight, reluctant bow before continuing. “I need to speak with you.”
My heart picks up speed. “You need to leave,” I insist as I glance nervously toward the door behind me. “It’s not appropriate for you to be here.”
Cael makes no move to comply. “My sister told me of the threats you have made against her,” he says, stepping forward. “I have come here to respectfully request that you leave my sister alone.”
He must be joking.
“Perhaps the Icarals should avoid attacking and abusing people if they wish to be left alone,” I counter, pointing an accusing finger at our room.
His eyes widen, incredulous. “My sister? She attacked you? Wynter has never attacked anyone in her entire life. In fact, I’ve never heard her utter so much as an unkind word, even against those who have treated her ill.”
I tense at the injustice of it all. “Ariel Haven attacked me my first night here,” I reply. “I cowered in a closet all night long, thinking I was about to be killed, and your sister didn’t lift a finger to stop her.”
“My sister...” Cael tries again, softening his tone with what looks like great effort. “If you knew her...she is decent and good. The Deargdul, or the Icarals, as you know them, they are as despised by the Elves as they are by the Gardnerians. Our holy book, The Elliontorin, speaks about the evil of the winged, demonic ones. Many of our people seek to see my sister exiled forever. Some would like to see her imprisoned...or worse. She is here because she has nowhere else to go. If you make trouble for her, if you decide to spread lies about her, no one will take her side, save myself and Rhys Thorim.”
I hesitate, momentarily conflicted. But then I remember where weakness got me. I can’t afford to be weak.
Dominate, or be dominated. I can almost hear Lukas whispering in my mind.
I gather my resolve. “Well, that puts me in a very convenient position, don’t you think?”
Cael stiffens and anger flashes in his eyes. “I should have known better than to expect compassion from a Gardnerian.”
My blood boils at his words. “You should have known better than to expect that I would roll over and play dead when abused by Icarals!”
Cael is clearly furious, but Rhys’s eyes fill with such raw hurt that it gives me serious pause.
“You have made your feelings quite clear, Elloren Gardner,” Cael says with cold formality. “We will not take up any more of your time. Good eve.”
He gives me a quick, perfunctory bow, and both Elves depart.
* * *
“Why is there a chicken in this room?” I cry as I step into my foul lodging.
A chicken runs around the room, bird feed scattered in a messy pile, droppings littering the f
loor.
Ariel glares at me with a look of seething hatred, scoops up the chicken and hugs it protectively to her chest.
“Get the chicken out of here now!” I demand.
Ariel springs up, the chicken in her arms. “No! You come near Faiga, Black Witch, and I will set your belongings on fire!”
“It has a name? You named the chicken? You stole it from the dining hall poultry yard, didn’t you?” I take a threatening step toward her.
“I’m warning you, Gardnerian! Get away from my chicken, or your bed goes up in flames!”
“Go ahead, try it,” I challenge her. “You’ll be expelled!”
Ariel steps toward me, threatening in turn. “I’ll be expelled if I set you on fire,” she rages, “not your things!” A slow, evil grin forms on her face. “And believe me, Black Witch, that’s the only thing keeping me from setting you on fire.”
I know I should continue the fight. To keep the upper hand, no matter what threats I have to make. But I suddenly feel overwhelmingly tired and beaten down. “Fine!” I relent, shooting her a look of disgust. “Keep your stupid chicken. This room couldn’t get any more disgusting anyway. It’s like living in a barn.”
“With a Gardnerian pig!” Ariel snarls.
“Shut up, Icaral.”
Wynter winces at the word, her wide, silver eyes now peeking out above her wing wrapping. Shame pricks at me as I watch Wynter cowering, but anger and fatigue override my conscience.
I’ll find a way to bring Ariel down. All I need is a few solid nights of sleep.
* * *
I’m awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of singing. I open my eyes just enough to see.
It’s Ariel.
She’s sitting on her bed, singing softly to the chicken and murmuring to it in turn. Gone is her usual evil, slit-eyed look. Her whole face is open, like a child’s. The chicken is staring back at her, making a contented, low clucking sound, almost as if it’s murmuring back to her.
It’s an oddly gentle scene, and it makes me feel unsettled and slightly embarrassed to witness.
Wynter is sitting at the foot of the bed, a large piece of white parchment laid on a thin wooden board in front of her. She’s sketching Ariel and the chicken, her thin black wings folded neatly behind her. She has a shiny white stylus in her hand and holds it at angles as she works. Her picture is oddly beautiful, the unusual art tool not only able to draw in multiple colors, but also able to capture the firelight so that it actually flickers on the page. I remember Lukas mentioning that Wynter is an artist.
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