by Lisa Daniels
“Sing it,” Karris said, eyes rimmed with red, teeth chewing on the words. As if she wanted Elise to stay silent. But not silent enough to stop her from singing.
Elise obliged. She sang this time – not for everyone, not for her own satisfaction, but for Karris, using the words collected in a mental pool. Unravelling the song of her life. And when Elise sang – she sensed, immediately, that there was magic. It tangled up in her words, layered over her lungs and throat, evaporating in invisible puffs of power.
For the first time, Elise gave herself into the magic, and allowed it to ripple across her skin, electrify the hairs upon her arms.
She saw Karris’s eyes wide, shocked. She saw pain, shame, despair. With that came a breaking, a snapping of self, which Elise scooped up in the song, placing back together. She picked away at the black Karris described. The thing that stopped her from being a better person. One who lived a life of fairness and affection, rather than hatred and rage.
Jorus in the meanwhile watched the whole performance, his knuckles white from tension. Upon finishing, Karris collapsed upon the floor.
“Karris!” Jorus rushed to her side, supporting her upright. He helped prop her head up by the chin. “What happened?”
Karris shook her head, lethargic. Confused. When she finally responded, she said, “I don’t know. But I don’t feel… like I did before.” Her eyes met Elise’s.
For the first time, there was no hate. No smoldering fury that threatened to consume everything inside her. Just eyes, confused, unsure. Grateful. Certainly not an expression that belonged to Karris. “What did you do to me, Elise?”
Oh. This was the first time she’d used Elise’s name.
How to explain what happened without making it obvious? “I made you see. The song… has power. And everyone has a song inside them. I think if you find the right feeling, you can make everyone feel.”
It probably wasn’t the answer Karris was looking for, but Elise didn’t want to say anything out loud which made it sound like she was a magician. She wondered, however, if Jorus suspected. If she could trust him, like Brann.
Another pause from Karris. “I’m sorry I did that to you. I wasn’t thinking straight. I hated you so much… but now I’m wondering… why? Why did I? It makes no sense.” Karris tapped her fist against her chest, eyebrows scrunched in bafflement. “No sense at all…”
“Do you need the lesson off, Karris?” Jorus said kindly. “You can retire early if you want.”
“I… yes.” Karris nodded, relief displaying. “Thank you.”
The thank you made Jorus’s eyes blink in surprise for a second, before he helped escort Karris out. Elise remained there, stunned to see that it worked. It actually worked. She’d somehow taken that hate out of Karris. There was no other explanation for it.
She’d need to see how Karris behaved in the next few days, but that confusion, that lost child look – it was real.
I can’t believe it! Brann was right! It’s magic! Elise started pacing in the room, back and forth from the piano. When Jorus came in, he went straight to her.
“Child. You must be careful. Very careful.” His gray eyes left Elise in no doubt. He knew what Elise could do.
“Brann says that as well.”
“Brann, huh? I should have known he’d have something to do with this. Meddling fool. Listen, child. You sing as you do. But if you do a personal song like that, you should be careful who else hears it. A personal song – it makes it… more obvious. That what you do has a little… extra. Do you understand?”
Elise nodded, though not without a nervous lump wedged in her throat. A secret hardly remained a secret if people continued finding out about it.
“If you ever need to do that again, always make sure the one you sing to is isolated.”
“You won’t tell on me?”
Jorus laughed. “You’re my student. And one of the best singers I’ve ever heard. Of course I won’t. I may not have my fingers in the same dishes Brann’s poking around in, but I’m not going to sell out my student.” He patted her on the shoulder before going to sit at the piano. He poised his fingers above the keys. “Shall we get to the lesson, then?”
Elise watched this happen utterly bewildered. After a pause, she went on with the lesson, which consisted of a mix of original tunes by her, and complicated melodies constructed by others to sing through.
The gray-haired drake acted as if nothing was wrong. As if Karris hadn’t been there, blitzed by Elise’s singing, and no guards would pour into the room, ready to execute Elise for her blasphemy.
No guards came.
Karris didn’t tell.
When Elise finished the lesson, she went off to seek Brann and saw Karris walking with her father. Both of them looked at her – and smiled. Not with barely contained malice, but with genuine fondness.
What?
She smiled back, considered changing direction to avoid them, until Lord Tarken dashed all her hopes by approaching her and saying, “My daughter was just telling me about the special song you sang for her. I would like to hear a song for me, too. A personal song. She keeps going on about how amazing it was.”
Oh.
Two hours ago, Karris wanted to kill Elise. But now? It seemed like she wanted to be friends. “Um, sure.” Instantly, thoughts about keeping it private swam in her head. Jorus’s warning rang true. Two were too many people who knew about her power. She needed to mitigate damage before it got worse. “I’d sing it to you, but I don’t want anyone listening. It’s just for you.”
“Hmm.” His eyes sparkled at the idea. “Yes. A private song for me, where no one else can hear. Yes…”
Karris seemed to want to avoid Elise’s eyes, and especially the bruises upon Elise’s arm. When Lord Tarken saw the bruises, he instantly snapped to that familiar anger, hot and cracking like a whip.
“What happened here?” It clearly looked like finger marks. Drat. So much for keeping things under wraps.
“It was me,” Elise said. “I held myself too hard when concentrating on singing. I got really into it.”
He accepted the answer, and a glimmer of gratitude appeared in Karris’s eyes.
Elise found herself being led for the second time that day to sing a personal song. And just as Karris reacted before, Tarken reacted in a similar way in his study. Amazed. Awed. Enchanted. Like with Karris, the words popped up with ease, flowed out of Elise’s mouth. Lord Tarken in this scenario craved glory and recognition, craved to rise himself above status as a country lord and become something important. So her song tailored to that need. And it touched something within him.
This time, she could feel the power of her words as they unraveled from deep inside. Now she knew what to look for, and now that she accepted what she did as magic, it unlocked doors in her mind. It allowed her to see.
“You capture me so well, human. You have an astounding talent. Yes… you will do well.” The lack of anger and hate in his eyes made Elise wonder just exactly what it meant when she fished out the hatred in their soul. She thought she even saw it coming out of him this time, black tendrils of corruption that departed from her words.
Is this what I need to do with every wyrm? Do all of them have that black hatred? It astonished her to see the hatred as something substantial. She wondered if hate did the same thing to her as well. If it did the same thing with everyone.
She ate food in the kitchen without being afraid of poison, wondering, wondering what she needed to do.
Sing privately to every wyrm here? Or find a song that affected them all? No. She couldn’t. Not in that way. She sensed that intuitively – the individual needed a private tune. One that matched the beat of their soul. It was easy to tease a standard beat, a typical sadness or joy or energy. Harder to find the one that matched someone exactly. It meant Elise needed to listen to the person she constructed the song about. It meant she needed to understand them, and understanding always led to exhaustion.
When she retired t
o bed that night, hoping that Brann would be successful tomorrow, she heard a frantic knocking on her door.
Sighing, she went over to open the door, then smiled as Brann stood there outside with a couple of drinks in his hands.
“Drink with me?” Elise thought about the bitter ale in the beerhall back in the mines, then reminded herself that what he held would taste better.
Probably. As long as it was whatever he carried around with him in that hip flask of his.
She allowed him into her simple quarters, feigning a look of utter calm. Her insides writhed like snakes, and her heart beat in a near frenzy when she examined the gorgeous contours of Brann’s body.
Anticipation influenced the other moods. An anticipation as to just where exactly she wanted this to go, past the beer Brann held, and past the clothes they wore.
Imagine if he undressed her right now, and kissed along her neck. Imagine being naked, and having him inside.
It made her shiver to know she thought such things. That she’d been thinking of them more and more as she associated with Brann.
It didn’t feel right, somehow. She was just Elise. The little girl from the mines who knew how to sing, no glimmering future ahead of her, no lover to hold her in his arms until she slept. She had Ratty, and her voice, and that was fine.
Well, she had Isera, too. But then Isera went away. Not dead, though.
I’m glad she’s not dead. The gladness wrapped around her like a blanket, soothing the rough edges of her fears. Isera was safe. Far away, practising her magic, probably becoming a complete expert, flinging fireballs without a care in the world. Though she might have some pent up resentment. And Elise was here, in the middle of the enemy, singing her magic.
She took a drink of his beer, and liked the sweet, apple flavor that came from it. Not beer. Cider.
She squinted at Brann as he talked. What purpose did he have for coming here? Did he feel the same anticipation she did and want to get her tipsy? Did he hope things would turn serious, that they’d stare into each other’s eyes for one moment too long, and then, like magnets, they would come together to kiss?
Did he even like her that way? Elise didn’t presume. She knew her like. Her desire. She knew you couldn’t spend so much time around someone who was so kind, who provided a feast for your mind, body and soul, without something happening.
Someone who kept your precious secrets, someone who contained mysteries of his own.
Why had she been resisting, really? He wasn’t someone you resisted. He was someone you took, and hoped they didn’t drown you in the process.
“All in all, if I beat the Dagger, I’m all but secured a ticket into the championships. More money. More prestige. A better life,” he said, gray eyes confident. He gulped at his cider, draining the tankard completely. Elise was only halfway through hers, but already found herself on the spectrum of tipsy.
“Why do you fight for Tarken?” she asked then, daring to ask the questions that others might have beaten her for. Maybe it was liquid courage, propelling some of her nerves, dampening the others. “You’re a drake, right? You don’t have to slave away in some cold, gas-choked mines, right?”
Brann fell momentarily silent. His lips thinned. “No, I don’t,” he said. He scratched at his empty pewter tankard, examining her expression. How did she look to him? Hard? Bitter? Afraid? Dare she think… attractive?
That might be nice.
“But I’m not from a wealthy family. In fact, my family… they’ve fallen into some major debts of their own. We all do what we can, but we’ve lost our lands, and we’re reduced to a town house in some unimportant county. But even that might go. There is no harvest, and the wyrms levy hard taxes on us to ‘pay off our debts’ faster. We’re one step from losing everything.” He stopped, breathing hard through his nostrils, and Elise wondered if she should ask him to quit talking, because it gave him so much discomfort.
However, she wanted to hear more about that mysterious past he’d never let up on before. She wanted to understand what brought him here, to such a strange place, far away from other drakes.
Maybe he operated on liquid courage, too. Might explain the bottles and the full flask then.
“Tarken’s one of those wyrms who likes looking into ways of making extra cash. He was looking for fighters – his last pet fighter got crippled. And, well, he saw me during the fight that gave me this wound, suggested I could train a bit and fight for him if I wanted. He’d work on sponsors and paying me.” Brann licked his lips, then examined his tankard, as if hoping to find more liquid dwelling at the bottom. “I did that. But not before I was contacted by a friend of mine – Kalgrin – that I should keep an eye out for any humans who showed signs of magic. He said he’d pay me if I pointed them out and protected them until people from his organization came. I did that with your friend. Not with you, though. Not yet.”
“Why?” Elise asked. “Why not me?” She was leaning forward, wanting to hear more. Needing to. He could have made money protecting her and smuggling her to safety. She saw the logic in it, didn’t condemn him for it.
She didn’t understand why he hadn’t reported her to this Kalgrin.
His gray eyes linked with her blue ones. She shivered. That contact was the sort that got deep inside, stirring forgotten emotions.
“I saw your magic was actively changing those you came into contact with. In a good way. I saw Tarken becoming kinder. Softer. I even saw him earlier on talking about how he needed to provide some more distractions for the humans in the mines. He was thinking of letting them have music lessons, art lessons. Mostly thinking of profit and maybe finding more talent to sell, but imagine what that would do for human lives. And…” His voice dropped to a whisper. Elise strained to listen. “Because I didn’t want you to go so soon. I didn’t want you to leave me.” He deflated as he said this.
Elise’s heart pulsed oddly. Was this… was this what she thought it was? Sounded like it. Sounded like something she’d been waiting for a long time. Her cheeks heated. Still, she licked her lips and asked, “Why didn’t you want me to go, Brann?” She reached for his hand, grasping it in hers. He seemed to blink oddly as she did so, and stare at the contact as if he’d been burned.
Maybe he had. Maybe she affected him with a little bit of magic, too. She no longer bothered to conceal the desire that simmered in her heart.
“I…”
He closed his eyes for a moment. Then he reached over to kiss her. She saw it coming, had the time to prepare, to decide if she wanted this, and then lifted her lips to meet his. She’d never kissed someone who kissed her back. Sometimes she kissed Ratty goodnight, or sort of did the motion with her finger when she was thinking, but never upon someone else’s warm mouth.
Such soft, firm lips. Elise sighed into the contact. Warmth spread through her. So many things she’d never experienced before, and Brann helped show her all of them, one by one.
People told her that sex was supposed to hurt. That women didn’t like it, that only men got any enjoyment out of it, but she wasn’t sure if that was the truth or not. After all, they only understood a warped version of the truth anyway.
She certainly found herself enjoying this. The soft contact of their lips together, the way his arms bent around her. His soft cotton shirt brushed against her servant’s blouse, snaring on one of the buttons. She stopped the kissing long enough to unhook it, and he took that as invitation to start teasing off her top.
He worked carefully to do so, treating her as something beautiful and delicate. Like someone worth it. She didn’t feel particularly delicate at that moment in time, though. Her hands worked on his shirt, wanting once more to see that wonderful, toned body lurking underneath. In taking off his top, having his chest exposed, she smiled and ran her fingers down it. She liked the way he shuddered under her touch.
He didn’t want to lose me. The thought thrilled her. It cheered her up to know that someone wanted her that much.
She could get v
ery, very used to this.
Obviously she forgave him.
“I’m sorry,” Brann whispered, before staring at her exposed chest. She wore no brassiere underneath her clothes, leaving her small, globe-shaped breasts bare, with nipples hardening as he stroked along them. “I’ll stop being selfish. I’ll get into contact with them and you can be out of here safely by tomorrow. It only takes me a few hours to fly to them. That’s all. I’m sorry I risked your life. I didn’t want to see you go.”
The sincerity washed over, but she didn’t want those promises right now. She just wanted Brann.
Now both their upper halves glinted on display in the dim light, and Brann lowered her to the bed, and she opened her legs up so he fell comfortably between them. They continued kissing. She felt something between her legs – wetness. Right. Women did that, didn’t they? To make it easier for the man.
Her heart beat so fast. Faster than she thought possible, when not hiding in fear. That wetness got more awkward, sticking to the bottom of her panties, and she squirmed – which seemed to turn Brann on more. His erection strained against his pants, pushing lightly against her hip bone. She clawed at his head and tangled her tongue with his, after he probed gently past her lips.
So many new sensations. So many exotic, tumbling emotions, sweet and heavy all at once, from fear that something would go wrong, if she did something wrong, to happiness that he held her like this. The flush zipped between their faces. Both of their cheeks flared that same red, and she smiled at him with dazed, pupil-blown eyes.
She started tugging at his pants and he obliged, wriggling out of them, before yanking the rest of her clothes off without much ceremony. She inspected him in awe. Such a magnificent body. Lean, tough, with a good heaping of muscle, and an iron-hard stomach. She touched it. She doubted even a dagger could punch through that. His gray eyes crinkled in mirth, and he kissed to her neck, breathing hot, tantalizing air that made her shiver and shiver.
I’m drowning. I’m drowning and I love it.
The main fear came from the final act. Everyone said it hurt. Women complained about men, saying they had no finesse, no sense of pride or consideration towards women.