Keira stumbled out onto the unsteady ground. It was like having sea legs on land. At first, Keira thought it was from being in the transporter, or from too many emotions being stuffed into one day. She took a few tentative steps and saw Walker waver next to her, trying to catch his balance.
It wasn’t them. It was Darkside itself. It had been so destabilized by all the crossings that she could barely stand. In her own world, she could see her house, not very far from where they stood, but still completely unreachable.
The guard next to her held out a blanket.
Not a blanket. A robe. There was one in his other hand too. Walker grabbed it and flung it around his shoulders, fastening it at his throat. It was just like the hooded robes she’d seen Smith and the other Darklings wear in the Hall of Records. It wasn’t as bad as the leathery robes the guards wore, but she still recoiled from it.
“I’ll wear my regular clothes, thanks,” she said. “It’s not that cold.”
The guard huffed. “The Reformers insist.”
“It’s just a robe.” Walker’s voice was softer. “Underneath it, you’ll still have your own clothes. You’ll still be yourself. Also—this won’t disintegrate over here. Which I think is a damn shame, but I’m guessing you don’t want to end up naked in front of the guards and the Reformers and whoever else is around?”
She shook her head.
“Come on. I’ll help you fasten it. Turn around.”
Keira spun in a neat half circle, stopping as she faced the Hall of Records, which tilted like a sinking ship.
Walker draped the robe over her shoulders, and she was surprised to find that it was light and silky-soft against her skin.
“Oh!” she breathed. “It feels nice.”
Walker brushed a kiss against the back of her neck as he hooked the clasp at her throat. His fingers lingered by her collarbones and she shivered all over again, though she wasn’t in the least bit cold.
“You feel nice too. Come on. Let’s go pay our debt,” he whispered.
A sudden rush of nerves overwhelmed Keira. She managed a nod, and he put a reassuring hand on her shoulder in response. She could see the piano, right in front of the Hall of Records’s entrance. It was a nicer one than she’d played for the Tribunal. The lacquer was still smooth and shiny. They must have brought it into Darkside very recently for it to be in such good condition.
Standing next to the piano was a single robed figure. “You may begin,” he murmured. It was one of the Reformers. She’d recognize that voice anywhere.
No hello. No thank you. Just—you may begin.
Fine, then.
Keira slid onto the piano bench. She ran a set of scales to warm up, in spite of the wooden sound of the notes and the impatient shifting of the Reformer next to the piano. It was hard to relax—hard to focus—while she was being watched so intently. She could feel the stares of the guards, who were impossibly curious about what they were about to witness.
Walker settled himself behind her on the bench and tucked his chin over her shoulder. “Ignore them,” he whispered. “Ignore all of them.”
With Walker wrapped securely around her, Keira felt shielded from the prying gazes. Her fingers moved more fluidly against the keys and she could feel a new piece in her hands, begging to be played. It crowded out the other music she knew, pushing aside Beethoven and Bach and even Keira’s own compositions.
“I think I should play something new,” she whispered.
“I can’t wait to hear it.” His lips grazed her ear.
Without preamble, she launched into the music that filled her head. It was sharp-edged and staccato, full of the anxiety of being captured by the Reformers and the terror that they would never be let go. Though the song began with a jittery feel, it built with a steady rhythm, headed toward an explosive arpeggio. She leaned in hard to reach the last notes. As she stretched toward the top of the keyboard, she abandoned herself to that same soaring feeling she’d had when the Reformers had agreed to release them if she fixed the Hall. Walker’s mouth found the hollow below her ear as his hand pressed against her thigh, steadying her on the bench.
The notes suddenly sounded the same against her ears as they did in her head, and she knew what was coming next.
The snap that went through Darkside didn’t rattle her. Keira kept playing, determined to reach the end of the piece. The final, aching crescendo slipped from her fingers and hung in the newly strengthened fabric of Darkside itself. Keira lifted her hands from the crumbling keys, but Walker wrapped his arms around her more tightly.
They both looked over at the Reformer who stood with his arms crossed and his head bowed.
It looked as if he were praying.
Eventually, he raised his head and looked from the piano to the front of the Hall and back.
Keira’s heart was thumping so loudly that it was hard to hear him when he finally spoke.
From the voluminous folds of his own robe, the Reformer reached out a hand and ran his fingers through the air, as though testing the thickness of the space. “It will be strong enough for us to access the records again. It is acceptable.”