I gripped the rose stem so tightly it cracked. Did Sam love me like that? Was that kind of love even possible?
“Yes.” His word was barely a breath. “More than all that.”
Relief and horror poured through me. Stef had listed herself in there.
“It’s unfair to ask me to rank feelings,” Sam muttered.
Then Cris was back with a glass of water, still much taller even when he sat a step lower. “Were you just listening to them down there?” He kept his voice soft, and when I shrugged, he leaned on his elbow toward me. “Don’t let it get to you. She’s probably hearing a lot of cruel gossip—probably more than you or Sam, since she’s been his friend so long and people know…”
“She loves him,” I whispered into my water.
Cris lowered his eyes and nodded. “It makes people do strange things sometimes.”
“It’s fine.” I put down the rose I’d been holding and took a long drink of water, trying to think of a way out of this. Cris was nice, and I’d have to remember to talk to him about the symbols from the books, but right now, I just wanted to make it through the night. “Thanks for the water. I’m going to see if anyone wants to play some music.”
Cris unfolded himself to rise, then offered a hand to help me up. I headed downstairs with him and took my flute off its stand.
That was enough to draw looks. Sam and Stef first, both dark-faced from their fight. Then the hum of conversations drained, and others began to claim instruments or find stands. Most, as far as I knew, played at least a few instruments. They were Sam’s friends, after all.
When everyone had chosen, Whit and Armande ran upstairs to the music library and returned with appropriate music for each instrument. Sam adjusted the lights so everyone could read.
We started with scales to warm up, then moved on to a few pieces we all knew. At first I thought they’d chosen simple songs because I was new, but after a few squeaks from Lorin on the oboe, I realized they weren’t going easy on me.
As unlikely as it was, I was a better player than a few of these people; I practiced several hours a day, while they practiced when they felt like it and when Sam scheduled a group performance.
Of course, as soon as Moriah, Orrin, and Whit played a dizzying reel on a cello, violin, and clarinet, my pride vanished. They practiced every day. Someday, I would be as good as them. Better.
Sarit sang a ballad to Stef’s piano. Others moved in with duets, trios, their favorite pieces. They made lots of trips to the music library upstairs, and I had a brief surge of worry that they’d stumble into my room and find the temple books hidden all over, but no one was gone long enough for that. Anyway, Sam would have heard someone walking into the wrong room.
My heart swelled as we played more group pieces, broke off into more small ensembles. How did I get this lucky? Friends—surely they all counted as friends now—who were willing to help with the newsouls, and play music with me? It was too incredible. Too wonderful.
Music swirled around the parlor, bringing the room to life. I struggled not to grin around my embouchure as we came to the coda of a waltz.
“What about”—Stef hmmed—“Blue Rose Serenade? Did anyone see the lute?”
“Um.” Sam glanced at Cris as awkward silence fluttered through the room. People glanced at me, at Sam, at Cris, at the roses all around. “One of the strings snapped. I haven’t replaced it yet.”
“Maybe whatever you and Ana are working on?” Cris lowered the clarinet he’d been playing.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. We’d been practicing flute duets, and Sarit and Stef had listened a few times, but more people?
“Come on.” Sarit batted her eyes. “Let everyone hear.”
Sam gave me a look like it was up to me, so I nodded, mostly to stop the awkwardness. He had never mentioned Blue Rose Serenade before. He’d probably forgotten about it when he’d given me the code to add all his music to my SED.
Later, I vowed, I’d ask what had happened between them.
Sam warmed up on the other flute while I found our music, and my heart thudded at the weight of everyone watching. Listening.
But as soon as he met my eyes and silently counted off, my fear evaporated. I stood up straighter, rolled the flute in where my high notes tended to go sharp, and played like I never had before. Every time I glanced at Sam for a fermata or tempo change, he looked as though he wanted to smile.
Before I was ready, we came to the last note and held it until Sam nodded, and our duet ended.
When everyone left, I shut the door and locked it, and Sam and I cleaned up, talking about who needed to practice their favorite instruments more. I wanted to ask him about his fight with Stef, but how did one even open a conversation like that?