The rooms between our bedrooms held the oldest surviving instruments, sealed in airtight containers to slow decay. They appeared untouched, and so did the workroom and library of sheet music, recordings, and notes on how all his instruments had been constructed.
The harp in his bedroom stood whole. It wasn’t much, but it might help, if only I could get him up here to see it. My bedroom looked the same as it had earlier, but I checked all my hiding places anyway.
The books I’d stolen from the temple were missing. So was Menehem’s sylph research.
First the temple key. Now the books and research. They had everything.
Almost. They didn’t have the translations I’d gotten from Meuric and Cris; those were still in my coat.
My fingers felt like ice as I dialed Sine and told her about the breakin. My voice was too calm, as though my body did all these things on its own now.
“I’m sorry, Ana,” Sine said. “Do you want me to send someone over to help clean?”
Outside, the wind howled. Snow pattered on the window. “No.” I stared at the empty hiding places and touched the pocket where I used to keep the key. “You aren’t going to like this, but can you have someone watch Deborl and Merton?” I wished I knew the name of the guy who’d stolen the key, but I couldn’t even remember what he looked like, besides big and scary.
“Deborl and Merton? You don’t think they’d—”
“I think they both hate me. I can’t prove they’ve done anything, but—” My voice broke. “Please, Sine.”
“All right.” Resigned, she hung up.
I put my SED back in my pocket, feeling defeated. They’d taken everything.
Downstairs, the front door stood ajar, and snow dusted the floor. Sam was nowhere in sight.
I leapt off the last few steps and hurtled outside. Snow and darkness veiled the night, but a black shape marched down the walkway.
“Sam!”
He didn’t stop.
I raced after him, steps heavy with cold and snow, and caught him just as he turned onto the road. “Sam!” Without thinking, I grabbed his arm.
He spun, and his palm landed on my chest—
There was no force behind the almost-blow. His muscles tensed under my hands as he must have realized who’d run after him. “Ana.” Wind captured my name and carried it far away.
“Where are you going?” Only faint light came from the house; I couldn’t see his face, and the cold made me shiver so hard I might fall apart.
“I’m going to find who did this. I’m going to hurt them.” That wasn’t his voice at all. In all the time I’d known him, he’d never sounded so broken. “They—My instruments. Everything I’ve worked for.”
“I know.” Even in the dark, my hands could find his face, just as they could find piano keys without looking. “Do you know who did this?”
He shook his head; his skin was icy under my palms, and all the rage was burning out. “I have to go. I’ll find someone.”
“Come inside.”
“I have to find—”
“No, Sam. Not right now.” We’d both freeze if we didn’t get in soon; already, shivers racked through me, and I could barely speak through the cold. “Let’s go inside.”
Head dropped, he gathered me into a tight, uncomfortable hug. He shivered, too. Or wept. I couldn’t tell, except he spoke the same muffled words over and over. “They’re gone. I can’t believe they’re gone.”
I had no words of comfort. There was no way to fix this, so I held still and let his grief wash over me in torrents.
Not soon enough, we went back inside and shut the door.
“Let’s get your coat off.” My words hissed harsh and loud in the too-silent room. I peeled off his gloves and hat and dropped them into a basket, then helped with the buttons and zippers on his coat. Our snow-crusted shoelaces were almost impossible with the burn of ice, but we managed.
His focus drifted to the piano as we reached the stairs, and he was silent as I guided him to his bedroom. There, he collapsed by his pillows, face streaked with sorrow.
I sat beside him and held his hands, warming them, wishing for anything but this. His instruments hadn’t been just one lifetime’s work, but many. I wondered if that made him feel like none of those lives had happened now.
After a minute, he leaned his head on mine. “Who would do this?” His tone was hollow, hopeless.
I didn’t voice my suspicions. It wouldn’t help. “What do you need right now?” I grimaced. He probably needed his instruments, and for me not to ask stupid questions.
He sighed and looked at the ceiling, misery making lines around his eyes and mouth. Cold still stained his skin red, and we both needed hot showers to warm our insides, but I couldn’t see Sam caring right now.
“I don’t know.” He closed his eyes when I stroked his face. His skin was cold, but he didn’t respond to my touch. “I don’t think there’s anything.”