I lowered my flute, and no one in the market field moved.
They were waiting, which was exactly what I’d hoped, but it was much scarier when it was actually happening, all their eyes trained on me.
I’d played. I could do this, too.
Heart thumping, I stepped around my music stand and up to the microphone. I lifted my chin and found the words I’d practiced; it wasn’t much, because others would do most of the talking. I only needed to make an impression.
“I am Ana, a newsoul. The music you just heard is mine, and this”—I held out my flute, which gleamed in sunlight—“survived in spite of someone’s attempt to destroy it and stop me from playing for you today.”
A few people in the crowd shifted. Some went back to shopping.
“I’ve been attacked,” I said, lifting my voice. “People have thrown rocks at me. Beaten me. Spread rumors about me. All in response to one transgression: I was born. The same is going to happen to Lidea’s baby, and Geral’s, and maybe some of yours.
“The reactions to our new knowledge—that more newsouls will be born—have been varied and complicated. Some people have been welcoming. Others have not. I can’t ask that everyone accept us. I know that won’t happen. But this is my plea to you, the people of Heart, and the Council: protect newsouls. Before dismissing us as inconsequential, give us a chance to prove that we are worthwhile.”
I smiled—sort of—and walked toward Sarit, who waited by a column, wearing a wide grin. Sam got up to speak, and I tried to relax. My part was over. Everyone else would do the rest.
“You were great, firefly,” Sarit whispered. She took my flute and headed inside to put it away while I listened to Sam.
His words came like a song. “I met Ana when she escaped a swarm of sylph by leaping into Rangedge Lake. That was the first thing I knew about her: she would rather choose her own destiny.
“The next day, we encountered another sylph. In order to rescue me, she burned her hands, even after having been told that any significant sylph burn would grow and kill the victim. A lie, as we all know. But that didn’t stop her. That was the second thing I learned about Ana: she is selfless.
“Ana taught herself how to read, memorize music, and survive. Many of you have had the privilege of teaching her and have seen how quickly she acquires new skills. Her very first night in Heart, I left her in my parlor while I cleaned up. When I returned, she was sitting at my piano”—his voice cracked—“and she’d already figured out how to read music. Not long after, she composed her own minuet. The beautiful piece you heard today is only her second composition.”
My face ached with heat, from the people staring at me. He wasn’t supposed to brag about me, just encourage discussion. This was embarrassing.
“Yet when she arrived in Heart, she was not welcomed. In her absence, a law had been made to keep her from living as an adult, though she was already three years past her first quindec. She wasn’t allowed farther than the guard station until she agreed to lessons and curfews and progress reports, as though she were less than human. Less than everyone else simply because she is new.”
I wanted to find a cozy rock to hide under. If it were possible for a face to glow with so much blood rushing upward, mine did. People kept looking at me and hmming.
“During Templedark,” Sam said, his voice deeper, “when Menehem told her his intentions, Ana did everything in her power to save souls. She warned everyone of the price of dying during those hours. She sought me out when I’d gone to fight—and she rescued me again, this time from a dragon.
“Have any of you ever seen me not die when a dragon was trying to kill me?”
A few people chuckled nervously.
“That is what I want you to understand when I tell you we need newsouls. We need them to have privileges and rights, just like the rest of us. We need to encourage their talents and growth. No one will deny education is necessary, but Ana has proven ten times over that she can be trusted, and she will do anything in order to protect our community. It’s her community as well.”
Just as Sam finished speaking, screams flashed throughout the crowd. A commotion pushed its way between tents, coming toward the stage. Men in black coats dragged something behind them.
I walked back to Sam and the microphone to get a better look. “What’s going on?” My voice carried from speakers everywhere as screams grew louder and people hurried to get out of the black-coated men’s way.
One was Merton; his huge frame was impossible to mistake as he crashed up the half-moon stairs. Deborl hurried after him, and between them…
Meuric.
The reek of his putrid wounds heralded his appearance, all broken and seeping like he’d been before.