We enter the building, and Lukas leads me through the deserted exhibit hallways, lighting lamps with a tap of his wand as we pass. I follow him past sculptures and paintings and into a circular exhibit hall.
As Lukas illuminates the room, I marvel at the instruments on display here, many protected under thick glass cases. A grand piano stands in the center of the hall, covered in carvings of trees and different species of birds, flying about the dark, ebony branches.
I’m immediately drawn to one of the violins sheltered under protective glass.
“This is a Dellorosa violin,” I breathe, amazed. They’re the most expensive violins in all of Erthia. Magicked to be perfectly in tune, the bow strings are made from the hair of Asteroth steeds, the swirling decorations wrought from pure gold.
Lukas pulls out his wand, murmurs a spell and points it at the case. A thin green light illuminates the lock before it clicks open. He lifts the glass cover, pulls out the open case and offers the violin to me.
I put my hands up to fend him off. “I...I couldn’t...”
He pushes the magical instrument toward me, insisting. “It was meant to be played, not stuck in a glass case.”
I relent and take the violin from him, the thrill of doing this forbidden thing coursing through me. I hold the exquisite instrument like a fragile newborn, feeling like I’m a child again and have just been given my most longed-for Yule gift.
Lukas goes to the piano and beckons for me to follow.
“What are we playing?” I ask in breathless anticipation.
He smiles and runs his fingers lightly over the glossy piano keys. “You’ll recognize it.”
Of course I do. Filyal’s Deep Forest Dream.
Everyone knows this piece, but played on these instruments, in harmony with each other, it becomes something altogether different. Gone is the nervousness I displayed at my aunt’s party. Here, alone with him, I dive into the music and wind the violin part around the piano music sinuously, as if we’ve played together all our lives. The music is one long, slow kiss, his fingers sliding the deep notes of his song against mine. I lose track of time as we play, his face serious as he moves his fingers deftly over the keys.
Much later, after Lukas brings our final piece to a close and his hands to rest on his knees, I lower the violin and smile at him. He smiles back and I can feel the heat in his gaze. Flustered, I turn away and lower the instrument gently back into its case.
I’m arranging the bow when Lukas comes up behind me. He wraps his arms around my waist, his breath warm against my cheek. “That was beautiful.”
My hands freeze in place on the bow. He begins to nuzzle my neck, untwining one hand from around my waist to gently pull my hair aside so he can kiss me just under it.
That’s when I stop breathing.
I release the bow in my hands and turn around, my back resting against the piano.
He twines his arms around me once more and brings his lips to mine. Lulled by the music, I let myself fall into his kiss, into the deep, warm pool of his caresses. As he kisses me, a strange, delicious tingle starts at the soles of my feet and dances around my ankles. I shift my weight, reveling in the sensation as Lukas pulls me closer. He smells wonderful—like pine boughs in deep forest, warm as midnight fire. I sigh and let myself fall deeper.
I run my fingers back through his hair. I can feel his smile on my lips as I lightly trace along the thick hair of his sideburns, the soft, bare skin just behind his ear. Lukas groans and kisses me harder.
Suddenly the sparking around my ankles pulls in tight, and the image of a tree made of dark lightning flashes through my mind, power arcing from the soles of my feet to the tips of my fingers in a fierce, branching wave of pleasure. I shudder and cry out, overwhelmed by the powerful sensation.
I push away from Lukas.
“What was that?” I gasp as a dark echo pulsates hot in my core, my legs now unsteady.
Lukas holds on to me, his eyes full of surprise. “I don’t know,” he says, his voice deep and ragged. “I’ve never felt anything like that before.” His expression shifts from shock to hunger.
He lunges at me, claiming my mouth, and pushes his body hard against mine.
I gasp as the image of the tree flames back to life, dark sinuous branches snaking through my body, his hands all over me.
But it’s too much. Too fast. Like being caught in the ocean’s undertow.
I try to move away from him, to push away from the black fire, but he tightens his hold on me. I wrench my mouth from his.
“Lukas,” I force out. “Stop. I want to go.”
He pulls back, just barely, and gives me a look so feral that it fills me with serious alarm.
My eyes dart nervously toward the exit.
Abruptly, Lukas steps away, eyes predatory. He holds up his hands in mock surrender as his mouth curls into a slow, dark grin. He bows to me and holds out his hand for me to take.
I hesitate, wary of him now. Wildly conflicted and acutely aware of my vulnerability.
I place my hand in his, unsure of what he’ll do. But he simply leads me, wordlessly, back out of the museum, past the young guard and out into the cool night air.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Unforgiving
Two Elves are waiting for me in the hallway outside my room when I return to the North Tower.
Wynter’s intimidating brother and the willowy Elfin lad who was with him this morning are leaning against the windowsill. They straighten as I enter, both of them armed with bows and well-stocked quivers.
“Elloren Gardner,” Wynter’s brother says, his face grave, his words heavily accented. “I am Cael Eirllyn, brother of Wynter Eirllyn, and this is my second, Rhys Thorim.” He makes a slight, reluctant bow before continuing. “I need to speak with you.”
My heart picks up speed. “You need to leave,” I insist as I glance nervously toward the door behind me. “It’s not appropriate for you to be here.”
Cael makes no move to comply. “My sister told me of the threats you have made against her,” he says, stepping forward. “I have come here to respectfully request that you leave my sister alone.”
He must be joking.
“Perhaps the Icarals should avoid attacking and abusing people if they wish to be left alone,” I counter, pointing an accusing finger at our room.
His eyes widen, incredulous. “My sister? She attacked you? Wynter has never attacked anyone in her entire life. In fact, I’ve never heard her utter so much as an unkind word, even against those who have treated her ill.”
I tense at the injustice of it all. “Ariel Haven attacked me my first night here,” I reply. “I cowered in a closet all night long, thinking I was about to be killed, and your sister didn’t lift a finger to stop her.”
“My sister...” Cael tries again, softening his tone with what looks like great effort. “If you knew her...she is decent and good. The Deargdul, or the Icarals, as you know them, they are as despised by the Elves as they are by the Gardnerians. Our holy book, The Elliontorin, speaks about the evil of the winged, demonic ones. Many of our people seek to see my sister exiled forever. Some would like to see her imprisoned...or worse. She is here because she has nowhere else to go. If you make trouble for her, if you decide to spread lies about her, no one will take her side, save myself and Rhys Thorim.”
I hesitate, momentarily conflicted. But then I remember where weakness got me. I can’t afford to be weak.
Dominate, or be dominated. I can almost hear Lukas whispering in my mind.
I gather my resolve. “Well, that puts me in a very convenient position, don’t you think?”
Cael stiffens and anger flashes in his eyes. “I should have known better than to expect compassion from a Gardnerian.”
My blood boils at his words. “You should have known better than to expect that I would roll over and play dead when abused by Icarals!”
Cael is clearly furious, but Rhys’s eyes fill with such raw hurt that it gives me serious pause.
“You have made your feelings quite clear, Elloren Gardner,” Cael says with cold formality. “We will not take up any more of your time. Good eve.”
He gives me a quick, perfunctory bow, and both Elves depart.