Pain.
The ghost of something I can scarcely grasp, its corpse anchored in my icy nether. The place inside me that’s vast like the Ergor Plains I once walked alone, blotches of somebody else’s blood frosted to the rags that clung to my skeletal body.
“Yes,” I rasp. “I know that song very well.”
Levvi drags her bow across stretched strings of Moonplume tail hair that shine in the gloom, carving out the first note—so long and deep it’s almost tangible. She plays the next few with such passion it’s like she wrote the tune herself.
Like the fable’s pretty words were tilled from the ashes of her own caged past.
I lift the amplifier to my veiled lips and draw my lungs full, shifting a little so the hidden dagger in my bodice doesn’t nudge my rib. I close my eyes and plunge into the melody in the same way I once plunged into life—but with the words I’ve since learnt how to speak. Armored by the horrors I’ve encountered since.
Flaming horrors.
Mind-mincing horrors.
The crowd dissolves into oblivion as I sing of an inky Sabersythe flying into a black velvet sky, balling up, and dying in the dark where she’ll never be seen again. Of a lustrous Moonplume that tucks beside the sooty beast, illuminating her shape.
Giving her light.
I sing of the Moonplume’s gradual dim. Of how little by little, rise by rise, her luster feeds into the Sabersythe and turns the creature’s scales white, the tune dipping into deeper, more destructive notes as I sing of the Moonplume’s slipping grip on the sky.
Of her fall.
Of the Sabersythe unfurling from her perch amongst the stars, full of gifted life and light, soaring to the world below and hunting for her friend. Of her scratching through inky shards of rock scattered across the snow, trying to piece her back together again.
Failing.
Lids fluttering open, I become vaguely aware that every pair of eyes in the room is turned to us, watching. Wide with greed or wet with emotions that slip down painted cheeks.
But it’s the cloaked male that steals my attention, the top half of his face still hidden within the shadow cast by his hood. Despite it, his stare reaches through the space and embraces me in an iron-clad grip I can’t shake.
As the words continue to pour from my lips, I become bluntly aware that there’s a danger about this male who eclipses everyone else in the room in both size and presence. Who stands with the confident ease of someone untouchable.
A sobering realization strikes like a blow to the side of my head, my gaze drifting to Tarik—perched in his booth, watching me with such condemning hunger I know I’m not leaving this place without him tailing me. The perfect outcome.
Except …
I look back to my cloaked observer, into the hooded shadows obscuring his identity.
I came here to lure one monster, and ended up snagging two.
Nothing like seven hours of straight singing without breaks to make you feel like you’ve swallowed a metal scouring brush, then hacked it straight back up again.
Tugging the chain on the privy, I clear my throat, trying to shift the strain from my vocals. I close the lavatory door behind me and move to one of the basins, lathering my hands in suds as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Powder-blue eyes stare back at me, the bottom half of my face obscured by my thick red veil. In stark contrast to my snowy skin, it half clothes my long inky locks in a dramatic sweep.
“You sing like a Creator.”
I look at the female beside me, drying her hands while she studies her own reflection, chin high as she swings her head from side to side, inspecting her perfectly made-up face.
“Thank you.” I think.
Could be an insult. Who’s to know with these folk.
She looks at my clipped ear. “Seems wasted on a null,” she muses, like I’m not even here.
Definitely an insult.
“I’d have Ignos eating out of the palm of my hand if my voice had that kind of range.”
I bite my tongue so hard it bleeds, gaze flicking to the red bead dangling from her ear before I dip my head in servitude. “Yes. A true waste for someone the Creators did not deem worthy of their songs.”
She hums, looking at her reflection again while she fixes a tendril of hair into place, seemingly validated by my nod to her ordained superiority. The moment the door swings shut behind her, I roll my eyes, drying my hands.
One of these aurora cycles, I’m going to be forced to bite my tongue so hard I sever the tip. I’m sure of it. The fact that it’s still attached is a fucking miracle.
Stepping free of the washroom, I see a male leaning against the corridor wall ahead, blocking the only exit besides the lavatory window in the room behind me.
I pause on the threshold, holding the door ajar, my heart slapped still by this … unexpected development.
I thought it’d take longer to lure him in. At the very least, I thought I’d be able to pee in peace before we play.
Tarik Relaken stares into the glass he’s clutching, swirling an amber liquid, smoke sloshing free. Tangles of red hair hang before his eyes, orange flames barbered into the shorn sides, framing the elemental bead hanging from his lobe like a drip of blood.
“You have a sensational voice,” he rumbles, stare still drowning in the depths of his drink. “And the color of your gown …” He tilts his head to the side, flames reflecting in his dark-brown eyes that singe me from afar. “Exceptional.”
I ease the door shut behind me, sealing myself in the corridor with the male, mind churning. I’ve got his attention, now to lure him away from this establishment.
I dip my head in thanks, then move to walk past, pausing when he pushes off the wall and turns to face me.
Further blocking the exit.
“Stay,” he mumbles, tipping his glass to his lips. He swallows, purring a smarmy “Drink with me.”
My gut knots.
His mouth might be saying drink, but his eyes say ugly things that pick you apart, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left for the scavengers.
You really are a piece of trash.
“With a voice like that,” he tacks on, stare sliding down my body like an oily brush, making my skin crawl, “I’m sure your mouth’s a fucking delight.”
A ball of icy rage gathers within my chest, pulsing with its own violent heartbeat, salivating to end this here.
Now.
It’d be silly not to. He’s asking for it so beautifully.
I glance at the closed exit. At the dead bolt right there—only three leaping steps away. If I can just get past him and slide it into place, I’ll ensure nobody can interrupt this impromptu gathering until the deed is done.
“Apologies, sir, but it’s a long walk home. I must be getting on my way if I’m to rest before the rise.”
I move, banking for the sliver of space on his right—
His hand slams against the wall so hard the sconce flame flutters, and my feet still. “I insist,” he grinds out, eyes hardening to dark flints that make something inside me pause.
Listen.
I weigh the value of locking that door. Risky, yes. But to be fair, I wore the veil for this very reason—on the off chance I’d be forced to escape through a back window with a severed appendage in my pocket. So nobody would pull me aside at a later date after passing me on a stairway, recognizing my face, pinning me as the prime suspect for stashing Tarik Relaken—handless and pulseless—into a privy booth.
Screw it.
My attention homes, body poised. The tips of my fingers tingle with anticipation as I reach for the dagger within the hidden compartment tailored into my bodice—
The door behind Tarik swings open, and I curse beneath my breath. We both look over his shoulder at the large, cloaked male who watched me sing all slumber from the back of the room while exuding the stoicism of a stone statue.