Page 49 of A Dance Macabre

“Are we waiting for?—”

She holds out her hand for me to stop. I snap my mouth shut.

Time crawls forward. I count my heartbeats as we sit.

Footsteps approach the drawing room and I start counting those instead, until Wolfgang finally appears, wearing an embroidered smoking jacket.

I’m disgusted by the small leap my heart takes when I see him.

According to the small flinch and low hiss he lets out when he notices the Oracle, I don’t think he knew who was waiting for him here. His eyes snap to where I’m sitting for half a second, his jaw feathering, before jumping back to the Oracle.

She gives him the same wordless signal, motioning him to sit beside me. He stands, fists tight against his sides for a second too long, until reluctantly lowering himself onto the settee.

A snail could run laps around how slow the seconds seem to tick by.

Finally, she speaks.

“The gods are agitated,” she says, her voice much louder than expected.

I wince while Wolfgang shifts beside me. My stomach sinks, suddenly anxious that the gods know exactly what we have been up to. Cold sweat prickles my forehead.

“Agitated?” I repeat slowly, keeping my expression unperturbed. “How so?”

Her blue gaze flicks to mine. And again, I feel myself shrink under her scrutiny.

She presses her lips into a thin line. “There’s been chatter of a rebellion.”

Wolfgang laughs dryly. “A rebellion?” Crossing his arms, he sits back into the settee. “Nonsense.”

The air shifts and I can feel my god’s presence like a pulse inside my chest. Still, I can’t help but feel sheepish relief that the agitation is not about our most recent indecency.

The Oracle’s eyes narrow, her attention now fully on Wolfgang.

“Foolish mortal,” she grits, “Power is not everlasting. It can always be taken away. You are nothing but playthings to the gods.” She stands, clasping her hands together. “Handle this,” she orders. “I do not wish to visit you again.”

With those parting words, she shuffles out of the drawing room, leaving us in tense silence.

I cross my arms in petty defiance, stewing over her words, my heart drumming in my ears. How dare she speak to us like that. Treating us as if we’re unfit to rule.

But then again.

First the pamphlets, then the play, and now this?

Maybe the Oracleisright, and we’re not taking this as seriously as we should.

“What do you—” I begin to say, but at the sound of my voice, Wolfgang briskly stands up and marches out of the room.

I watch him disappear through the doorway, and let the frustration wash over me, sighing loudly as I look up to the ceiling in exasperation.

Killing him would be much easier.

29

WOLFGANG

Ifocus on the vibration of the music strumming through and then out of me, the violin wailing out a tale fraught with angst and yearning. My fingers move swiftly over the strings, my eyes pressed closed in concentration.

I don’t typically prefer this type of melody, but the twinge in my chest is only growing stronger the more I ignore it, and I don’t know what else to do but play. I’m being driven to insanity, and I’m not quite sure if there’s anyone else to blame but me.

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