Page 84 of A Fractured Song

“What?” Zev was leaning forward now, his cautious posture the opposite of what it had been before her quip. “What do you mean, calm down?”

“I was talking to the magic,” Marieke said, not bothering to explain better. “It seems my question was…particularly pertinent.”

Zev looked wary, and Marieke’s suspicions swirled as frantically as the magic. She remembered his family’s strange reputation and manner, and the way the magic reacted to him in the canyon. Not to mention Rissin’s response to that phenomenon. The elf had been as interested in Zev as in her. More interested. And then there was that moment in the orchard, when the magic had seemed to tie them together, wrapping around Zev of its own accord in a way it had no business to when he couldn’t channel it.

She opened her mouth to speak again, not entirely sure what she suspected, but feeling like she was on the cusp of arevelation. Then she saw something in his eyes, behind the apprehension.

Conflict.

He wanted to tell her everything he was hiding, but something held him back. And she’d already decided to be patient. She didn’t want to pry him open now, like a knife to a walnut. She wanted him to open to her, like a flower responding to sunlight.

Her lips twitched at the image, and bewilderment joined the other emotions on Zev’s face.

“What’s funny?” he asked cautiously.

“Just my own thoughts,” Marieke said, her voice light now. “I’m not sure you’d appreciate them.” He still looked uncertain, so she pushed on, changing the topic. “Do you really want me to summon a breeze? I can if you like.”

“No.” Zev leaned back again, although he didn’t regain his earlier carefree manner. “If you’re singing, you can’t talk, and I’d rather the conversation.” He eyed her. “I am surprised how rarely you use songcraft for small conveniences like that, though. It’s not what I expected. I imagined singers would use magic all the time to make their lives more comfortable.”

“Some do,” Marieke acknowledged. “But it’s not really encouraged. One of the principles we learn early at the academy is that magic is a powerful tool, and our ability to wield it is not to be taken for granted or used lightly. They teach us that it’s not through our own virtue that we were born with the ability to sing. The philosophy is that we shouldn’t use that ability to increase our own privilege beyond what nature has already done, or we make the gulf between singers and non-singers wider than it needs to be. We’re supposed to use magic to help others, and for substantial tasks that are genuinely worthwhile. Not for little things that make no material differenceand only benefit us.”

“Well.” Zev’s eyes had the intensity she always found so captivating as he searched her face. “That’s a very different picture from the life I imagined singers to lead before I met you.”

She shrugged. “I believe it. But that’s the ideal that we’re presented with. I’m not saying everyone lives up to it. In fact, many don’t.”

“But you do,” Zev said.

“I try to.” Marieke ran her finger through the dirt in a meaningless pattern, a little overwhelmed by his searching gaze.

“I confess I’m genuinely surprised that the academy teaches that kind of mentality, and the council supports it.”

Marieke raised her eyes to his again. “I know what you think, Zev. And with what I’ve learned since we met, I can acknowledge that you have reason. But you don’t see the full picture any more than I did before. The council’s set up isn’t perfect, and the structure makes it too hard for non-singers to have the voice they deserve to have. But in spite of that, I do believe that most of those on the Oleandan council and at the Oleandan academy mean well. They’re trying their best for our country, and the vast majority of them aren’t evil or power-hungry.”

“But they do have power,” Zev argued. “And that power is built on lies.”

Marieke had no answer, but she didn’t need one. A different voice, much higher in pitch than Zev’s, responded for her.

“That’s an interesting perspective.”

Chapter

Twenty-One

Zev and Marieke both surged to their feet as a small figure stepped out from between the trees. Zev took a step forward, placing himself slightly in front of Marieke as the elf approached.

“Who are you?” Zev asked, his hand inching toward the hilt of his sword.

The elf’s thin lips curved into a smile, his eyes startlingly green as they looked calmly from one human to the other.

“I have the advantage over you. I believe I know who you are, Marieke of Oleand and Zevadiah of Aeltas.”

“You got our note,” Marieke gasped. The shock on her face told Zev that she’d never really expected their idea to work.

“And you, it is evident, got our attention.” The tip of the elf’s pointed ears wobbled slightly as he looked her over. “How did you learn of our presence here?”

Marieke opened her mouth to answer, but Zev flung out an arm in a gesture of caution.

“That information has value,” he said shrewdly. “Perhaps we don’t feel inclined to give it away for free.”

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