Page 27 of The Storm
Renata didn’t look at the mural again. If she looked at it, her heart would break open and she didn’t—couldn’t—do that again. Her grief would bury her. Bury them. “Do you think one of the renters might have broken in?”
“Possibly.” Max looked around. “These tunnels are too well ventilated not to have some network of side passages.”
“They do. There’s an extensive network of caverns, but I thought we’d blocked the entrances.”
“Perhaps a child could still fit through.”
“And the scent of bread?”
Max shrugged. “Renata, you know as much as I do. It’s the middle of the night and it’s snowing again. If anyone is in these caverns tonight, they must desperately need shelter. Why don’t we go to bed and we’ll look more in the morning?”
“I won’t be able to sleep.”
Max held out his hand. “Come with me.”
She didn’t want to leave, but she knew staying in the mural room would only break her open. And that did not need to happen. Especially not with Max around. She took his hand, and Max picked up the lamp, guiding them out of the corridor and through the library. He secured the iron lock when they made it back to the house, then handed her the lamp.
“Hold this.”
“Why?”
He didn’t answer, just walked into the music room without her. He returned carrying an old guitar.
“Do you play?” Renata was shocked. She hadn’t known that about him.
“A little. I only know a few songs. You can’t sleep? I’ll see if my bad playing can make you drift off from boredom.”
She doubted that. Renata loved music, but she didn’t like to admit it. The thought of Maxim playing…
“You’re thoughtful,” she said. “That should bore me in no time.”
“I aim to please.”
* * *
He played,but it wasn’t boring or amateurish. It was beautiful.
“You’ve played a long time.”
“No. Yes.” He shook his head. “I played a long time ago. My grandfather taught me. It was the only thing he taught me other than how to throw an ax.”
“He raised you.”
“He fed us. Protected us. But… he was quite shattered by his daughters’ deaths. My mother and Leo’s were twin sisters and his only children. He thought we’d all died for a long time.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“We were only babies during the Rending. Both of us were born the same summer. When our village was attacked, everyone died. Or so the scribe house in Riga thought. We were gone for two years after the Rending, and then… we weren’t. Someone left us at the scribe house, and my grandfather was notified. Leo’s father returned from Russia a few years later—we’d all thought he died too—but he never really spoke again. He taught us to fight. He was… frightening. As frightening as Leo is gentle. But my grandfather stayed with us. Sometimes I think he was afraid of what my uncle would do if he wasn’t there.”
“There were no Irina?”
Max shook his head and began plucking the strings in a delicate tune.
“What is that?” she asked.
“A Russian folk song.”
“It’s beautiful.”
