Page 66 of Envious Of Fire
“Come. I was on my way to see my brother. You should meet him. It would do him good, to see our new violinist. Don’t worry about the wine,” she adds with a mirthful laugh, “we have people who handle such … menial cleanup tasks.”
Kaleb nods, then sidesteps around the shattered glass and spilled wine, mutters an unintelligible apology down at it forsome reason, and follows Ashara.
The two say nothing as they navigate through the beautiful forest and winding cobblestone paths. Before Kaleb realizes it, they have passed under a different, wide, low-hanging archway. Suddenly they are strolling down a stone promenade with one side open to a spectacular valley of rolling hills and distant mountains, with a waist-high wall along the path lined with tall columns.
Kaleb gazes with wonder at the view, realizes he’s slowed down, and hurries to keep up with Ashara. She moves so quickly, it is as if she floats over the floor under her long green dress.
The view is taken away as they reach another, shorter hall, which leads to a completely white room with nothing but a set of doors across the way, bookended by two odd vases and two odder, identical ladies with long hair covering their faces. The contrast of environments they have passed through in just a short time has Kaleb reeling, as if he walked through someone else’s dream.
“Markadian, Lord of Vegasyn, is currently having dinner,” say the strange women in perfect unison, “and—”
“I am aware.” Ashara moves to the door anyway, lets herself in, then stops. “He isn’t having his dinner here?”
“No,” say the two women, then frostily add, also in perfect unison, “which you would have known, had you let us finish our sentence before barging in.”
Entirely unfazed by them, Ashara turns and starts to head off. “His bedchambers, then? Or the library?”
“Neither,” answer the women.
Ashara stops, a flicker of irritation in her eyes. She smiles with patience, turns to the women, makes a decision as to which one to address—the right one—and says, “Perhaps you can care to mind your attitude more around me, Miss May, lest I suggest to my brother that you are overdue for ahaircut.”
The women are silent for a time. Then: “The concert hall.”
Ashara gives them a curt smile. “Delightfully fitting. Enjoy the rest of your night, ladies.” She turns and walks away. Kaleb, after a second’s glance at the strange women, follows her out. As they go, Kaleb whispers, “Are they twins? Those women?” To which Ashara flippantly answers, “No one knows, and no one can be bothered enough to care.”
Kaleb loses track of how many different hallways they walk down and stairs they ascend before, quite unexpectedly, Ashara pulls open a large set of double doors that reveal an enormous concert hall full of empty seats. She strolls down the aisle, with Kaleb reluctantly following. None of the lights are on, save for a single spotlight upon the stage where a grand piano sits.
As they draw close, Kaleb realizes there’s a man seated on the edge of the stage, barely caught by the spotlight. Athletic build, buzzed head, handsome face, with two tiny loop earrings. Fitted grey tuxedo vest. Matching grey slacks that hug his shapely legs. Rectangular buckle catching a glint of stage light.
Kaleb is surprised by how human Lord Markadian appears. Despite the man’s authority, there is something unmistakably vulnerable about him, in the way his legs dangle from the lip of the stage like a child’s at the playground, in his weary posture, a man exhausted from his day’s long affairs and obligations. Yet his demeanor remains strong, eyes exuding strength and power.
Those eyes flick up upon seeing Ashara approach, and it is only she he addresses. “So you found me.”
Ashara comes to a stop at the front row, tilts her head. “Are yousobored of your office that this dreary auditorium is a more appealing site for dinner? I can’t even remember the last time you used this place for a proper performance. And speaking of dinner, there’s no one here at all.”
“Until now.” He sounds mildly annoyed at being found. “I am suffocating in that office twenty-five hours a day running thiscursed House. I deserve to enjoy any part of it that I please.”
“Ah, if only therewasan extra hour a day,” sings Ashara, “how much more we could accomplish with it …”
“We would piss it away like we do the first twenty-four.” It is only now that his eyes fall upon Kaleb. “Who’s this?”
Ashara seems delighted he asked. “This is our new official House Violinist. I happened to find him myself,” she then adds, “and after he proved himself loyal to me, I brought him out of the cells and awarded him a room on the Velvet Row.”
“No human’s lived in that hall for years.” He remains right where he is at the edge of the stage, his gaze locked on Kaleb, growing more curious the longer he stares.
Ashara glances back and forth between them for a moment, then leans in. “You should hear his music sometime. Exquisite. It may provide your soul some much-needed calm.”
“So that’s what this is?” he asks, still studying Kaleb like a puzzle. “A human tranquilizer?”
“Exactly. Where’s my thanks?” Ashara comes closer, sits on the stage next to him. “Brother, I’ve been meaning to ask—”
“It is arranged already.” His eyes still haven’t left Kaleb. “A few days’ time, the directors will be treated to a banquet with us. I will ease all their minds, answer all their questions, the nonsense expected of me … It’s been too long since I’ve suffered Cindy’s bubbly voice and Zara’s nauseating stoicism. And we all know how much of a glutton I am for punishment.”
“A glutton indeed,” agrees Ashara vaguely. Her eyes flick away for a moment. “It’ll also be useful to us if, during this … timely banquet … we can discuss the possibility of—”
“What’s your name?” asks Lord Markadian, cutting her off.
Ashara masks her annoyance, puts a smile on her face, then turns expectantly to Kaleb, awaiting his response.
