Page 15 of Song of the Dawn
But soon she’d found a replacement for me and taken the one thing I couldn’t live without. My soul.
I’d get it back when I completed the work and summoned the demon. Only then would I be whole, complete, and mortal. The portals would close, the bonds would dissolve, and I would be free from her, free from magic, and forgiven for my transgressions.
Mila
Nerves consumed me the day of my first performance. I alternated between practicing and pacing, aware I’d never played for an audience before. Ginger had prepped me, telling me I’d be background noise and not to expect attention or applause. Still, I’d be the only one on that stage, though it was small.
A stool was placed upon it, and beside it was a little shelf with a glass of water. I’d play for a few hours, taking breaks between songs as needed. I took my seat long before the hall filled with guests, my instrument tuned and ready. Those who wished to dine in their rooms were given trays, but most came down to partake before slipping away.
My fingers trembled as I tucked the violin beneath my chin. Taking a deep breath, I lifted the bow and closed my eyes.
The low murmurs of the hall faded, and I felt as though I’d been transported to a field of sunflowers, waving through the breeze while I stood among them and played. The sensation was so strong I smelled the grass, felt the warmth of the dirt between my bare toes and the breeze like fingers stroking my hair. I’d heard of the peak of performance, a Zen-like experience, and yet I’d assumed I wasn’t good enough to achieve the heights of musical pleasure, to be so swept away. Reality faded. My fingers flew over the strings, and I moved the bow, the sound coming clear, enchanting.
Maybe it was the permission I had to be myself and play, but I continued, lost in music, a balloon of happiness spreading through me. Along with it came a faint awareness that something mythical about Lagoda empowered me to play better than I had before.
I had no idea how long I’d played until I opened my eyes and suddenly found myself back in the inn. I still sat on the stool, my chest rising and falling from the effort, and the room was full of guests. They talked and ate, and yet from somewhere came a smattering of applause, acknowledging that they appreciated my art. What had happened? Was my imagination that powerful? For no one had noticed anything unusual. They’d carried on, and yet time had stopped for me and I’d been elsewhere while I played.
Taking a sip of water, I reseated myself and lifted the violin again. And as I did, I caught a movement in a dusky corner. My eyes strained, searching, and sure enough there stood Ezra, arms crossed, watching. His face was shadowed, and it appeared as if he was attempting to hide, and yet he was there. That seed of desire sprouted, but I kept my composure, closed my eyes, and let the music take me again.
Later that night, Rachelle hugged me, saying she’d heard nothing like it. I assumed she was being kind as I fell into bed and slept deeply. When a dream came, it was vibrant and lifelike. I walked through a field of flowers, my fingers touching their upturned faces, until a hill led down into the forest. I stepped beneath the boughs, breathing in cedar and spice, and my heart thrilled with anticipation. Suddenly, two arms grabbed me. Hot lips seared mine, breath ragged against my neck, fingers impatient, insistent, tugging at my clothes. His emerald eyes and the passion in his demanding kisses made my heart throb. The want for him was so intense it choked me, and all I could do was moan under his touch, my skin on fire as he consumed me.
When I woke, the place between my legs ached. I lay in bed, relishing, reliving the dream because it solidified what was forbidden. I knew, deep inside, it would be best for both of us if I resisted, if I walked away from the sway of seduction. He was a stranger, and although I was curious about him, in three months I’d return to the city to play for the symphony hall. It would be better if we maintained a professional relationship. Once I got out of bed, I’d forget the dream and avoid him. Yet despite my decision, I lingered in bed, torn between getting up or touching myself to sate my arousal. My hesitation cost me. Shortly after I awoke, Rachelle knocked on my door.
After that, we fell into the rhythm of work, and days passed. I performed three nights a week, and with each performance, my confidence grew. The afternoons spent practicing were beginning to pay off, and my hopes for the future became surer.
The atmosphere of the inn shifted each day. Some guests stayed for weeks, others for a few days. No sooner did we learn the preferences and habits of one individual than another would come to replace them.
One morning, a troubled young woman swept in, curls wild, the hem of her dress soaked. She spoke to Ginger in a low, animated voice before going upstairs. Rachelle was busy seeing to the needs of another guest. So when Ginger came to me, I wasn’t surprised.
“Lady Elodie would like a wine from the cellar. A dark red wine. Select a bottle and take it up her, will you?”
“Of course.” I nodded, turning toward the kitchen.
“She’s in room six,” Ginger called after me.
I hadn’t been in the cellar yet, and I’d forgotten anything lay beneath the main floor. All old houses had a cellar beneath to store food during the winter, although Solynn boasted food year-round. One could always go to the market or street vendors for a bite to eat.
Beyond the table and the lift was the door to the cellar. Leaving it open, I descended the stairs into gloom. Although torches hung on either side of the stairs, high above my head, they flickered unsteadily, casting menacing shadows on the walls. The air was musty with the scents of old berries and even older vegetables.
On the right side of the cellar, the walls were mud, cooler, I assumed, then the left side, which was made of brick. Shelves lined both sides, but I turned my attention to the wine. The first row had bottles, and I could just make out the pale sheen of liquid inside and guessed it was white wine. The next had bottles of red, and on beyond were barrels.
The entire inn must be completely self-sufficient. They grew grapes, had a grove of oranges, a vegetable garden, sheep and goats and chickens. I smiled, impressed, and my fingers closed around the head of a bottle.
A sound made me freeze. Holding my breath, I listened. A distinct splurging sound came from the darkness, where the light didn’t shine. I squinted at the shadows, but the darkness was too dense. Holding the bottle carefully in both hands, I took a step, listening. Unease crept up my spine, and my mouth went dry.
I gave myself a shake. It was childish to be afraid of the dark when it was only the gloom playing tricks on me. A shadow flickered, a shape indistinct and unclear in the semidarkness moved a few paces ahead of me, and a sensation of cold made my fingers numb.
The sound came again. It was lapping or sucking, like a horse drinking from a watering trough. Except this time, it was much louder, as though whatever it was drew nearer. A faint hint of water and decay drifted to my nose, and my chest constricted as a shroud of fear enveloped me.
Instinct told me to run. I caught my skirts in one hand to keep from tripping while dashing back to the stairs. I took them two at a time, heart beating hard in my throat.
When I reached the top, the scent of cinnamon wafted to my nose, calming my initial fright. Peering back down the stairs, I saw nothing but the flickering lamps and the quiet shadows. What had frightened me? And what would make that sound in a cellar? I’d ask Giselle, who frequently made deliveries to the kitchen. She’d know more.
Closing the door, I spun around and practically bumped into Ezra. I hadn’t seen him in a while and had thought my attempt to ignore him had been successful. But now, as I gazed up at him, my heart dropped and that desire sprouted again. “Mila?” His gaze shifted to the door, eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”
Holding up the bottle of wine, I gave a shaky laugh. “Well, when a guest requests wine, I must comply.”
“That’s a good bottle. The guest will enjoy,” he said, reaching around me to rest his hand on the doorknob.
