Page 3 of Song of the Dawn
“I’m sorry,” I blurted out. “That was more than you wanted…er…needed to know.”
“Not at all,” he said as we reached the fourth floor.
There was a landing space and then a cramped square of four doors. The other flats had been empty for a while because of the negligence of the owner. I fumbled for keys, my face warm from the heat of the day and the attentive gaze of the man.
“I assume you look forward to leaving for the country?” he asked, his tone sincere.
Shaking my head, I lowered my voice in case Mother was listening on the other side of the door instead of napping. Honesty rose on my tongue, for confiding in the friendly stranger was easier than going to the cathedral to confess to a priest. “My sister lives in a charming estate with her husband and son. I should be grateful to go there with Mother, but…” I took a deep breath, unable to keep the disappointment out of my tone. “I want to be a musician, and as soon as I leave here, that opportunity is gone. In the country there’s no value in music, and nothing interesting happens there like it does here in the city. I want the opportunity to play, experience passion, excitement, change…” I trailed off, my heart pounding as the words rushed out of my mouth. It was more than I should have said, and yet a lightness came over me after venting to him.
The golden man nodded, his perfectly pink lips curling into a smile. “You like the excitement of change and the ability to chase your passion.”
“Yes,” I breathed, wondering why he wasn’t running away or scolding me for talking too much.
“I hope you find what you are searching for.”
“And you as well.” I furrowed my brow as I put the key in the lock. “What were you doing up here?”
He cocked his head, his deep gaze holding mine. “I thought I took a misstep. Turns out I was wrong, since I could assist you with your groceries.”
The moment felt intimate, stretched as he moved closer. The lock twisted, and the door clicked as it swung open. My heart kicked as the man’s arms brushed mine and he passed me the other bag of groceries.
I inhaled another whiff of orange, and my belly flipped. It was dangerous, the way the man looked at me, and his proximity. But nothing within me wanted to move away even though Mother warned me about handsome men with sinister secrets carefully concealed behind beautiful eyes. She’d taught me to guard my heart, withdraw from their advances, but I was curious.
“What’s your name?” he asked, a low purr in his tone.
“Mila,” I whispered. When his cheek brushed mine, a hint of stubble grazed my skin. Involuntarily, my eyes closed, and my heart pulsed so loudly I was sure he could hear it.
When he pulled away, I keenly felt the loss of his presence. I held still, relishing that moment in my mind as his footsteps thumped down the stairs. A few seconds later, his voice floated up them. “Until we meet again, Mila.”
And then he was gone.
I allowed myself to smile at the encounter with the handsome stranger even though a slight warning twisted through me. But I’d never see him again. What happened to Mother wouldn’t happen to me. Once, a gallant man had tricked her, leading her on with a pull of attraction she could not resist, until he’d left her homeless with two young children.
Long ago I’d made a promise to myself I wouldn’t be like my mother and fall for a handsome face. But the golden-haired man had been kind and attentive; plus, the scent of orange lingered in the air. Gingerly placing the sacks on the table, I locked the door and tiptoed down the hall in search of Mother.
Our tiny flat was built in what we called the arrow style. One could open the door and shoot an arrow straight to the back door, which led out to a tiny porch. Sometimes I’d open the back door to air out the rooms, which often were hot and stuffy, with the faint scent of mold, especially in the summer.
On walking in, the table was to the left and the kitchen to the right. The kitchen held the woodstove and was the warmest room in the winter but almost unbearable during the summer, hence my reason for buying food that didn’t have to be cooked.
Down the hall were only two rooms, Mother’s room on the left, since it butted up against the neighboring flat, which was now empty. When I was younger, we could hear our neighbors snoring and making other unpleasant sounds. My room was on the right, and I’d used to share it with my older sister, Aveline, until three years ago, when she’d gotten married. I planned to vacate the room for Aveline when she arrived tomorrow.
Mother’s door was cracked. When I peeked inside, she lay on her back, foot propped up on a pillow, eyes closed. Her slow and steady breathing told me she was sleeping, so I slipped away to make lunch and something soothing for her to drink.
A movement by the door caught my eye. A piece of cream paper lay just under the door, my name written on the paper in swirling black handwriting:Mila Hadria of Solynn.
What could it be?
Forgetting about the tea, I picked up the envelope, noting the richness of it, the gloss of gold on the edges. With shaking fingers, I flipped it over, and on the other side were two words:The Dawn.
The words were embossed, almost glittering. Curious. Why would I receive a letter from a remote inn? Lifting the flap, I pulled out the letter and read.
Mila
Dear Mila,
We had the honor of listening to your audition with the symphony in Solynn. Although they turned you down, we believe you are talented enough to join the staff of the Dawn. We are in need of a musician for the summer to play three nights a week for guests and on special occasions as needed. We will provide a new violin along with room, board, and food. Your monthly salary will be 300. Should these terms be agreeable to you, we expect your arrival the first week of June. Travel expenses will be reimbursed. We look forward to a positive response.
—Management
