Page 32 of Song of the Dawn
“I’m from another land…” He trailed off as though weighing his words, determining how much he wanted to tell me. “My parents were farmers, peasants, poor. They tilled the land in serfdom to a lord, and I…I wanted more for myself. They were complacent with their lives. The little we had, barely scrapping by, was enough for them. It didn’t matter if we weren’t warm enough in the winter or whether we had full bellies or threadbare clothes. I was their only child who lived, and I know I should be sad about it, but I can’t remember the others; their lives were too brief. Now, looking back, I think the loss made my mother hard, and my father only focused on the work. They had no joy, no life, for that kind of existence is not life at all but servitude to the land. I don’t recall the lord we worked for, but I have an impression that although he was not unkind, he simply did not understand the needs of his serfs, and why would he? He’d never been in our place. It made me bitter. It made me long for more, and so as soon as I could, I joined the knights and served a great and powerful…” He hesitated, choosing his next word carefully. “A woman who would be called a queen here.”
“What happened then?”
Ezra twisted away from me, walking to the middle of the circle and staring up the blue sky. The clouds drifted slowly through it, like a leaf caught in still water, floating yet barely making progress in its journey back to land.
“Mila, it is not a happy story.” When he faced me, his eyes were dark and his jaw set in a hard line. “Many things happened. I served, I moved up the ranks, and all that power went to my head. I broke my vows, and I was banished because of my wrongdoing. Now that I’m here, I’m focused on putting the past behind me to live in a way that is honorable. This time, instead of being greedy for power because of the lack I grew up with, I want to enjoy every moment of this life. I want to work the land with my own hands and reap the harvest. I want to share my wealth with those who need it. I want my life’s purpose to bring people joy, not devastation.”
His raw words dropped away, replaced with a heaviness. A piece of him had been unraveled, and even though I didn’t know the details, the broad strokes of his life were enough. Still, my mind went to dark places. What had he done to be banished? Had he stolen something? Murdered someone? But those were questions I could not ask him, and I sensed there was more I would find out as I spent time with him. His eyes were stormy as I approached and reached for him. His hands were curled tightly into fists as though he was holding back a rage that burned inside.
“I know it wasn’t easy to share, but thank you.”
His fists loosened. With a groan, he swept me into his arms. My hands rested on his chest, and the fire within ignited again.
“I tell you about the darkness of my past, and all you say is thank you? What kind of wondrous creature are you?”
My breath caught. “Because I’m so used to people pretending, and you, you tell me the truth, even when it’s difficult.”
I wanted that kiss, but he withheld it. Standing there, he scanned my face as if testing the validity of my words. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said finally. “There’s more, much more, about me you don’t know yet. I promise I will reveal all, bit by bit, but I don’t want to frighten you away.”
“I’m not frightened. I’m here.”
“I know,” he said and released me.
Mila
We returned to the beach, where Ezra pulled out the picnic basket and unpacked it as we sat in the grass. I leaned back on my elbows, watching the water lap at the boat, and the serenity of the island filled me with peace. Ezra had recovered from our conversation in the dancing glade, and a lightness returned to his movements.
“I cook sometimes.” He passed me a bowl of food. “But since Moses took over the kitchen, I leave him to it. He does a much better job than I do.”
“I’d like to taste your cooking sometime.” I grinned mischievously.
“Only if I get to taste yours.”
“You’d have to arrange a kitchen for me. I’m sure Moses would not want us to borrow his.”
He raised a finger in warning. “When I decide to invite you to my workshop, you can use my kitchen there.”
I wasn’t sure if I should tease him about that, but I tried anyway. “Oh, you are considering it?”
“In time.” Unwrapping the packet, he pulled out a sandwich. Before he took a bite, he looked at me over it. “Tell me something about you, Mila, something I don’t know.”
To give myself time to think of what to say, I unwrapped my sandwich and smelled it. The tang of fresh tomatoes, the peppery spice of basil, and the heavy scent of bacon met my nose. I took a bite, almost slobbering on myself in my haste. I swallowed and cleared my throat. “This is delicious, and I’m not sure what to tell you. You know what’s most important to me, music and family. Mother and Aveline were my entire world growing up, and the three of us have always been close. I was lucky, I suppose. I always knew I had to work for a living because the idea of marrying a wealthy lord did not appeal to me, nor were there any opportunities. Coming here for music is the one thing I decided to do for myself, for a chance at adventure, a new challenge to rise to.”
“You don’t like to talk about yourself, do you?”
“Why do you say that?”
Ezra fished an apple out of the picnic basket and pointed it at me. “Everything you just told me I already know, but I want to know you, deeper, beyond all that. What do you lose yourself in? What makes you happy?”
I froze. Ezra sat across from me, attempting to peer into my soul. It was like being bare before him, a risk I wasn’t sure I was ready for. Yet here we were, sharing, trusting each other, being vulnerable together. Putting the sandwich in my lap, I took a deep breath, willing myself to be open and honest as he had been earlier. “Music has been my passion for a long time, but I know it goes much deeper than simply the act of playing. It’s the emotions that build within me, the feeling that as I play, I’m growing closer to myself, my truth, and my soul. When I play, I transform. I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s like an out-of-body experience, and when I’m around art, the same emotions well up. Art makes me feel alive, like I’m connecting with something greater, beyond myself. It happens when I play music, sometimes when I’ve dabbled with paint, and when I walk the gardens.”
“The way you explained it is lovely. Did you feel the same sensation when you saw the paintings outside my office?”
“Yes,” I said eagerly. “They were inspirational, and yet it was more, as if there is a deeper meaning the artist was trying to capture and portray. Take the statute in your office, oddly similar to the statutes in Namen’s shop. I felt like the artist was afraid of being seen, of being too detailed and descriptive. So only the musical instruments are carved, and the rest is a vague blur, as if it shouldn’t be seen.”
When Ezra spoke, his voice was low. “You saw statues in Namen’s shop?”
“Yes, the old gods. She explained how they use their music to call forth the seasons. Well, Giselle explained in full, but I was interested in it, the history of it, why people used to believe and then they stopped. Inventions shouldn’t halt belief, so why did they?”
