Page 6 of Song of the Dawn

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“No. I’m sorry the symphony did not accept you, but this offer to play at the Dawn is quite generous. I don’t want you to worry about the money for rent or the doctor’s fee. I’ll pay for those debts and for your trip to the Dawn, but I’ll eventually need the money back.”

“Of course,” I blurted out. “I’ll send the money as soon as I receive my first month’s salary, and I’m sorry I’m not coming with you to help with Mother.”

“Don’t be,” Aveline scolded. “We all deserve the opportunity to pursue what we want. Besides, I’m excited about the idea of you working at the Dawn. According to the papers, the owner is eccentric. Apparently he snubbed the gentlemen’s club here in Solynn by refusing to join even though he owns a significant amount of trade goods. But aside from gossip, I know little about the inn.”

I latched onto her words. “Curious. Of course I’ve heard of the Dawn, but I was unaware inns hired musicians to amuse their guests. When I envision an inn, I think of it as a place to rest and eat before moving to the next location.”

“This one is unusual,” Aveline agreed. “It’s luxurious, a place for the affluent to rest, almost like a resort. I’m sure it’s ever changing, and I’m sorry I brought up High Tower in front of Mother.”

I frowned. “Yes, High Tower was a theater where lords and ladies went for entertainment and debauchery. The Dawn is nothing like it.”

Aveline nudged me. “Maybe you’ll find a lover there, or even better, a wealthy husband.”

My thoughts went to the golden-haired man in blue who smelled of citrus. If he worked there as a messenger, he’d be no wealthy man, but I’d enjoy getting to know him all the same. “I don’t need a husband,” I protested. “Or lover. Look what happened to Mother.”

We stopped just outside the stagecoach building. The bustle of people coming and going was loud. Horses tossed their heads, snorting and stamping as they waited for passengers to embark. Aveline let go of my arm and faced me. Her expression was fierce, and her dark eyes drilled into mine. “Never base your life on Mother or her past lovers who left. That was her lot in life. You never know where you’ll find love. It is indescribable, life-changing, better had for a little while than not at all.”

A beat passed as her words sank in, and I cocked my head. “Is that how you feel about Tomas?”

There. Her eyes flashed with just the briefest hint of hurt and regret. “No. Tomas is my husband, my safety net, the right choice for me. Go, Mila, have an adventure at the Dawn. Like Mother said, you’ll always have us to come home to, should you choose.”

A chord of sadness struck me, like the mournful melody of a funeral tune played on a flute. Aveline had loved someone once, but she’d settled for safety instead. I didn’t blame her for her decision, but I wouldn’t have to make a choice between love and need. Because I didn’t intend to fall in love.

Mila

Within the week, it was time for me to go. I hugged Mother and Aveline goodbye, kissed Luc’s head, and shook Tomas’s hand. Later, after the flat was empty, the four of them would take a private carriage back home.

I’d forgone packing a trunk of clothes and only carried a satchel and my violin. The expense to add a trunk to the stagecoach was too high, and the job required new clothes anyway. I wore a simple blue traveling dress and a duster Mother had mended for me. The duster could only do so much to prevent my skirts from getting grimy, but at least I wouldn’t be completely dirty when I arrived at the Dawn.

The trip was long even though I was adept at amusing myself. By the third day, my bottom was sore from sitting, my stomach was queasy from the constant rocking back and forth, and my shoulders hurt from hunching to make room for the other passengers. I understood why lords and ladies paid for a private carriage. Although deeply uncomfortable, I focused on the view of green meadows, lush forests, sparkling rivers, and bright flowers. Soon I’d arrive. Soon it would be over.

As we neared the Dawn, the passengers became scant, more and more leaving at each stop. The scenery changed as the horses maneuvered a steep track. The view from the window made my heart flip-flop. In the distance, a range of blue mountains rose, pointed peaks white with snow or fog, which one I did not know. Pine forests dotted the landscape with shades of evergreen, and open meadows with honey-dew-colored grasses, bright flowers, or rows of orchards covered the land.

When my eyes filled with tears because of the beauty, I blamed it on my ragged emotions, for leaving home and traveling so long had left me feeling out of place. I couldn’t wait for a hot bath and a comfortable bed to sleep in. I wondered about the stagecoach driver and the trips he made. Did he often long for home? Or was the change of scenery enough to keep him amused?

Eventually it started to rain, and my fingers shook as I twisted my plum hair around my slender fingers. I kept my eyes focused on the window even though droplets of water covered it. The only other person in the stagecoach snored on the bench opposite me, breath smelling like mushrooms and sour eggs. He’d ignored me the entire journey, and I’d done the same, although, as our travel lengthened, I realized we were both going to the same place. When I’d received the letter inviting me to work at the Dawn, I’d assumed it would be off the beaten track but not this remote, so near the mist-covered mountains of Lagoda. How did anyone stumble upon it out here, so far away from civilization?

Not for the first time, my stomach lurched at the thought of being a seven-day journey away from my mother and sister. In Solynn it had been easy to feel bold and brave about my new job, but out here, moments before my arrival, gloom and rain lowered my spirits further.

The stagecoach came to a halt with a jerk, sending me sliding. My snoring companion sat up with a curse. “What was that?”

“Final stop at the Dawn,” the driver bellowed.

Seizing my satchel and violin, I reached for the door handle, eager to escape the claustrophobic compartment. Without waiting for help, I jumped down onto the sand-colored ground, rain dampening my head. My lips parted at the sight.

The Dawn rose, a weathered castle, old and intimidating, with ivy and vines trailing about the windows. White flowers held their heads stiffly up despite the rain, as if their tenacity would be rewarded by golden rays of sun. If it ever came out.

A grove of trees rose on my left, and on the right, a path snaked through a meadow, leading downhill toward the glimmer of what might be a lake. Even though mist was gathering, I made out a range of blue mountains in the distance.

Picking up my heavy skirts, I strode through the light mist to the entrance. As I went, a tantalizing sound drifted to my ears, long and low, almost mournful. Pausing midstep, I leaned toward it. Was that music? Yet it didn’t sound as though it came from within, which was where I’d expect music to come from. Instead, it sounded as though it was out in the moors, somewhere leading to the blue mountains. Shaking my head to dismiss it, I continued my trajectory when it came again, louder and forceful. Demanding.

The music was clear, commanding, insistent, and for a moment, my foot hovered, turning toward it as though answering its call. My heart beat in my chest, fluttering as if under a spell, and as the sweet noise swelled, a desire flared up, sudden and strong. A wave of dizziness washed over me along with a certainty. I had to find that song, that sweet note, and drown myself in its pleasure. All my hopes and dreams of becoming a musician would come to pass, if only I listened long enough to learn.

“Make a decision, missy,” the snoring man said, mildly annoyed as I hesitated in our path.

Whatever grip the music had on me faded, like I was coming out of a dream. I opened the double doors, carved with intricate patterns of vines and mythical creatures, and crossed the threshold into the Dawn. The richness of the velvet carpet, the silver drapes, and the stone decorations edged with gold made me conscious of the dirt on my skirts, sprinkling the entry with ash-like dust.

Sounds and scents washed over me: constant chatter, roasted meat, sweet mead, and an undercurrent of citrus.