Page 7 of Song of the Dawn
The entryway was a wide hall with low-lying couches on one side and bay windows that overlooked the rotunda. Someone had done their best to make it appear elegant and welcoming. Clutching my violin tighter, I walked down the hall, noting the doors on either side and a staircase directly in front of me that led up, presumably to the guest rooms.
To the left was an opening, and I walked into the dining hall, where all the noise took place. A bar was right next to the entrance, but beyond it were tables full of chattering guests. In a back corner, a man perched on a stool, playing a lively jaunt on his banjo. Eventually I’d sit there, playing my violin. The atmosphere was lively, and my nerves sang as I faced the bar.
Two women stood behind it, one young with a black braid over her shoulder. She poured mugs of frothy ale and slid them to a man waiting on the other side of the counter. He winked at her and slapped down a few coins, which she deftly tucked into her pocket.
The older woman spoke to the man who’d entered behind me. She was unusually tall and willowy, with large brown eyes and short black hair cropped just above her sharp jawline. Her skin was pale, but it was her red lips and nails that caught my eye. Paints were often used to enhance a women’s features, and rouge used on the lips, but I hadn’t seen paint applied to nails. It was both scandalous and brave.
The man moved to take a drink from the girl with the black braid, and the tall one’s eyes landed on me. Her eyebrows lifted, swiftly taking in my appearance. If she thought ill or well of me, it was impossible to tell, for her face gave away nothing. “Are you Mila?”
“Yes.”
“Good, we’ve been expecting you. I’m Ginger. Welcome to the Dawn.”
Mila
“Rachelle?” Ginger called to the young lady with the black braid. “This is Mila. I’m going to step out for a few moments to show her to her room.”
Rachelle grinned at me. “It’s not so busy now. I will take care of whatever comes up.”
“Come.” Ginger moved from behind the bar and led me back out to the hall. “I don’t want you to assume you’re here under the wrong impression, but one of our hostesses ran away, and we are short-staffed during the summer rush. I’m aware you were hired to play three nights a week in the dining hall, and that agreement still stands, but we will pay you an additional salary if you’d be willing to work behind the bar with Rachelle, just until it slows down.”
I weighed her words as she opened the door into another room, which held a lounge with sofas and chairs, a fireplace large enough for me to stand in, and a staircase leading up to the second floor.
“You don’t have to decide tonight,” Ginger went on, pausing to eye my hair. “Think on it and let me know in the morning. Before you decide, I’ll have you know the Dawn is a prestigious inn. We pride ourselves on offering concierge services to our guests, who usually stay a few weeks at a time. Our clientele includes lords and ladies who come here on business, or need to rest before returning to their demanding lives. As staff here, you represent the values of the Dawn, and in turn, you are treated with respect. As a staff member, you are not a servant, nor are you expected to work yourself to the bone. I encourage each member to take breaks, especially during the slower times, which are afternoons and the winter months. Summer is the height of the season, which is why you are here.”
I blinked, her words resonating in my fatigued mind. I was here for the summer to play, but three nights a week left me plenty of time to do…what? I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t need all day to practice. “I’ll do it,” I told her breathlessly. The money would help me pay back my sister, buy my own violin, and save for my return to Solynn.
“Good,” Ginger said, her expression unchanging. “I’ll change your salary, and all tips you earn at the bar are yours to keep. Rachelle will train you in the morning. For now, rest. I’ll have a tray of food sent up unless you prefer to eat in the dining hall.”
Even though she was difficult to read, I appreciated her thoughtfulness. “Thank you, a tray in my room would be preferred.”
Shaking back her short hair, Ginger pivoted and spread her arms. “This is the staff lounge. Aside from myself and Rachelle, we share these quarters with Moses, who is our cook, and his assistant, Marley. You’ll meet them tomorrow. Dusty and Giselle live beside the lake and manage the gardens and vineyards. Ezra, owner of the Dawn, has chambers on the top floor but spends most of his time in his tower. There’s a door to outside here”—she pointed—“but we keep it locked, since the guests are not allowed in our wing of the inn. I’ll provide you a key so you can come and go as you please.”
I nodded, trying to keep up with the amount of information she rapidly shared with me. Without giving me a moment to respond, Ginger marched up the staircase. I followed her down the carpeted hall until she pulled a brass key off a chain and unlocked a door. “This is your room. It’s adjoining to Rachelle’s, and you’ll both share the washroom.”
Light filled my vision as I stepped inside, my feet sinking into the carpet. I stilled, heart in my throat as a note hovered in the air, long and low, enchanting as if calling, summoning, whispering secrets. Sucking in a deep breath, I made my way to the window, the largeness of the room lost as the music came again. What was it?
The drapes had been pulled back to let in the light. Below my window were orange flowers, a view of the rotunda and the drive that led back out to the world. Dark-green trees arched over the road, and tiny green fruits hung from their branches.
Nothing else appeared in the courtyard, aside from the invisible evening breeze that made the branches sway. The chord died away like the echo of a tender memory. Puzzled, I pivoted to take in my enchanting room. Ginger watched me closely.
“We have a dress code here at the Dawn,” she went on as if those moments of silence had been to allow me to take in my surroundings. “We wear black and white so it is clear who works here and also to blend in. I had a few gowns made for you, but you are welcome to go into town and meet with the dressmaker to have them altered to fit. You’ll have a stipend for clothing. And here”—she pointed to a case beside the wardrobe—“is the violin you’ll play, although I see you brought your own.”
“Only as a keepsake,” I told her, swallowing hard. “The strings broke, but it was my grandfather’s…”
“I see.” She stepped back. “I must return to the dining hall. Any questions before I go?”
“No.” I shook my head, sure a dozen questions would come to mind as soon as she stepped away.
“Good, I’ll have a tray sent up shortly.”
She brushed away without closing the door, and I stood still for a moment, breathing in the rose-scented air. A surge of relief went through me at my arrival, the unexpected shift in my position at the inn, and the violin.
Picking up the case, I laid it on the bed and opened it. There lay the most exquisite violin I’d ever seen, the wood of its body shiny, ornate, the strings taut as though begging me to pick it up and play it. I stroked my fingers admiringly over the wood. Soon enough. I’d practice. I’d play and become more than Mila Hadria. I’d become Mila the violinist, and soon I’d be back in the city, in high demand, and I would want for nothing.
Sunlight went soft under the anticipation of evening as I opened the wardrobe, examining the simple yet luxurious dresses hanging there. A lump swelled in my throat at my good fortune. I’d write Mother and Aveline with the good news, and the knowledge that soon there would be money to pay off the debtors and help Mother’s recovery made me want to weep. My fingers went to the buttons of my dress. Slowly I undid them, preparing for a relaxing bath after such a long journey. As I discarded my dress, the air in the room shifted.
Standing in the washroom, I sniffed. It smelled damp in there, although it was neat, with towels stacked on a shelf, soap sitting by the tub, and a rug to put my wet feet on. The flat Mother and I lived in did not have a washroom, so for an immersive bath, we had to go to the steam houses in the city, which lacked privacy. The ability to wash in peace made me feel rich, and yet goose bumps prickled on my bare skin as a hint of icy breath hissed around me. A faint sound came, as though something was sucking, slurping. Crossing my hands over my bare breasts, I listened while I waited for the tub to fill. It was uncanny, slightly spooky. What was that?
