Page 17 of Song of the Dawn
When I finished eating, I practically ran back to my room. Bursting in, I went to the wardrobe and studied the uniform black-and-white dresses inside. They were all simple, none fancier than the other, but I wished I had something alluring to wear to impress Ezra. With a sigh, I stripped off my dress and went to the adjoining washroom to freshen up. At least I’d be clean and tidy.
Standing before the mirror, I brushed my silky hair, admiring the hues of purple. The climate in the mountains agreed with me, for my complexion was clear, almost glowing, and my hair was much easier to manage. There were no more tight knots or frizziness from the summer heat in Solynn.
Finally satisfied, I made way upstairs. I hadn’t been to the fourth floor yet, and when I walked off the stairs, my eyes went wide. Lining both sides of the wall were paintings, depictions of varied landscapes in rich, contrasting colors. My rush to see Ezra faded as I stared, twirling to catch the beauty of each painting.
Personally, I’d never been to the seaside or seen the waves tinted coral in the glory of sunset before it faded, or the white sands, with a scattering of shells lining the beach. The wide sky was a concoction of colors, vivid blues and oranges and pinks so arresting it made my heart ache to see it in person.
Another painting captured a field, wild grasses bent over by the invisible wind while white flower petals twirled through the air, creating swirls and shapes as they went. Yet a third depicted a hazy forest, colors muted by gray mist. Shapes appeared behind the clouds, dancers in dresses, skirts and hair billowing, faces unseen. I had an uncanny feeling that if I saw their faces, they would not be what I expected. Something otherworldly, nonhuman.
The thought made me shudder, not with fright but curiosity. I wanted to know if the tales about odd creatures, strangers, and woodland folk were true. The next time I collected eggs from Giselle, I’d press her for more information.
Awed, and slightly giddy, I passed glass double doors that were slightly ajar. Shelves of books caught my eye, and the indistinct murmur of voices and the scent of cigar smoke drifted out. I’d found the library. Making note of that, I continued toward the forbidding door at the end of the hall. It was made of rich dark wood, heavy, I imagined, although it was cracked open. For me?
I lifted my fist, unsure whether I should knock or walk right in. Deciding to do both, I knocked and pushed at the door. Like I’d assumed, it was heavy, and the carpet below it slowed its progress. The air shifted, filled with hints of paper and ink and leather, along with candle wax and a faint note of citrus. My first glimpse was of open doors and a balcony, where that citrus scent drifted in. I was immediately conscious of how I shouldn’t be there at all, how plain my dress was, and how rich and ornate everything that surrounded me was.
“Come in, Mila.” Ezra’s low voice drifted toward me. “I’ll be but a moment.”
Lingering in the entryway, I studied his office, my feet sinking into the carpet. To my right were two high-backed leather chairs and a rug in front of an enormous fireplace. There was no wood in it, only a collection of ash, since it was summer.
In front of me was an open space and a clear path to the balcony. To my left was Ezra’s desk, made of a dark cherry wood, adding to the woodsy, manly theme of the room. Beyond it was a bay window that must overlook the driveway, with a cushioned seat, and on either side of it were shelves of books, scrolls, and loose papers.
A picture in a golden frame leaned against one wall, turned so I couldn’t quite see it. Beside the desk was a statue of a creature playing a violin, a female, I thought, but it was hard to tell. I stilled at the sight of the violin, aware it meant something to Ezra, but what?
He finished his work and stood. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, crossing the room, toward me.
As he moved, I was aware of his height and, even more so, his presence, which filled up the room, reminding me I’d crossed into his domain. What was I doing? There was still time to refrain from this inappropriate exchange, to quash the flirtation between us, but I wanted to know more about the man who’d given me the gift of music.
Ezra poked his head down the hall before closing the door. It gave a gentle click, and that very sound had a finality to it. Although it would be simple to open the door and walk out again, with my arrival, I’d crossed an invisible threshold. Going back was not an option.
“I’m glad you came,” Ezra said, placing a hand on the small of my back to guide me to the balcony. “I selected some of my favorite wines, reds and whites. Do you have a preference?”
“Not that I know of.” I shrugged, nervous, as we stepped outside.
The balcony was a semicircle, with a small table to the side of the door, and two chairs. It overlooked the gardens, just enough to see them, but the grove of orange trees blocked most of the view. Still, it was breathtaking, a kaleidoscope of green punctured by tangerine orange and lemon yellow.
He pulled out the chair for me. “Excellent. We can try a bit of everything. I often enjoy a glass after the day’s work is done.”
“Is that so?” Once I was sitting, my nerves lessened. “I’d imagine the work of an innkeeper is never done.”
“Innkeeper, is that what you call it?”
“That’s what you are, the owner of the inn?”
“Yes, but the keeper, I’m not as familiar with that term.”
I raised an eyebrow as he uncorked a bottle of white and poured two glasses, half full.
“How could you be unfamiliar with that term?” I challenged.
“Well, that would be telling, wouldn’t it?” He slid a glass in front of me. “Tell me what you think. It’s medium-bodied, slightly tart even though it’s fruity, and the finish should be buttery, almost like a sweet cream.”
Lifting the glass, I peered over the rim at him. “Are you trying to avoid my question by explaining wine?”
There, that dimpled smile appeared again, making my insides flutter.
“Not at all, just attempting to make my guest feel at home.”
I took a sip. He was right. It wasn’t sweet, and yet I caught hints of pineapple and spice as it slid down my throat. Smooth. Creamy. Dangerous. Just like him.
