Page 2 of Song of the Dawn
The song crescendoed, but suddenly an ugly, jarring sound popped me out of my musical high. A flash of pain whipped across my fingers as the notes turned sour. I opened my eyes, heart dropping as I stared at the broken string. The quick playing had strained the old strings, causing one to snap. My heart sank to my toes, and I bit my bottom lip hard to keep tears from falling. An apology rose, but the tightness in my throat made it impossible to speak. New strings. How much would that cost?
Shoulders sagging, I stood and bowed. The silence was deafening, but my eyes had grown used to the spotlight. The cool gaze of the conductor—quill poised just above paper—appraised me. Even his assistant had paused midstride to gawk at my misfortune.
Lady Hawthorne sighed and waved her hand. “Dismissed,” she called, her tone cold. “After replacing your strings, I recommend more practice. You have promise, but your skills are too rudimentary for the symphony. Come back in three to six months when you’ve improved and we’ll give you another chance to audition.”
It took a moment for the words to sink in. Practice. Three months. Improve. Audition again. I couldn’t. It would be too late by then. Nodding, I stumbled away and glimpsed golden hair and a blue waistcoat in the back of the concert hall. Someone else was there, sitting in the shadows, watching. Likely a lord listening in on auditions so he could choose a musician to sponsor. It was not uncommon, but without the endorsement of Lady Hawthorne, I would not gain sponsorship.
Disappointment squeezed my chest like a weight as I moved backstage and placed my violin back in its case. I held the broken string for a few moments, knowing I wouldn’t be able to replace it soon, which meant I could not practice, and my dream of becoming a musician grew further from reach.
Leaving the hall, I stepped out into the evening air. It was late spring, and soon the dense humidity of summer would descend, hot and relentless. I strode down the street, mulling over the two choices I had. I could either take a job as a maid or go live with my sister in the countryside. Both options made my stomach clench, for they were dream killers.
If I took a job as a maid, at least I could stay in the city and save for a new violin. But working would leave me little time to practice, and I doubted a lady would tolerate my practicing in her home. The countryside was less attractive because I was unaware of the opportunities available for a single young woman, aside from marriage. My spirits sunk lower at the thought.
Something moved behind me, and I whipped my head around. A masculine presence wearing gold and blue walked behind me, at a distance, so I was unsure whether he was following me. It wasn’t quite nightfall, but it was close enough. I quickened my steps. It was best to get home, where I’d be safe behind a locked door.
Tonight I’d wallow in grief and in the morning make a plan. But even my hopefulness could not dispel the sinking sensation in my gut. No matter how much I loved music, it wasn’t enough. I had to give up and settle for less.
Mila
Early the next morning, before the surge of heat, I went to market to buy food for the week. Fresh air lifted my spirits, distracting me from the unwanted choices looming ahead. At market, one of the vendors had a sale, and I left with more food than I’d originally intended to buy.
The brown paper sacks were heavy in my arms as I climbed the stairs up to the flat Mother and I shared. By the time I reached the third flight, I regretted deciding to carry them all at once. But I hadn’t wanted to do the four flights up the landing twice.
A jar of fig jam teetered dangerously with each step. But when I tried to stabilize it, my arms trembled from the exertion, sending it closer and closer to doom.
The thud, thud of footsteps warned me someone was approaching from above, which was odd considering my mother and I were the only ones who lived at the top. Perhaps it was the doctor come to check on Mother’s injury. Although, we also owed him money, and our funds were quickly dwindling, reminding me I needed to make a decision fast.
Taking another step, I lost my balance. The fig jam seized the opportunity and rolled off the top of the bag. I caught myself against the wall as it hit the wooden stairs with a thump, then rolled down the steps behind me, gaining speed until it shattered with a jarring thud on the landing to the second floor. I stared, miffed at myself, while flies buzzed, eager to drown themselves in the sweet, sticky jam. Mother loved figs, and the jam was a rare treat that would have brightened her day.
When I turned back around, a tall man dressed in a blue suit and waistcoat stood at the top of the stairs. My mind flashed back to the evening before, the gold and blue I’d seen outside the symphony hall. But there was nothing menacing about the man that stood above me. Thick golden hair framed his elegant face. He raised an eyebrow, his vibrant green eyes going from my full arms to the shattered jar.
“Going up?” He spoke with a slight accent I could not place.
“Yes.” My response came tentatively as I glanced from the jar, back at him. “Apparently I picked up more than I could carry.”
“Apparently,” he repeated, a faint smile coming to his lips. “Allow me.”
An odd aura settled about him, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Whether it was due to his height; the way he moved skillfully, quickly; his deep-set eyes; or the curve of his mouth, my apprehensions about the stranger faded. Closing the distance between us, he took one bag. His fingers grazed my arm, but instead of flinching away, I stood still, captivated by how my skin warmed at the accidental touch. He smelled like fresh citrus, and my mind went to oranges, a rare treat Mother and I had during the holidays, the only time they were in season. That delightful smell made me wistful for the carefree days of my youth.
“Thank you,” I told the golden-haired man, my shoulders sagging with relief.
“It would be rude of me to deny help to a lovely lady.” His smile was small, shy as he pivoted to the side. “I’ll follow you up.”
“It’s just one more flight,” I explained. “I simply didn’t want to walk up and down twice.”
“Nor should you have to. It is quite a march, but I suppose you’re used to it, since you live at the top?”
His amicable conversation set me further at ease, and the fact he’d called me lovely. The citizens of Solynn came in all shapes and sizes, but my rich brown skin and expressive purple hair drew looks and whispers that weren’t entirely welcome. Although, the color of my hair was my own doing, dyed by the pigment from the roots of Maiden’s Blush.
“Yes,” I confirmed. “I’m quite used to it, but Mother fell and sprained her leg. There’s no going up and down the stairs for her.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” The man’s eyes darkened.
“She scared me,” I admitted, finding it easy to talk to him. “Her injury means she can’t work for months, and so we are leaving the city for the countryside.”
There, I’d said the words, and they felt true. All along, the choice I’d needed to make had been waiting for me to speak it out loud.
“Ah.” He hummed, making me realize I was babbling while he was merely being polite.
