Page 38 of Song of the Dawn
I pressed my lips together. Ginger was right. I would be wise to step away, keep my word, and let Mila go at the end of summer. Her music had improved, and what I had to do was risky and could destroy many, but it wasn’t just my freedom I’d gain; it was the safety and freedom of many more. Perhaps when it was all over, I could find her, later, woo her, make her mine, but for now I had to let her go.
That evening, I went downstairs to watch Mila play. She sat straight-backed on the stool, eyes closed, violin tucked almost lovingly under her chin. Her music was light, sweet, with none of the heavy, sonorous tones I often heard from the violin. She must have sensed the aura of the inn, the need for a distraction to take the guests’ minds off heavy things. Folding my arms across my chest, I pressed myself into the shadows, repeating the words over and over in my mind:Let her go. Let her go.
It was not good for her to be here. I had to let her go, but as she played, a selfishness consumed me. Why should I deny myself the bright spot of happiness that cast sunshine into the shadows reaching out to drag me into despair? Instead of waiting, I should snatch my chance at happiness, and even more so because I felt her desire every time I was around her. At first, there’d also been hesitation, but that had long gone, although I often perceived her curiosity about me. Ginger was right. I had to tell her the truth before she unraveled my secrets. I could only pray she wouldn’t run away.
Scattered applause broke out as Mila finished playing, and she bowed, a satisfied smile on her face. My fingers twitched as she exited the dining hall, and I resisted the urge to go after her. But only for a moment. There were many things I could tell her about the violin, simple tricks to improve her skills. I was doing her a disservice by not telling her, and yet I liked her exactly the way she was.
My long legs carried me quickly through the hall, and I stepped out into the entryway. She was opening the door to the staff’s lounge, and I called out, “Mila.”
The very air shivered around us as she spun, gasped, and then smiled. Her aura of excitement brightened the entire hall, and I crossed the floor to her in two steps, all thoughts of pushing her away disappearing like shadows under sunlight. “I enjoyed your music tonight,” I told her.
“I thought of you as I played,” she admitted, eyes shining.
My gaze flicked to her lips, then back to her eyes. She noticed, and a small sound escaped her throat.
“Listen”—I tilted my head—“I know I originally invited you to stay through the summer, but I’d like you to stay for a while. At least through fall. Play in the evenings and spend your days with me. The harvest is coming up, and I’ll be busy, but afterward…”
I trailed off and drew her into my arms rather awkwardly, since she still held the violin. She tilted her head up at me, thinking, her brow furrowed.
“Will you stay?”
She pressed one hand against my chest, fingers curling around my shirt. “Yes. I’d like that.”
Relief rushed out of me, and with a sigh I kissed her, claiming her lips, licking, tasting, sucking, and then, remembering where we were, and who I was, I pulled back. It was tempting to push into the lounge, carry her up the stairs, and take her. But I wanted to wait and draw out the delicious moments between us. The right opportunity would come soon enough, and I’d gotten her to stay. I’d take it one step at a time.
Mila
As the weeks passed, things changed. Although I expected death to cling to the inn like a shroud, the warmth of the summer sun burned away all traces of evil. As Ezra had promised, the shadow creature with the red eyes was gone. I refrained from going into the cellar, but even when I walked the inn after sundown or peeked out my window at midnight, there were no hunched shapes or lurking shadows. The kiss of coldness and the stink of decay did not greet me again, and soon the foul presence seemed nothing but a nightmare.
Silently, though, I grieved for the two women who’d lost their lives, and while I knew what had happened to Endia now, it seemed unkind to tell Giselle and plunge her into fresh grief. I wondered if Ezra and Ginger stuck to the tale of her running away not only because it was the truth but also because they hadn’t found a body to confirm her death.
Summer descended into fall, and I grew more comfortable in my role, playing the violin. When Mother and Aveline wrote, asking when I was coming to the estate, I replied that Ezra had invited me to stay through the fall. I’d come for winter.
Rachelle was content and happy again. Ezra explained she had a condition that made her forget everything but her most important memories, which was why she had to stay at the inn. Always. But she had the horses, and when a young man came up from a nearby village to work in the barn, she was quite taken with him.
Ginger remained aloof, and I no longer worked behind the bar in the mornings. I was relieved to put more distance between us, although sometimes I’d offer to work if there were more guests than usual. But the height of the summer was over, and slowly the inn became quieter.
The harvest was a busy time, and I barely saw Ezra. I played almost every evening, sometimes with another group of musicians. Fresh ale and wine flowed freely, and the workers celebrated along with the guests. During the most unexpected times, Ezra would find me. All smiles, he’d tug me into a shadowy corner and kiss me until my lips were swollen. I burned for him.
Mila
“What are you wearing to the festival tonight?” Rachelle asked, breezing into my room and flinging herself on the bed.
“Namen made me a dress specifically for tonight,” I said, wrapped in a towel as I walked to my wardrobe.
I pulled out the dress and held it up, careful not to let my wet hair mar its beauty. The gown was more revealing than I would have liked. The pale-pink skirts, although falling to midcalf, were lacy sheers that showed off my legs. The top of the dress left my shoulders bare and hinted at cleavage. It clung to my torso and fanned out around my waist.
“It’s beautiful.” Rachelle bounced on the bed. “You’ll look like a princess wearing it.”
“It’s different from what I usually wear,” I admitted. “And I’m not sure how to do my hair.”
“Let me,” Rachelle gasped. “Come, sit. I’ll make you look like a queen. I only wish I had flowers to weave into your hair. White ones; they’d complement the purple.”
Obediently, I perched on the bed while Rachelle combed through my wet hair, weaving it into a crown of braids on top of my head. It reminded me of being young, when Aveline and I had taken turns braiding each other’s hair before going to school. A lump swelled in my throat as I thought of her and Mother. Winter was far away, and as happy as I was in Lagoda, I missed them. Thoughts of them sharply reminded me of my arrival and the sound of the violin I’d heard for weeks in the beginning. But it had all stopped after the incident. My thoughts sped up, colliding. Why had everything stopped? The shadows, the fear, the coldness, and the violin. Were they all related?
I recalled my brief voyage to the island and Ezra’s words of warning, reminding me not to visit it myself, and yet…I felt as though a mystery was still hidden from me and I could only find the answers on the island. Was that what Endia had run away to find? Answers? My pulse quickened. There was still something odd and off about the Dawn, and the paradise of Lagoda carried secrets. I didn’t feel like I knew them all yet…but Giselle had told me her stories. I knew all the legends and folktales, but there was nothing in the library to confirm those tales. At least, nothing written. Giselle had explained that most tales were told by those who could not read and write, and unless one copied them down, there were no records, only word of mouth. I knew what Ezra had told me about the island, not to go alone, but the shadows were gone, and I was tempted. Something was still hidden from me, and I wanted to know the truth.
“Are you going to the festival with Rabon?” I asked.
