Page 45 of Song of the Dawn
Tucking my hair behind my hair, I explained, “Inappropriate for women. In the city, there aren’t many natural bodies of water. Most of the pools and lakes are man-made or on estates. Children can play in them when they are young, but to find a woman bathing in public is a crime because of the nudity. They say it tempts men and a true woman would never use water to tempt a man to take her virtue.”
Ezra snorted. “That is preposterous. It sounds very much to me like the government in the city is given over to ridiculous rules.”
“They are,” I said. “Most of the time it’s because someone wealthy complained, and because their funds hold sway over politics, they often get their way. Is it not the same where you come from? Doesn’t money rule the whims of men?”
“It depends. Usually power is stronger than money, and strength.”
With the way he spoke, I had the distinct feeling he wasn’t talking about power from authority but something else, invisible, unexplainable. But I did not ask for clarification as he poured me a glass of wine.
Passing it to me, he moved closer. “Tell me, what was it like growing up in the city?”
I shrugged. “I have nothing to compare it to, so I have no complaints.” But even as I spoke, the haunting memories came whispering back. The teasing voices, the fingers pointed at Aveline and me for being peculiar, poorer. We hadn’t had maids in the house, nor could we have partaken in the extracurricular activities the wealthy did. Even though Mother had spared us, we’d gone to work as soon as we could contribute. I was much happier outside of the classroom, grown up and able to pursue my own passions. And I would not let the lingering bitterness of the past mar the pleasure of the present.
Ezra watched me closely before taking a sip of wine. “We do not have to speak about the past.”
Oh. I’d forgotten how he could sense feelings. Perhaps he perceived the shadow that had hung over me just then.
“The scrolls of the philosophers you told me about arrive today.”
“Scrolls. Not books?”
Ezra rewarded my teasing with his smile. “Yes, well, books are more practical, but I like the idea of scrolls, unrolling parchment to see the words laid out for me.”
“Are you studious? Do you aim to write your own manifesto as those great philosophers once did?”
“Perhaps I shall, when I understand life more fully,” he quipped. Moving to the edge of the pool, he lifted a strawberry off the platter of fruit. “For now, I am content to share the delicacies of this life with you. Have you had fruit dipped in chocolate?”
I let the sweetness of the wine hover on my tongue before swallowing it, and tingles raced up and down my spine. Between the wine and the water, I felt as light as a feather, as if I would float away. “I’ve had fruit, and I’ve had chocolate, but never together.”
“Well, you’re missing out. Let me fix that.”
After dipping the strawberry in a bowl of melted chocolate, he held it to my lips. I took a bite, and a symphony of flavor exploded in my mouth. My eyes widened as I stared at him, and I devoured the rest whole.
“That is marvelous,” I said, mouth full, not caring.
Ezra chuckled. “Have another.”
We dined on fruit and chocolate, and soon I lost count of the glasses of wine as we spoke about mundane things and basked in the water. And with each glass of wine, I moved closer to him, hungry again for his lips, his touch, as though it would never be enough.
“Your hair is purple,” he said at one point, his fingers lifting the wet ends out of the water. “Why is that? I told myself when I first saw you, the woman with the purple hair, ‘That is unusual and attractive. I must know her story.’ Why purple?”
Heat covered my chest, and it wasn’t from the water alone. I inclined my head toward his, my pulse pounding. “I’ve always stood out. As a child, as a young woman, it was hard to fit in with others. Especially women my age. I decided, once and for all, to solidify how different I am. I’ve never wanted to be anyone other than myself, and the way people judged me before they got to know me did not feel right. At least let them judge me for being bold and sure of myself. I went to the gardens and gathered Maiden’s Blush. Aveline helped me soak the roots and dye my hair. Afterward, no matter how many times I washed it, the color never came out. It grows purple now.”
He gazed at me with his soulful eyes. “Do you regret it?”
“Never,” I breathed.
His eyes roamed over me. “It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”
When he kissed me, the truth of his words seeped into me, and I floated into him, allowing him to take me, possess me. The thought occurred to me as we broke apart, gasping, that I did not want a short-term fling. A brief attraction fueled by lust, mistaken for love.
I wanted something real and beautiful and passionate. Something I could not walk away from. I stared into Ezra’s forest-green eyes, for he was the answer, the missing part of my soul. That knowledge was both intensely terrifying and riveting. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, I wanted him.
Mila
The wild cry of the violin played, low and sorrowful, haunting. I gasped, then leaped out of bed and opened the window. Enchanting music drifted to my ears, music I hadn’t heard in weeks. It was wondrous. Beautiful, making my heart yearn for more. How could one play with such soul, such aptitude?
The haze of falling in love and the glow of finding where I belonged lessened as I recalled why I’d come to the Dawn. It wasn’t to fall in love or discover its secrets; it was to pursue music, and somehow, along the way, I’d lost sight of my goal. I’d become complacent instead of focused on bettering myself. Even my afternoons of practice had become shorter and shorter as I’d walked the gardens or assisted Giselle or daydreamed about Ezra. The distant violin reminded me I could be more. Given the right motivation, I could go beyond the shallow knowledge I possessed and learn how to play from the soul.
