Page 70 of Sonnets and Serpents
Eliza nodded woodenly, her mind still replaying his words about love. Once out, he couldn’t take them back, which he’d seemed to realize. Silas the love-hater had at least one romantic bone in his body, and the expression of it was more poignant than any poem Eliza had ever read, more real in its rawness and honesty.
Don’t sacrifice the stars for me; watch them beside me.
Silas waved the archivist over and asked about tunnels beneath the university. The man talked about caves at the foot of the cliffs but denied any tunnels, though he was quick to point out other architectural marvels at the university, starting with the Yamakaz and making special mention of the music hall “right here in this building.”
“If you haven’t seen it, you simply must,” he said.
Even distracted as she was, Eliza brightened at the thought of music. Then she forced herself to focus on the task at hand.
But Silas had already moved his weights and rolled the maps. “I know you want to see the music hall. I’m done here anyway, and we can’t manage anything else tonight.”
“It’s not important,” Eliza protested. “We can’t afford to be distracted by ... whims.”
Silas blinked like she’d said something foolish. “You’d rather go back to the dorm and sit in the dark? Neither one will find tunnels, but at least music is said to spark ideas.”
How did he manage to make anything sound reasonable?
“A quick peek,” Eliza said, breaking into a grin.
Silas had been to the music hall before. It was an impressive,domed room, built without pillars to allow the most rhapsodic sound possible. The one performance he’d watched had been enchanting, but Silas didn’t have time to sit through three hours of music when he could be studying instead.
Music echoed from the chamber, the distinct twang of strings belonging to the Pravishkiyum—a small harp with a backing board that rested on the musician’s lap.
Eliza rushed through the doors, and Silas had to jog so he didn’t get yanked along behind.
Once inside, the music swelled in volume, filling the domed room. Six students sat onstage, without instructor or audience. Merely a practice session. All the same, Eliza flew to the stage as if drawn by the most wondrous thing she’d ever heard.
One of the boys saw her and broke into a grin. His playing grew obviously flamboyant, full of unnecessary trills and showy gestures as he dragged his right hand rapidly down the strings and plucked with his left. Silas rolled his eyes.
When the music faded, Eliza applauded. “That was beautiful!”
“Would you like to try?” the boy offered, gesturing at hiskiyum.
Eliza was in his seat almost before he could vacate it. The boy fitted tortoiseshell picks to her pointer fingers, then showed her how to brace her thumb and middle finger around them while holding her other fingers out of the way. Eliza listened, concentration knitting her brow, imitating each gesture he made. He kept his hands around hers while demonstrating how to pluck the seventy-plus strings, and then he stepped back, leaving Eliza to pluck notes on her own. She drew slow but strong notes that rang out over the stage, and the other musicians exchanged approving smiles.
“You’re a natural!” said the boy. He tapped his chest. “Born withkiyumstrings in the heart.”
Eliza grinned. In Loegrian, she said, “I always loved the harp, but this is even better. Listen to the tones!”
It took Silas a moment to realize she was speaking directly to him. He managed a nod, a pleasant warmth spreading through his chest at her individualized attention.
She felt her way up and down the notes, falling into a rhythm that even Silas could hear. Soon enough, it transformed into a familiar song, a Loegrian children’s rhyme.
Then Eliza started singing.
Silas blinked. He’d known the royal family was musically inclined—at least the queen was. He’d often heard his father complain about yetanothermusical exhibition at court. But Silas had spent more time in school than at court events, and if he’d ever attended an exhibition where Eliza had performed, he’d no doubt snuck a book in and read through it.
But he was focused now, listening to music pour like a waterfall from a girl who sparkled in the spray of it. The music itself was simple, yet her passion was the opposite, filled with depth and complexity.
She had all the other musicians beaming, and by the time she reluctantly returned thekiyumto its owner, he’d obviously assumed she was a new student in the music department.
“We’ll see you in class,” he said. “I look forward to it!”
Eliza blushed, ducking her head.
When she and Silas exited the building onto campus, the evening air had softened the sun’s heat, and the university buildings carried the warm glow of sunset. From the corner of his eye, Silas noticed Eliza’s fingers moving in front of her, still plucking notes.
“You should attend the university,” he told her. “Study music. Clearly you have a talent for it.”
