Page 11 of Ogres Don't Play

“No, you bent it to that sound. It makes me wonder what you couldn’t do with an instrument. You are extremely talented. I wondered why a person would be elected Singsong City’s music master at such a young age, but now I see that it was completely warranted.”

I was blushing. So hard. I mean, it’s one thing for the Harp’s lieutenant to tell you that your music is powerful enough to lead the way in the next field battle, but another to be told by Rook the Luthier, who studied with elves, that you’re worthy of the position that you flat-out stole. The position I was using to get a custom instrument created by the master of musical instruments. I felt more guilty about my deception than I’d ever felt before.

He took the instrument off my lap and studied me with knowing eyes. Did he know that I was lying? Were those words just a set up for the big reveal? “You’re hungry. You used up a great deal of magic and personal energy to create such a concert. You mentioned sushi. There is a new place down the street. I will bring you some while you wait here. I’m going to lock you up because you need to rest, and you still aren’t entirely convinced that I’m Rook the Luthier.”

I waved a hand away, and it really waved around, kind of disconnected from my body. “Nonsense. I’m fine. I’m hardly going to—” I stood up and then collapsed, or I would have collapsed if he hadn’t swooped me up in his arms and carried me to the room, the one with the bed and all the unfinished instruments, carefully laying me down before I had time to be shocked at being so close to someone I’d sang that miraculous duet with.

“Rest well, Mirabel.” He bowed low, eyes gold and brilliant. “I thank you for your excellent concert. I will remember it always.” Maybe it had made an impression on him.

I tried to push myself off the bed, but his eyes were so heavy, the next thing I knew, my own eyes were closing as he gently pushed me off to sleep.

Chapter

Five

He put me to sleep! The monster! I rolled out of bed before I’d come fully awake, stalking towards the door and reeling slightly as I went. My warpath was interrupted by an exploding fireball that had been roosting on my flower hat, that hit me in the chest and knocked me backwards, on fire.

“Agh! Ouch! You’re burning, Yaga!” I pushed her down and brushed off the flames, which had barely singed my floral kimono. How many days had I been wearing it now? I really needed to change, either in the apartment in the Lydian, or at the Music Hall. Did I dare go back there? How long could Master Cutter lurk?

I quickly stomped out the remaining flames that had caught on the small rug by the bed. It was a pretty wool rug with some swirling green and red flowers that were squat, simplistic, but still charming. Ogre art.

Yaga went out, and I scooped her up, holding her tight for another moment before she squawked and flapped her wings, getting her space. What was she doing here? Not that it wasn’t lovely to see her, but this was a room filled with unfinished instruments that Rook the Luthier was working on. Even if hewas vile for putting me to sleep—twice—he was still making me a custom harp. I literally drooled at the thought of playing a harp created only for me by the great instrument maker.

I walked through the door into the instrument shop and then followed the sounds of scraping to find the pretty ogre working in the reaches past the counter on a piece of curved wood, wearing an apron, pants, and not much else. His smooth pale blue skin was corded with lean muscle that clenched with every scrape of his tool down the length of wood.

“Good morning. You slept longer than I expected. Your sushi is in the back room’s refrigerator. If you’d rather have more conventional breakfast food, there are eggs and bread, although your friend might object to you eating eggs in front of her.”

I looked down into the round eyes of my fire-chicken. She looked up at me, bobbed her head and then flapped her wings, agreeing with how pretty he was and trying to get down. I was angry at him for putting me to sleep, but for some reason, the sight of all those muscles focusing on the creation of my harp diffused all my righteous fury. I tightened my hold on Yaga and cleared my throat. There was no way I was letting her loose in this place. “Ah, about my familiar. I’m not sure how she got here while I slept. She definitely won’t light anything on fire. Will you?” I hissed at her low.

He rumbled a low laugh. “She came pecking on the front door’s glass window a few hours ago. I already took the precaution of spelling the place against fire. Also, all of my instruments are strongly warded against burning. You don’t need to worry about your friend in my shop.”

That was the first time anyone had met my flaming chicken and said it wasn’t any trouble. I wasn’t about to disillusion him. “Um. Thanks. You let her in and put her in my room?”

“Yes. The shop is warded to keep your friend or anyone else from actually materializing on the premises. It’s all the theft, you see. Once I became a name, I also became a target.”

“Thieves are terrible,” I said, lurching as Yaga leapt from my arms and flew to a perch on a tool rack behind him.

He nodded at Yaga like it was normal to have chickens roosting in his shop. “Go and eat. I hope you don’t mind if I don’t join you. Once I’m in process, it’s difficult to stop until I’m at the next point in creation, and you must be very hungry.”

I was. Starving, but what I really wanted to do was stare at the artisan and watch him at his craft. Particularly his bare shoulder and arms, and back when he turned to retrieve a different tool. I wasn’t a very visual person, not when my whole soul was entranced by sound, but the pretty ogre was much more than pretty, shockingly beautiful, really.

My mouth watered, and I realized that I was staring at him, ogling like some females stared at my brother, obvious in their admiration. How embarrassing. I blinked and looked around for anything other than him. “Through here?” I asked, edging towards the door on the far side, past the cellos on the other side of the main counter from the bedroom.

“Yes. Please make yourself comfortable. Anything you need, let me know and I will get it for you.” His voice was even more appealing than I remembered it being, all smooth low tones that reverberated through my skin. I needed to sing with him again, specifically elven love songs.

He’d give me everything I needed? Let me think. I needed a custom harp, a duet, and a half-naked ogre, thank-you-very-much. No, I needed my music hall repaired, my position as Music Master made official, and the mayor to give the hall the taxes due to it for its hard work keeping the city whole.

I made some noise that was somewhere between a gurgle and a hum before I darted for the kitchen, breathing hard forno rational reason other than half-naked ogre creating a custom instrument for me with his bare hands. And bare chest beneath the apron. He made aprons look so good, also bad because I wanted to see what else it was hiding. Pectorals, abs, the whole thing. How many abs did ogres have?

None of my business, but I was dying to see. The kitchen was small, but well-stocked, like he expected to feed a starving music master. There was sushi in the refrigerator, so I ate that first, then went on to whip a few eggs and vegetables into a frittata, trying to clear my mind of all the unnecessary trivialities, like a half-naked ogre creating my harp with his strong hands.

Why was I so obsessed with someone I’d just met? Fine, I’d been obsessed with Rook the Luthier since the first time Hope had seen my harp, the one given to me by the ogre commander and examined it, then oohed and aahhed when she’d seen the skull fleur-de-lis and told me about the greatest instrument maker of all time. The harps division of the Holy Order of the Swords of Truth had three instruments made by Rook, and they were all untouchable by me, but I had my small harp, the beautiful instrument that had stayed with me for longer than any friend I’d ever had.

And now I was getting my own Rook custom harp. It sent a thrill down my spine every time I thought of it. He was also pretty, for an ogre, and his voice, the way he’d sung… I shivered and rubbed my arms before refocusing on my eggs, whisking them until they were frothy before pouring them into the pan and tucking the whole thing into the oven. It was a small thing, but cast-iron, heavy, built for evenly distributing heat. I liked the oven, the whole kitchen really, and him. I didn’t love the way he put me to sleep, but how could I really object when he was making me my own harp? Easy. I said, ‘I object,’ and then I’d escape to the hall where Master Cutter was waiting to publicly reveal my deception. Sigh.

I wandered around the kitchen for the few minutes my eggs took to bake, checking the cabinets, and the broom closet along with the bathroom door where a large shower stood next to a cabinet, which held a variety of men’s clothing neatly folded and smelling of lavender.

I looked down at my floral ensemble and bare feet. He must have taken off my shoes the last time he put me to sleep. Well, if he could be so officious as to determine when I should sleep after he kidnapped me, I could steal his clothes. I’d been on the bed of that hourly motel. I needed to wash my hair and clothes, but first, frittata.

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