Page 7 of Ogres Don't Play

I smiled, trying to mimic his own gentle amusement. “I don’t make deals with terrorists. I refuse to make special allowances for someone whose merits are based solely on her uncle’s ability to force others to his will.” I sniffed and raised my chin, trying to ignore the itchy feeling spreading over my skin at the thought of what kind of bugs were probably crawling around in this room, visible and invisible.

His smile faded. “You refuse a grant for your music hall?”

Until he showed me the money, it was just smoke and mirrors. Also, I didn’t have a hall at the moment. “I refuse to make deals with kidnappers. And she’s an ogre. Without an audition, how could I possibly accept someone who probably has no ear, no tone, no talent?”

He crossed his arms and frowned at me. Finally, a rational expression on his face. “I can arrange an audition.”

I snorted delicately. Right. I don’t snort delicately. “And we’re out on a date eating sushi together. You can’t kidnap people and call it a business meeting.”

“I can. I have several times.”

“You can’t kidnap me!” I screeched at him while my skin shivered from the probable lice that I would never get out of my long hair in a million years. I tried so hard to move, but I could barely shiver. I felt like a bug pinned to a board with him standing over me, judging me, not remotely interested in having his way with me. I was probably more attracted to him than he was to me. Stupid Stockholm syndrome.

He took a step back and his pleasant expression became quite serious, quite severe. “I see. Well, I can’t keep you here in a public hourly hotel until you’ve capitulated, so I will have to render you unconscious. My apologies.” He came forward andthen stabbed me in the neck with a syringe. The nice thing about the potion he’d shot me up with is that it loosened the spell he’d cast on me, or he’d dropped it once he’d administered the drug.

I was in a public place. I started screaming, lurching towards him and the door, but my legs were already long strands of noodles and I only succeeded at tripping and falling into his arms. I took a breath to scream again while looking up at his impassive face.

Instead of screaming, I slurred, “There are silence spells on this room?”

He raised one brow. “It is one of the benefits of having an hourly room. They update their silence spells regularly, otherwise they’d have to provide better insulation.” He picked me up, tossing me slightly, so I was more comfortably in his arms, then snagged my harp and carried me towards the door. My eyes were drifting closed, however hard I tried to keep them open.

“I can see that I approached this the wrong way,” he murmured. I hated how smooth and silky his voice was with this ripple of growl along the edges.

“It’s almost like ogres have no sense of what civilized looks like.”

“Mm. I will have to work on it. We are determined to make civilization an option for anyone who wants it.”

“Such…enlighten…” I drifted off mid-word and probably had the best sleep I’d had in a long time.

Chapter

Four

Iwoke up in heaven. I was lying in a single bed, but it was large, long and wide, like it was made for a large ogre who liked the perfect amount of cushiony support. Above my head, amidst strings of small lights that crossed and criss-crossed the space, hung instruments in various stages of completion. A dulcimer was directly above my head, its peg holes only half completed. To my right, two violins hung by their necks, one missing the bridge, the other raw wood that hadn’t been varnished. There were so many instruments, mostly in the string category, including five guitars in various stages of completion, one cello, and then the harps.

There were harps of so many sizes, small like mine, and one enormous one that took up half the wall, partially gilded because it was going to be one of those fancy show pieces Hope brought on parades. There were also battle harps and more multi-purpose instruments like my broken precious. My hat hung on the top of an enormous bass, the flowers erect even though the hat dangled down. It looked like flowers were still growing from the floppy felt thing in this room of wonders.

On the wall directly behind the bed there were sheets of paper stuck on nails, price lists, customer names, as well assketches of instruments that were like nothing I’d ever seen. One sheet showed a lute with Elven runes carved into it, magic that only one luthier in the world was capable of producing with that much immaculate detail and perfection.

I sat up and grabbed the dulcimer, turning it until I saw the small brand carved into the base of the neck. I’d always thought that the fleur-de-lis looked more like a skull propped on drum sticks than a flower. What in the world was I doing in the shop of the greatest luthier of my time, maybe of all time? Rook the Luthier was the kind of artisan that I could only dream I’d someday be able to afford to have visit the music hall. The instruments at my hall were an overall mess, although Tiago did what he could. There was an organ hall that had been a storage room for who knew how long since it had been operational.

My heart raced and my stomach twisted while anxiety fought with outrage. Did the ogre kidnap Rook the Luthier? I’d kill him!

I rolled off the bed, still wearing my floral outfit, and stalked to the door, surprised when it opened easily. The shop held the finished instruments, an assortment of which stunned me and momentarily eclipsed my rage. Directly in front of me was a massive piano made of twining metal with clawed feet, and I swear it was looking at me with a great deal of menace.

“You’re awake.”

I spun away from the piano to stare at the pretty ogre behind the counter wearing an apron and holding my precious harp.

I raised a hand and pointed at him, struggling to bring my angelic war magic to the surface. It didn’t come. “Don’t touch my harp! Where is he? What did you do with him?” I stalked towards the pretty little ogre, looking for something I could use as a weapon since my magic was bound with whatever spells or potions he’d used on me. He watched me rage towards him without any fear in his eyes. There wasn’t anything I was willing to break to hurt him until I saw metal strings dangling downfrom a holder. I grabbed them and held them like I’d use it to strangle him, maybe rip his head right off his neck with the garrote. For a human, he had a very thick neck, but for an ogre, it was practically delicate.

“What did I do to who?”

“Rook!” I spat. “The Luthier. Where is he? If you hurt him, I’ll rip you limb from limb and take your head and stick it in a spike outside the Square of Immolation for all the tourists to gawk at. Such a pretty ogre. You should be put where people can appreciate you.”

He smiled, showing a flash of those pretty tusks. “Yes, Rook the Luthier recently opened a shop in Song. He’s currently repairing your harp. It’s an interesting make, interesting spelling, very, very interesting. I’ll try not to do any harm to your precious friend.” He smoothed his delicate-for-an-ogre, strong-for-a-human, hands over the wood of my harp while my brain spun and the computations it came to were not adding up.

“You’re…” I stared at him. He was not telling me that he was Rook the Luthier. Except that he was fixing my harp, and all the tools he was using, the way he was using them, barely glancing at my instrument while he smoothed down the joint he’d just made in the wood, like he only needed the slightest attention to do something so simple as to repair an old instrument, made me almost believe his ludicrous suggestion. I’d been kidnapped by Rook the Luthier? My brain shut off.

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