Page 60 of Ogres Don't Play

When I saw her black eye, I stood up, gasping. “Lanise, what happened?”

“Crowd control. You need control music.”

Yaga fluttered up from her place on the back of my chair and landed on Lanise’s shoulder, cooing like she was worried about her. Then she tried to peck the purple swollen eye, and Lanise rumbled a laugh as she batted the chicken away.

“Not blueberry.”

I caught Yaga as I stood. “What do you mean, crowd control?”

“Goblins fight fairies.” She pointed to her eye. “Werewolf throw violin.” She shook her head and smiled maliciously. “I throw werewolf. Goblins, Fairies, run fast.”

“Oh. I thought you meant that I did something to mess with the audience.”

She shrugged. “Make feel too much. Anger. Happy. Need control music.”

“How am I supposed to do that? I didn’t work a spell on anyone, I just played.”

“Not play if not control.”

“I can’t not play.”

“Play alone.” She crossed her arms and glowered at me.

Frustrated, I took my harp and Yaga, and went to my room to play alone. She let me be alone, probably because an ogre was hanging out on my deck. I could see his silhouette and it made me ache terribly for Rook the Luthier. But look at me, resisting the lure of the harp for the sake of my soul. Also because long-term, it just wouldn’t work, however lovely it would be tonight.

I played my harp, not paying attention to notes, just playing how it had felt with him in the back seat of the car, the conflict of desire and logic, struggling to not feel so much.

I was broken out of my playing by a distant roar, deep, anguished, echoing how I felt. My hands slipped from the strings and I sighed heavily. I was acting like a lovesick fool, playing my heart when I should be sleeping. I had another day at the Jubilee tomorrow. And it was bound to be stressful.

Chapter

Twenty

The mayor’s box looked over the main stage very nicely. The room was catered, and the mayor was explaining through gestures that exuded grace and sparkles that the last night’s performance was an expression of the joy and freedom that all the citizens felt just by being part of our wonderful city.

“We are safe, with the finest guards, to make sure everyone’s comfortable,” he said to an elven girl who looked down her nose at him and his sparkly aqua wings. She looked familiar. Had she been at the mayor’s hall the first time I’d made the stupid mistake of trying to get funding from him?

“Only some people are comfortable around ogres,” she said stiffly. Not her, oh no, because she was a classy elf girl.

“Princess Tarilee, whatever you think about ogres, you must admit that they have been exceptional bodyguards with a focus and determination second to none. When I determined that we needed a task force to ensure the safety of everyone at my Jubilee, I decided to spare no expense and hired the finest ogre guards that money can buy.”

Ooh, a princess. No wonder her nose was so long and elegant, and she was so talented at looking down her nose even at fairieswho floated slightly above eye level. She glanced at another elf, a male who was all silvery and pale green, pale hair, pale eyes, like a waterfall in spring.

“As if the mayor’s budget existed before you got that Rook fellow to sponsor,” Delphi, the reporter, murmured in my ear. She was supposed to have elf blood, but she didn’t look down her nose at anyone. She was rare indeed.

I shot her a smile. “No idea what you’re talking about.” I started edging towards the door. I needed to get back out on the floor. I somehow didn’t see the tall silvery green elf until I’d stepped on his slippers. His goblet of elixir spilled on both of us while I stood there with a smile pasted on my face.

“So sorry,” I said, offering him a bow and attempting to clean up. “You must excuse me. I’m just so impatient to get back to work. Being Singsong’s music master is a thankless job. The coffers are never deep and hungry musicians never sleep. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in donating to a truly noble cause, such as music.”

His brow rose, which was a lot of expression for some elf. “Are you shaking me down for money? What do you offer in return?” Interesting. Usually elves were much more delicate about tacky things, like discussing money.

“How about a commemorative bench right in the back courtyard?” I was never delicate about money, not when it came to my hall.

“A commemorative bench. Hm. Would it have my name on it?”

“Of course! And whatever design goes with your house. No expense spared for our donors.”

“Hm. I will consider it. Your concert last night was…disconcerting.”

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