Page 135 of Hell-Bound

“Nephele…where is Calliope?

Nephele went rigid. “Your…piccolo?” he asked, voice raspy.

She giggled. “Who else would I be talking about?”

Nephele sucked in air sharply.

“Songbird, I was hoping you remembered.”

From under the chair, he produced a small box, barely the size of Renata’s hand, and passed it carefully to her. She hesitated—a ringing beginning in her ears. The last thing she remembered before opening the box was the soft texture of its lid, the last pleasant sensation she would have for the rest of the day.

Renata screamed.

Inside were what looked like jagged and misshapen splinters from a fallen tree. She tipped the pitiful remnants of her instrument into her shaking arms.

“What happened to her? When did this—”

Her voice caught in her throat, choking off her next words.

“I don’t know,” he said hurriedly. “I found it that way last night….”

She clutched the pieces to her face, feeling the wetness of her tears as her body shook with sobs.

“I’m so sorry, my love.” Nephele moved to her side. “I know you enjoyed it.”

“Her—not it.”

Renata could barely get the words across her lips as she gasped for air.

Nephele grabbed her arms gruffly.

“Renata, no. Don’t spiral—you are stronger than that,” he said, shaking her slightly. “You will get through this. You should be over these little spells.”

He let go of her arm and turned to walk into the small living area. When he returned, he held out a violin—newly shined and restrung.

“When I found the box with your letter, I decided to get you something to help you forget the pain. Do you like it?”

She swallowed, trying to look grateful and keep her breathing even. It wouldn’t do to show her weakness in front of Nephele. After all, he was so kind to her today.

“I know it’s not your piccolo. But you used to love the violin as a child. I remember you playing for the other childrenat school. Perhaps you could love it again?”

She recalled the images of the happy round faces of her classmates. Indeed, it seemed like everyone preferred it when she played the violin. She had only been playing the piccolo since Calliope came to her during the war. She was certainly better at the violin—more used to it. She looked at its shining exterior and flawless finish. She couldn’t deny that it was such an attractive instrument. Perhaps she was just being dramatic, as Nephele said—she was being weak, and there was so much to love about the violin, wasn’t there?

She loved it once. She could grow to love it again.

Azur

Azur Pelegros was standing among the splintered remains of his office. His power pulsed through him, face glowing like cinders, as he reached down and slung another desk across the room, the impact shattering it into hundreds of pieces.

“She’s gone, Zem. Again.”

His voice was hard.

Ziemia was sitting on the floor where her favorite armchair used to be.

“I know, brother—”

“No! You don’t know!” he said, his fists shaking.

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