Page 32 of Music of the Night
“Very well then.” Zorik nodded, clasping his hands together. “You look quite beautiful in that dress.”
So that’s how it would be. He would ignore the fact that he’d lost his temper? “Thank you.”
His hand went to his pocket. “I brought you a gift, a necklace I thought would go quite well.” His gaze lingered on the ruby stone around my neck, and his mouth tightened. “Here, this one will suit better.”
He held out the box and inside lay a necklace of jewels. Diamonds caught and glittered in the light, reflecting the velvet surfaces of the room and mirroring everything it came in contact with. When it caught the light of the ruby, the necklace turned blood red, and a lump swelled in my throat. “It’s beautiful.” I stumbled over my tongue at a loss for words. “But… I can’t accept such a gift. I’ve done nothing to deserve it.”
Zorik’s brows knitted together, mouth hardening into a scowl. His eyes darkened as though he were a god of thunder about to bring lightning down on my head. I had no desire to wear the necklace he offered, worried about what accepting such a gift would mean to him, yet I couldn’t deny its worth. It would catch a high price in the city. Perhaps enough for room and board and food while Samara and I sought work at another theater.
“You don’t have to do anything to deserve it.” Zorik took slow steps toward me, like a predator circling its prey. “I took you from the streets, and in exchange, you gave me your voice, you fill my theater with music and gold coin flows aplenty. It is only fair that I give you a share in the wealth.”
He was so close I smelled his musk, and the hairs on my neck stood up straight. Did he know I was frightened of him? And yet, he would not hurt me before the performance. Would he?
Placing the box with the necklace on the vanity, he placed his hand on the wall beside me, trapping me in place. I fought to control my breath as I stared up at his dark eyes, which went down, darkening, hungry as he studied my neck. He leaned closer still, his breath on my neck. “I know your secret, Aria,” he whispered. “I know what you’ve done.”
I almost screamed. Panic fluttered in my breast and my heart kicked, hard. I made a small sound, hoping, praying I would not break down and cry in front of him. My limbs trembled as he moved away, his gaze going to the broken vase. “I’ll send someone to clean this up.”
And then he was gone, leaving me alone, shaking with fear and fury.
29
Aria
The haunting melody of the orchestra wormed its way through the walls of the dressing room, giving me strength as I caught my breath. What was it about Zorik that frightened me, and why the sudden gift? I glanced at it, the diamonds shimmering and cascading, a necklace worthy of a talented singer. I knew why I did not want it.
Father used to indulge me with expensive gifts, diamonds and sapphires and silk gowns. I wore beauty like a shroud made of possessions, and ultimately it led to downfall. Everything was fine until one trade went wrong, a ship sunk, pirates took another, and my father began to borrow. The next endeavor would be successful, and it was, but not enough to pay off the creditors who came round more and more, to take, to remind, to hover with their presence. The stress of it killed him, and I had no idea. I hadn't helped, hadn't stood up, spoiled with nothing to give, I'd watched it happen with a helplessness which increased my grief, because somehow I believed it was my fault. If I wanted less, if I had been able to stand up and fight them, to do something, everything would’ve been okay. Now, at a crossroads, listening to the pull of the music, I felt that same frustration, crying out, a clawing out. I was stuck, trapped, and yet I wanted, needed to escape, to take my future into my own hands. What could I do?
Leaving my dressing room and the diamond necklace behind, I moved through the rustling curtains, the dancers and their shimmering skirts. A pure note kissed the air, the threads of it pulling me, compelling me. I glided onstage to the bright spotlight. Silence swept across the audience as I closed my eyes, opened my mouth and let the magic surge out.
It filled me and I gave like an endless vessel that could not overflow. Song flowed out of me as the story unfolded through song and dance. The hours passed, each one rich, ripe, heartbreakingly beautiful. As I sang, a hope so vivid and cruel pierced my heart and my resolve rose. I would do anything, everything to rise above my situation. I would not be the victim again. There was magic, a song within me which would allow me to fight off pain instead of succumbing to it.
The curtain went down, and I had a moment to breathe, the dancers to rest and stretch before the epiphany of the performance, the final song. The duet. I took a sip of water before taking the stage again. As I left the dressing room, a strange scent hung in the air, a faint hint of rotting moss and water. I paused, then let it slip from my mind as I took the stage, allowing the magic to simmer in my belly.
Shadows swirled as I glided to the middle of the silent stage, hands clasped, waiting for the signal. A haze covered the stage, slow tendrils of mist moving as though it were alive, snaking around my ankles. The mournful strings of the violin played. Straightening my shoulders, I tilted my head and began to sing. The cadence of rhythm flowed out of me, hushed and sweet yet filled with a desperate longing. I recalled the magic within, the way I'd felt when I'd opened my eyes to see the roses burst into bloom. That light, that love was all there and the edges of a shimmering luster.
A sudden chill took me as another voice began to sing the male portion of the duet. Opening my eyes, I turned as a man walked out of the shadows toward me. Rich, deep tones wafted across the stage, mixing with the trills of the flute, the deeper bass of the strings and the somber tones of the trumpets. I held out my hands to the mysterious man, lulled, thralled by the sway of the music. His voice wrapped around me like the arms of a lover, pulling me deeper, taking me on to an unknown destination. My body came alive with that pull, reasoning left behind, only to sing, spellbound in that pleasure.
The light grew as the man came closer, singing a melody that wooed my heart. Robes of crimson and black swept the stage and when the light reached him, I saw the mask. A blend of obsidian and gold and his face, chiseled like alabaster, that face I'd know anywhere. It was Uriah… But how?
Shock stroked my loins and my doubts fled as I reached out to him. Emotion filled my song, twisting into a tune of anguish. The orchestra played along as our voices lifted and soared before intertwining, as they had on so many occasions.
He was so close I could reach out and touch him again. Oh, to be filled with his essence, his gift, his magic. It surged around us. When our fingers touched, a bolt of pure desire shot through me and the volume of my voice increased until we were the roaring of the waves, the shout of thunder, the fury of the wind and the intensity of fire.
The whirl of magic crescendoed. Resting my hands on his forearms, I tilted my head back so I could sing to him, as we'd once done. His long fingers gripped my waist as he drew me closer, as though he would take me right then and there, in front of the watching audience. Dimly, amid the swirl of magic, I became aware that I was giving Uriah exactly what he wanted. This must be what he meant. One final song, not that I sang to him, but that we sang together, our magic united, unfurling, flowing out of us with a potent strength that would do… Something. I remembered how the flowers grew; the candles danced, and I felt compelled to sing and dance, as though the magic owned me body and soul. When it had me under its control, I was nothing more than a willing puppet and he was the master who ruled the magic.
All along, had he been using me? Baiting me? Dragging me under his control so he could use me for this? A sudden need to act, to do something, to break the spell came over me as he closed the gap between us. I met his eye, and a question lay there as he pressed a hand against my cheek.
A sob threatened to break the flow of my voice and yet I pushed, straining for the moment when I had to belt out the last note and hold it. The climax of the song and perhaps something else unknown? My voice climbed higher, nostrils flaring as I moved my hand up his sculpted chest, touched his shoulder and then felt the vibrations of his voice pouring out of him. When I'd first heard it, I thought it was the voice of an angel, so perfect, so exquisite, enough to disguise the horrors.
His voice climbed with mine until we reached the last note and held it in an outpouring of emotion. My fingers flicked upward, grazing the edges of the gilded mask. Before he could react, I tore it from his face.
30
Aria
Ashriek pierced the air, followed by others as the audience rose amid gasps and cries. The orchestra broke off, a sour note strummed as lords and ladies strained for a better view.
“It’s him! The ghost!”
