Page 15 of Music of the Night
“You could sell your body while you’re young and pretty.”
“Easier than maid’s work with those chapped hands and sour faces.”
Bile threatened to spill out of my mouth and I shrank in upon myself, recoiling from vulture-like fingers.
The door banged open and my head snapped up.
A man walked in, a fierce scowl marred his face. “Fools!” he cried. “Aria is a lady of noble birth. How dare you offer her a servant’s position.” He bowed to me, a hand on his heart. “My lady, the sale of the house will cover your father’s debts. You are free.”
Free. I stumbled to my feet, my gaze flickering to the open door. The men stepped back, cowed into submission, but their dark thoughts poked and prodded at me. I had to leave, run, get away before they took me against my will. I fled, out the open door and down the street.
“Aria! Lady Aria!”
“Come back here.”
I twisted down another street and their shouts grew faint. I kept running, headed toward the part of town where they wouldn’t look for me, where lords and ladies rarely went. It was cold, frozen, and my fingers went numb. My shoes were thin and I had no cloak, not even a penny to my name. I ran into a man who pushed me into a muddy puddle, he whipped his horses up, shouting about utter filth. Crawling to my knees, I surrendered to utter grief.
“Aria. Aria!”
The voice calling my name sounded so far away. I was frozen back in that place. I could smell the dung in the street, the press of unwashed bodies and feel the gnawing deep in my stomach. A wave of dizziness came over me, I would be sick if I did not get food, or a place to lie down and soon. Salty tears lingered around the corners of my mouth and I wiped my nose, which would not stop running. It was cold. Oh so bitterly cold.
“Aria. Aria!”
Was it Count Zorik? Come to save me?
A hand stroked my cheek and my eyes flew open as an arm came around my waist, breaking the spell. A sob burst from my throat, my eyes watering as a surge of relief rode me. I was in the tower, standing among the glowing candles, and he was holding me. Uriah. I clutched his shirt as my frantic breathing slowed and I returned to reality, deeply conscious of the way our breaths rose and fell together, and the feel of his arm around my waist, holding me tightly.
He cupped my cheek, guiding my gaze toward his, and in his face, I saw recognition and wonder. It was like seeing him naked, raw and without boundaries for the first time and I thought I detected a wet glimmer in his eyes. Was he moved by the music as I was? But what had just happened? I’d gone back to a terrible moment in my life and yet, it had produced such beauty. I’d never sung like that before. It had to be the magic of the tower.
“It has awakened,” Uriah whispered, his thumb brushing my parted lips.
My head lolled back and my lips opened further, wanting more, more than just a caress, more than a touch.
“What happened?” I whispered, meeting his gaze, wondering if he felt what I felt, the union of souls, as though we were one and the same with a knowing that went beyond, far beyond conversation or conventional measures.
“The music. The gift. The magic. It is within you.” His voice was ragged, breathless, and his arm tightened around my waist. “I’ve never seen the tower take to someone like this. I thought it might happen in a few months, but not this quickly. You are, indeed, gifted, but the tower will ask you to use its gift in return.”
I licked my lips, unsure what he meant. “How? Why? Where did I go? It was like I was in my past and… I could see it, touch it, sense it. The smells, the sensations were all real, too real.” I shivered.
He blinked, glancing away. “It always is. You have wounds in your past, something the music latches on to. It is only when you have a deeply emotional moment that the music can build in you and become great. It is your connection to that moment that makes it powerful, for when we experience a range of raw emotions, only then can we sing with all of our hearts, all of our abilities. If we throw everything into the notes as though the song and only the song will save us, then the purest form of magic is created.”
I’d never heard him talk so much. “Our tragic pasts make us great?”
“Yes.” He paused, his gaze lingering on my lips. “I could not have told you this, you had to experience it for yourself. And now every time you return to that moment, you will sing as never before.”
That moment. But I never wanted to return to that moment. I frowned. “I have to think of the most painful moment in my life in order to sing?”
It explained the intensity of the music I heard from the tower, the loneliness, the anguish. Was pain truly the magic behind the music, because if so, I did not want it. I closed my eyes briefly and even catching a flash of what had happened to me was too much. If I were to sing, I’d break down each evening. Especially if Uriah wasn’t there to bring me back. I’d become lost in my own thoughts with nothing to anchor myself to the present moment.
As if he sensed what I was thinking, he rested his hand against my neck, brushing my wavy hair off my shoulder. “Yes, it is always like this, deep and painful magic, but you have to bring yourself back each time. You have to find a memory strong enough to remind you of who you are, or else the music will rule you.”
I knew. I knew right then who I would think of each time, and the strength of my emotions shocked me. “What do you think of?” My voice fell as something else rose. Longing. A deep yearning. More than anything, I wanted his lips on mine. I wanted his pain and passion, and I wanted to take the memories he filled himself with at twilight and burn them away with pleasure.
“I torment myself, day after day, but I will admit, it has become easier, now that you are here,” he said.
Those words gave me hope that it wasn’t just one-sided. How could it be? The way he held me so tightly and stroked my exposed skin. Angling my head, I took a deep breath and leaned forward, lifting my lips to his.
He froze, his gaze flickering from my lips to my eyes. When he spoke, his voice was shaky. “Are you sure?”
