Page 17 of Music of the Night
“I don’t want your pity.” His voice was rough as he moved into the room. “You asked, and now you have an answer.”
Pity was part of what I felt as I followed him into the room, a blast of warmth enveloping me. He had pain, too much pain to draw from, and yet, I saw what others had turned a blind eye to. He was a man, a mortal with a range of emotions too, and perhaps the pain of his past made him stronger. But it wasn’t fair for him to be trapped in the tower. Why? But I sensed that part of the conversation was over as I walked into the room.
The space was small, but somehow, he’d made the semi-circle homey. A low fire cast light across the room, and long candles floated on the walls, adding a gentle glimmer, like fairy lights, to his chamber. The scent of cedar and amber and candle wax filled the air. Candles and chandeliers hung from the sloping ceiling, some lit, others dark, while green vines covered the walls. Red roses added bright spots of color to the cream and black aesthetic of the room. To one side was a bower, a bed thick with furs against the vine-covered wall, a writing desk covered with letters and a chest filled with clothes, food, something else? I could only imagine.
“I do not entertain much,” he said, placing the one chair before the fire. “Sit, I will make some tea.”
I perched on the chair, soaking in the fire's warmth and turning over what he’d shared. Soon a fragrance that was both sweet and salty filled the air. It was a scent I could not place but had a slight tang of lemon. Uriah pressed a cup into my hands and sat down, cross-legged in front of the fire, adding wood to encourage it to flare up again.
“What about you?” he asked, breaking the silence. “What about before? You told me about Solynn but I sense you did not tell me all.”
I sighed, remembering that fair city. We lived close to the outskirts, in a beautiful town where a governess gave me lessons and scolded me when I played in the garden and ripped my fancy dress. I recalled the stink of the air, the smell of too many bodies close together. Not like High Tower, where it was fresh and wild, almost enchanting. “I lived in the city with my father who made his fortune in trade goods. We were in debt. I did not know how badly until father passed and I was kicked out of my own home.” My face went hot as I remembered the gleam of the debtors’ eyes, the rush of fear and adrenaline as I fled, the pitying glances of the people who watched, too frightened to lend a hand. “I lived on the streets with the beggars until Count Zorik sent for me. Apparently, his reply to my father’s letter with an offer had been lost, but it doesn’t matter, I’m here now.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
I blinked and met his eye. A retort rising on my lips. “I don’t ask for pity.”
“It is not pity.” He took a sip of tea, steam curling around his hair. “I recognize your pain, why you sing.”
“Is there no other way?” I leaned forward, fingers anxiously tapping the mug. “For the magic to work?”
He half turned away. “I’ve tried, but nothing else works.”
I sat back, unable to keep the misery out of my eyes. “How do you do it, every night? Play the music without it driving you mad?”
He sat the tea down and moved closer. His fingers grazed my knee. “Because I have a purpose. I know what it is, and that keeps me going.”
I wanted him to say more, to tell me, but he’d already revealed so much of himself to me that evening. I sensed he would not say more. Taking my cup of tea, he set it on the hearth and pulled me to my feet. He turned me in his arms until I faced the doorway. “Look around,” he said, pressing one hand against my hip. “It has been a lonely existence, but I have a truth I hold to, which keeps me going. You will have to find the same if you wish to keep singing.”
I closed my eyes, resting my head about his shoulder while I enjoyed the sweet sensations his hand created. Slowly, his fingers inched up my dress, and I had no desire to stop him. The magnitude of his presence was enough as he nipped at my ear and then kissed my exposed neck, first biting, then licking. I could only imagine the loneliness he felt. It was the same stark fear I’d faced, cold, alone, homeless, wondering where I’d get my next meal. And now, although safe, I did not belong; I wanted more, so I’d never return to that dark place of panic and need and tears. And his very touch made me feel safe, wanted, as though nothing bad could happen to me ever again. That’s what I wanted.
My lips trembled, and he spun me to face him, devouring my lips again, his hands roaming up and down my dress, seeking, searching for my fevered skin. I held on to him as he maneuvered me to the bed.
14
Aria
The candles burned low and the gentling hissing and popping of the fire was the only sound, aside from our gasps as he guided me down onto the bed of furs. He lay on top of me, holding his weight with his elbows while I lay between his legs. A thousand sensations fired through me along with a deep need, an unending want that went beyond lust. Now that I knew his story, his heated kisses meant more, a life of pain and this night of pleasure. I craved him, needed him to make the bad thoughts go away, to erase the memories and leave nothing on my mind but the stamp of pleasure. I opened my mouth, eyes glazed over, chest heaving as he rose to his knees, running a finger down my cheek, tracing a line down my neck and further still to my open dress. It was thin silk, for my cloak kept me warm out in the wintery weather. Faintly I heard the low moan of wind twirl around the tower and I imagined the waves were high, but I was safe, warm beneath him.
My eyes flickered open as he palmed my breast and my nipples ached. They were hard, likely poking through the silk, and I shifted. A sudden impulse to spread my legs and let him take me made me breathless. “Please,” I whispered, breath catching.
Pausing his caress, he met my eyes. “Please?” He raised an eyebrow, daring me to beg.
“Don’t stop,” was all I managed to get out, arching my back, pushing my body toward his.
“If you wish it, Aria.”
My name on his lips sent delicious tremors through my body. He pressed his mouth over my erect nipple, the material of my dress muting the pleasure as he licked, slowly, then used his fingers to rub my nipples, forcing them to harden as though they would explode. Soft whimpers of pleasure left my lips as he pulled my dress down further, exposing the swells of my breasts. But it was as far as the dress would go, still fastened at the back. He trailed wet kisses down my skin and I struggled beneath him, relishing the pleasure and yearning for more, much more. When his lips met mine again and his tongue pressed into my mouth, I almost cried out.
In one skillful move, he pulled me to my feet without breaking the kiss, his arms secured me, undoing the ribbon and buttons that bound me in my clothes. They came loose, and I sighed, reaching up to cup his face, to trace the line of his jaw and touch the scars I could see. He froze but did not flinch, passion burning brightly in his teal-colored eye. His nostrils flared as I drew his head down and kissed him, tasting the sweetness of his lips, the fire beneath his skin. He bit my bottom lip, gently, then roughly, his hands moving my dress away, pushing it down my body until I stood naked in front of him.
A rush of shyness came over me and I ducked my head, using my hands to cover my breasts and my damp cleft.
“No.” His breath was strangled, and he took both of my hands and pressed them to my lips. “You are beautiful in every way. You never need to hide.”
Words. But I could tell he meant them, and so I held my head up high, my hair sliding down my shoulders. My large, round breasts were so close to his chest, they almost brushed.
“Your turn,” I teased, my fingers going to his shirt, unbuttoning it further.
