Page 3 of Music of the Night
When I first arrived at High Tower Castle, another woman had the spotlight. Six months later, she disappeared. Samara informed me she’d returned to the city of Solynn to marry, but rumor was she’d left in the middle of the night, leaving most of her possessions behind. A few months later, Siobhan replaced her with glee, allowing the lords and ladies to fawn and simper over her.
Replacing my slippers, I reached for my cloak and looked back over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. One of the dancers caught my eyes and shook her head ruefully, milk-white hair moving in silky waves down her back.
“You should stay and join the festivities, Lady Aria.” She grinned. “You deserve it.”
A shiver went down my spine. The Count’s theater was famous for its sensual, spellbinding performances and midnight parties that descended into debauchery. After my first night, I declined to partake in the midnight reveries. It was often a masked affair, lords and ladies dressed in their finest with faces hidden, for none wanted to admit how deeply the theater seduced them to give into wild urges, leaving all sense of propriety behind.
Orderly behavior disappeared under raucous laughter, pawning hands, breathy moans and cries of pleasure. I was deeply aware of what took place. Ladies pushed up against the wall, hands under their skirts and the frantic, drunken thrusting. I understood the need for one night of heightened bliss and release, one grasp, one glimpse of a moment that freed one from the tedious boredom of everyday life. Once, I’d wanted to be part of it, but it left me hollow, longing for more, and it frightened me. I wanted more, much more than the parties could provide.
“Another time,” I said.
The girl shrugged, but before she could reply, a wild, gasping scream echoed through the theater. My heart raced and the dancers turned as one toward the wail. It came from behind the curtain, and as I took a step toward it, I recalled the tower. Either I could find out the reason for the cry or search for the tower while they were distracted.
The scream came again, this time drowned out by shouts as the theater descended into chaos. Dancers burst out on the stage, and the men who opened and closed the curtains shouted while Count Zorik ordered the audience to stay calm.
Gliding between the panicked dancers, I snatched up my cloak and dashed off the stage. Ducking into the halls, I almost tripped over a livery boy who scurried around the corner toward the screaming without so much as a “apologies, milady!”
It was late, almost midnight I thought, but I tended to lose all track of time on performance night. Following the winding halls, I made for the entrance of the castle. The halls were wide with vaulted ceilings and arched passageways. Gargoyles and other stone creatures were carved into columns, watching me out of dead eyes. The flickering light only adding to the disturbing gloom. I pressed on, Samara’s warning about walking alone ringing in my ears. Shadows shifted, giving the illusion I was not the only one walking the silent halls. When the double doors of the castle rose before me, my shoulders sagged as tension left them.
Given my scant clothing, I pulled my cloak tightly around me as I stepped outside. I took a deep breath, allowing a faint smile to pinch my cheeks. My soft slippers padded across the cobblestone drive, and I eyed the path that led away from the castle and down into town. I needed a horse, and a fast one.
“Ho there, lady,” a driver called, smoking a pipe as he stood by his horses, waiting in the cold for a lord or lady who might not appear again for hours.
“Saddle a steed for me?” I called, fingers crossed he wouldn’t question me.
Grunting, he moved away, and shortly afterward, led a black horse toward me. I swung into the saddle, took the offered lantern, and spurred the horse down the winding drive before he could say anything. The black gates of High Tower Castle were wide open, welcoming those with the audacity to visit the theater.
The night was bleaker than I’d imagined, and once my mount left the flickering light of the castle, we plunged into darkness. Grateful for the low glow of the lantern, I pushed on, and the mist opened before me, creating a path that led away from High Tower Castle and through the town. It was quiet, hushed under a blanket of sleep with the lulling sound of the Esrum bay, water slapping up against the bank.
Tiny cottages perched close to water’s edge and yellow lights hovered above the water. Sometimes the fishers went out after dark to catch larger creatures that only came to the surface at night, for aside from the theater, High Tower was known for its distinctive fish and other exotic seafood.
I should have been frightened, impulsive and foolish as I was, to flee safety in search of… Music? Yet it tugged on the strings of my heart, pulling me forward. The road forked outside the town, the left-hand path leading down to the coastal road and out of High Tower. The other path led upward, farther in, and, I guessed, to the black tower which hung over the town, watching, waiting, silent. Hidden behind a wall of mist as though it did not wish to be seen.
Silence met my ears as my mount trotted across the meadow, following a dirt road I could not see. Vague shapes appeared on either side of me, revealing themselves as stunted trees when I held up the lantern. The wood was silent, still, without hints of animal life. Magic still hummed in the air, calling me, inciting me. I couldn’t have stayed away if I’d wanted to. A shiver of arousal crawled across my skin, and the woods whispered my name. Come. Aria. Come to us.
The horse slowed, and I coaxed him down to a walk as a faint light appeared. My breath caught as I made out the vague shape of the tower, and I tilted my head back. The structure was immense, yet the shadows of night and clouds of mist hid most of it from my sight. Still, when I squinted, I made out the glow of light that came from within. A sound caught my ear. A musical note, nay a tune sung by a man?
This was the moment of truth. Before I lost my courage, I slid off the horse, and that’s when I heard the voice. Rich, sweet and sensual like chocolate and yet commanding, controlling.
Tying the horse’s reins around a tree stump, I tossed my cloak over one shoulder and ventured closer, well aware I was eavesdropping on who or what created music in the tower. I was fairly certain it was no ghost.
Echoes of music grew louder as I moved closer. Beautiful as it was, I had trouble understanding the words, for it was like nothing I’d heard before. Like the language of trees and nature itself. My heart beat faster, and my fingers trembled as I approached, the whisper of wind egging me on.
The tower was ancient and round, a lone building that once might have been a watchtower before the Count's castle was built. Moss and vines clung to the walls and trailed upward into the darkness. The forbidding double-doors were shut, but an arched window stayed open. The panes of glass had broken, letting in the cool air. But the mysterious singer did not seem to be bothered by such trifles.
I crept closer to the open window, which was difficult to do, given the weeds that had sprung up around it, vines and moss and old leaves and bracken. I stepped on a stick or two, yet the singer continued uninterrupted. Standing on my tiptoes, I peered into the haunted tower.
I could not see much in the dim firelight, so I caught a glimpse of tall, broad shoulders, thick hair, and that was all. A table sat across from the singer where green plants stood tall in a basin of water. I blinked, detecting movement as the plants unfurled, their leaves spreading and growing and then, budding.
My hand went to my heart, and my mouth fell open. I leaned forward, placing a hand on the stones to keep my balance, swayed by the song. Did my eyes deceive me? No. As the music swelled, the plants grew, budding, opening, lifting rose-red faces to the light, to the voice of the singer. My attention turned to the shadow. Who had such power to use a wordless song to make plants grow? My foot slipped against moss and the ground beneath my feet gave way. I pitched backward with a cry, my hands flailing for something to halt my fall.
The music stopped as though a spell had been broken, and I landed on my backside, cursing. My cloak caught and snagged on brambles as I struggled to sit up.
I rolled onto my belly, my hands and knees sinking into the soft earth. The fragile silk of my sleeve tore as I rose and accidentally stepped on it. Curses. Samara would be cross if she had to fix my ruined dress.
No sooner than I regained my feet, a flicker of black hurled itself at me, trapping me against the unforgiving wall of the tower. I opened my mouth to scream, but a black glove clamped around my lips, blocking my air. Trapped by the singer, the ghost within the tower.
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