Page 4 of Music of the Night
Aria
Adeep voice, edged with anger, growled, “If you promise not to scream, I will release you.”
One teal-blue eye bored into mine as I nodded. The stranger’s pale skin, thick black hair and broad shoulders were all I could make out in the shadows of night. A shock of thick black hair fell over his forehead, yet a blue scarf was tied across one eye. Even in the low light, I spied scars peeking out from the edges, and I shivered. What incident had stolen his eye and damaged his face?
The rest of his face was all sharp angles, high cheekbones, an aristocratic nose. His jaw tensed as he released me, as though waiting for me to scream, claw at him and make a mad dash for my horse.
When I did not scream, he dropped his hand to his side, and that’s when I realized the other was about my waist, firmly trapping me between his hard body and the wall of the tower. As I studied him, sandalwood, candle wax and a faint floral scent emanated off his skin. He was only a man, not a ghost. Samara would be chagrined when I told her the spirit of the tower was only a silly fable, granted, one that was easy to give into considering the gloom and mist that wrapped around High Tower like a mother swaddling a child.
A shuddering breath left my parted lips as I lightly touched his chest. I meant to push him away, but my eyes were suddenly riveted to his white shirt, open at the neck, displaying an expanse of his well-defined chest. I could not tear my eyes away quickly enough. Heat flamed my cheeks and for once I was grateful both for my dark skin and the dark of night which hid my reaction. How ironic was it that instead of a ghost, I’d found an attractive man? Pushing away that pesky thought, I returned my gaze to his scowling face, unsure whether he was angry with me for trespassing or the fact that I’d seen his gift.
“What do you want?” he barked, that one piercing eye studying me with a scrutiny that made me wish I’d changed into something more modest before leaving.
Lifting my chin, I glared right back at him. Instead of fear, I only felt a quickening in my blood. He had something I wanted, and all I had to do was open my mouth and ask. “I heard the music,” I told him. “It called to me, coaxed me here, and so I came.”
His full lips curled and his brow furrowed as he shifted his weight. My cloak had fallen back in the struggle and now his eye slid to my bare neck and the plunging neckline of my gown. Oh goddess, did he think I’d come to seduce him? I squirmed under his stormy gaze.
He must have realized my discomfort, and the fact he pressed me—rather intimately—against the stone wall. His hold loosened, but his scowl darkened. “I haven’t played for hours. Speak, woman. Is there another reason you came? To spy on me?”
Without waiting for an answer, he dragged me away from the wall toward the yawning entrance of the tower. My chest tightened and words tumbled out of my mouth as I stumbled to keep up. “I’m not a spy. Like I said, I heard your song, your music during twilight. Everyone says a ghost haunts High Tower, but you’re no ghost, I didn’t think you were. I was hoping, wishing, praying for a sign and the music led me here. I want to be like you, I want to sing. I want to…” I trailed off, for some yearnings were too personal to reveal to a stranger who seemed furious with me for no reason.
He deposited me inside the entryway, pausing to swing the doors shut. They closed with a boom of finality, sending up a shower of gray dust as they shut out the chill. I jumped and snatched my cloak around my shoulders, hiding the swells of my chest from him. I’d just danced in front of dozens, and yet even on stage the spotlight was always on the singer.
Now the man stood a proper distance away, back to me, arms crossed. Clasping my hands together, I took in the room. What would Samara say when I told her that I’d not only met the ghost but I was inside the haunted tower? It wasn’t dark and dreary like I imagined, and yet it held an aura I couldn’t quite comprehend. Was it a scent, a sound? Something was odd and out of place about it, but my curiosity overrode my doubts.
The atrium of the tower was a perfect circle with a spiral staircase at the back. The stones rose above me and I tilted my head back, watching the staircase disappear into the darkness. What was up there? Bats? Crows? Other demented creatures of the night?
Black drapes hung above the arched windows and tables pushed against the wall, covered with twisting green vines and tall white candles. Hundreds of them. A chandelier hung suspended above us, also lit up with candlelight. They were beautiful as they flickered, reminding me of blue and violet wisps that came out at twilight and hovered above Esrum Bay. Fairy lights, Samara called them, come to guide souls to rest. A dark sentiment but I thought them beautiful as was the tower, even though it smelled like old moss, new flowers and something else odd and achy like iron.
The middle of the room had been carved away into a hole wide enough for three to stand comfortably, and a set of three broad steps led down to it, as though paying homage to the sacred spot.
Near the stairs a table held a collection of green plants, standing tall and steady, even though there was no light to help them grow. The roses I’d seen grow and bloom while the man sang were nothing more than sprouts again. I gasped and pressed a hand to my mouth. It only confirmed my suspicions. The man in the tower had some kind of magical power over music. My longing to learn from him intensified.
“Will you teach me?” I breathed. “To sing like you?”
The man half-turned, his frown deepening. “What I do in this tower is no concern of the living.” His words were bitter, harsh. “Yet you want lessons from me. Why?”
“I saw the flowers,” I admitted. “You made them grow with only your voice. How?”
“My work is important.” He ignored my question and yet he had not kicked me out. He’d only welcomed me into his lair. “I cannot teach what you do not already possess.”
Surely he was conflicted with his thoughts, or this would not be a discussion. All I needed to do was to persuade him that teaching me would be worth his while, even though I had nothing to offer. I stepped forward, and the floor rattled beneath my slippers. My eyes darted to a trapdoor covered with bars. How odd to have a trapdoor at the doorstep of the tower, but the strangeness of my situation couldn’t distract me. Taking another step toward the man, I decided his grumpy attitude nor his attractive face would deter me. Long ago I’d learn the quality of a man could not be judged by his appearance but his actions.
Still, I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit I was enchanted by him, the elusive tower and his seductive music. He had the gift I sought, the song of life budded on his lips, and if he taught me to sing, to enchant an audience with my voice, I’d be free. Free to rise in the world from a ward of the Count to a free woman. I could make a name for myself, build wealth and leave High Tower and its gloominess to return to the city, or elsewhere.
“I can sing,” I told him. Straightening my shoulders, I undid the clasp of my cloak and let it float to the ground. It pooled around my ankles, but I was past embarrassment. There was only the want, the determination to prove to him that I had a gift which needed to be cultivated.
Closing my eyes, I lifted my arms and sang a song of star-crossed lovers determined to be together regardless of station and duty. I thought of myself as a bird in flight, yet my budding voice was trapped within me and could not soar high and wild and free. When I tried to catch the cadence of rhythm, my voice cracked, and a note went sour and flat. Fingers brushed my neck, the touch as gentle as a kiss, and the song died in my throat.
My eyes flew open. He stood over me, barely a breath away, his fingers stroking the veins of my neck as though he could touch the raw music inside me. His one eye was wide and when he met my gaze, the hostility had melted.
“Indeed, you have a gift, all it needs is refining.”
The strange note in his low voice sent a fluttering sensation through my chest. At the same time, I became conscious of what I’d done. Leaving High Tower Castle in the middle of the night was both foolish and dangerous. Samara would be in my room, waiting for me to return, and yet I’d boldly made the decision to follow my heart and seek the haunted tower. I knew nothing about the strange man, and yet instinct told me he would not harm me.
“I’ve seen your face before,” he murmured, his knuckles brushing my cheek and moving my hair away from my shoulders. The touch was so light and intimate I had to remind myself to draw breath again. “You’re the Count’s new ward.”
I loathed those words. As though I belonged to him. A sharp reminder of how indebted I was to the Count’s kindness.
