Page 167 of The Kiss Of Death
I fucked up.
They hated it.
I bowed, finally noticing the tears staining my cheeks and the cut on my fingertip, blood seeping out. As I turned to leave, Jared Kravinsk’s voice called out to me.
“Why this composition? Your passage was rapid; you played twelve notes per second, with intricate bowing techniques full of wide leaps and double stops, but…” My skin prickled. As one of the greatest composers of our time, he likely viewed myperformance as an insult. “This is a mess. You’re treating your violin roughly, defying all the rules, and injuring yourself.”
I smiled. It was now or never. “I wasn’t aiming for perfection, but to let my music echo so resoundingly in the heavens that it would be felt, piercing souls. Emotions aren’t flawless, so neither should music be.”
He let out a thoughtful hum, and Mr. Delgado motioned for me to leave.
I exited the stage and waited, trapped with the other students in a room for the judges’ verdict. No one was allowed to enter or leave the room, and our nerves wound tight with the weight of our futures hanging in the balance. Each of us yearned for the lead spot or simply a place in the orchestra.
Hours passed before Mr. Delgado finally emerged, drawing a frenzied crowd as he posted the results. I hung back, my heart sinking at the sight of only eight names on the list.
“Aren’t you curious?” Mr. Kravinsk appeared beside me, his dark complexion contrasting with his fiery hair.
“Yes,” I replied, my throat tight. “I hope my interpretation didn’t offend you, sir.”
“Let’s just say it left an impression,” he said, his tone measured. “But truth be told, I wouldn’t have chosen you for my orchestra.”
I gulped, avoiding his gaze.Don’t lose hope.
“However,” he continued, “Mr. Delgado insisted I’d be a fool not to include you. According to him, he hasn’t seen a soulful interpreter like you since, well, himself.” He chuckled. “He referred to you as the next Paganini. To inherit such a compliment, you must be his favorite student.”
“What?” I gasped, my hair standing on end. That didn’t make any sense. Did I hear him correctly?
“I’ll see you soon.” Jared smiled, heading to see another student.
I surged in the direction of the result board, my heart pounding in my chest while Gunther emerged from the throng.
“I’m the second piano!” he shouted, his voice trembling with joy.
“Congratulations!” I hugged him. “Do you know if anyone else from our year made it?”
He nodded, his grin widening. “Yes, one more person.”
Making my way to the results board, I scanned the names. First violin: third-year student. Second violin: another third year. I checked each section of the orchestra until I found my name at the very end.
“Yes!” I cried out.
But there was more. An asterisk was beside my name.
Dalia Mercier: Cadenza.
I’d perform a cadenza. A virtuoso solo passage of my own. It was an honor reserved for the most skilled musicians. And that cadenza was created only for me.
“Oh my god, oh my god!” I leaped forward and bolted toward the exit.
I’d play in Pantheon’s Winter Orchestra!
I weaved through the courtyard alcoves, seeing Mr. Delgado shaking hands with a few students. As soon as he had the chance, he left, wiping his hands with hand sanitizer. I considered catching up with him to thank him, but I stopped in my tracks. He probably wanted to be alone. Instead, I offered a smile from afar, which he didn’t return.
You won’t regret it, sir. I’ll work harder than before.
I approached the gardens, where students either napped under the open sky or engaged in a volleyball game. I spotted my friends gathered on a picnic blanket on the grass and skipped toward them.
Sylas stood tall, a drink in his hand. “Within Pantheon’s halls, I found myself. In those three years, I made some great friendships, found love, and—”
