Page 25 of Song of Sorrows and Fate

I remembered the shadows all around me. The opened gates at Hus Rose. I rememberedhim. A man in a mask with smoky storms in the burden of his gaze.

Silas.

And the bastard had locked me in like a common thief. In three strides I reached the door, cursing him under my breath, prepared to kick and claw at the latch until it opened, but on the first forceful shove, the door gave and spilled me into the corridor.

I coughed, face down on a woven runner. Dust and mildew burned my nose as I hurried back to standing.

Knife. Knife. Where was my bleeding knife? I padded my chest and sheaths, recalling I’d dropped any blades before I’d stepped foot in Hus Rose. To live in Raven Row meant one was resourceful when supplies weren’t readily available. I turned the hairbrush in my grip, handle out. Might not kill, but it would do damage when shoved into an eye socket.

The new blood moon brought dull light, but it couldn’t break through, not in here. Like the bed chamber, dark, musty shades covered windows and an occasional glass mirror. Eerie candlelight painted the walls in dancing shadows.

Somewhere down the hallway a door slammed. “Hello?”

More slams, more groans. I held my breath and peered into the room with the racket. My shoulders slumped in relief. A window had unlatched, and the pane kept striking the latch again and again as the wind tossed it about.

I let out a shuddering chuckle and combed my fingers through my messy braids. I was a damn fool. What if it’d been a sword-wielding madman, and I’d come armed with a hairbrush?

My solitude was interrupted by a sweet, melodic strum of whimsical strings. I’d fought descending into the throes of fate, convinced death greeted me at the end of the tale, but in this moment I didn’t resist. I knew that song. I knew who played it. And the bleeding sod wasn’t getting off easy for locking me behind damn doors.

Certainly not while he was playing the spritely song he’d always played to get me spinning and giggling as a girl.

The more he pushed, the more I wanted to fight back. Call it a need to have a touch of control over my own destiny after living a life where everyone wanted to snatch it away. No mistake, I yearned for answers to the endless string of questions, but the day my brother died a death he knew was fated to happen, I vowed my destiny would be my own.

The sweet tune led me through corridor after corridor. Turns and twists, like a bleeding labyrinth. The room might’ve appeared like the one from my childhood, but this part of the palace was unfamiliar. Dark and dangerous—a wolf’s lair.

It seemed the deeper I went, the darker it became. Fewer sconces on the walls, heavier drapes on any outer windows, as though blotting out the sun and moonlight had always been the intention.

A small staircase led to an upper landing with a single, arched door. The melody bled from inside. I gripped my hairbrush battle blade and softly padded inside the room. All hells. Clay statues were toppled and cracked. Shredded satin was tossed across stained woven rugs. Rawhide drums, toppled harps and lutes, and scattered pan pipes, dirtied the floor. But in one corner was a long bench, padded in coarse furs. It was placed beside a tall window, drapes pulled aside, and seated atop the furs was Silas.

His face was turned away from me, broad shoulders hunched, and propped in his lap was a tall tagelharpa, a stringed instrument with a horse-hair bow that brought the strings to life with wistful, evocative melodies.

I hadn’t seen one played in . . . in truth, I wasn’t certain I’d ever seen one in the four kingdoms since—my teeth clenched—since before the brutal end of House Ode.

The hairbrush made a slow descent to my side.

Silas hadn’t noticed his solitude had been disturbed. His head moved with each gentle glide of the bow stick. He was my father’s ward, no mistake. The boy who’d studied seidr under the tutelage of the fate king was drawn to all music after he’d found his voice.

Saga told me that my daj had been much the same.

My cheek twitched in a reluctant smile. Mornings waking to the sound of lyres or small fife tunes floating through my open window broke through my mind. As though the music unlocked the shadowed memories and brought unexpected light.

All you do is blow your breath in it, Little Rose. Give it a go.

I bit the inside of my cheek, hiding a laugh when I recalled the irritated huff and larger hands snatching the fife out of mine, with a snarly,You’re gods-awful at this and you bleeding slobbered all over the end.

I winced and pressed the heel of my palm to my skull. Somehow this piece of my life had been hidden. Why, I didn’t yet know, but planned to find out.

The draw to Silas was undeniable. Almost unbearable now that I’d crossed the threshold of the palace grounds. What had kept me from doing it all this time? More than fear. Much like the other kingdoms, any curiosity of the Mad King faded swiftly if ever thoughts of him slid into my brain.

Until now. In this moment, the occupant of Hus Rose consumed my every thought. My every breath. It was as if my heart beat coiled with his, needing his nearness.

He was the fate I’d avoided. Deep inside an ember sparked to life. A piece that had always been there, yet locked in shadows. Moments as this, I detested the tricks of the Norns. If after one interaction this draw toward my phantom had reeled me back to him, why was I parted from him at all?

I supposed fear was potent enough to keep me tethered in my dangerous notions that hiding from my fate was better for everyone. Now, I feared I’d waited too long to face it.

Two paces from Silas, I lifted my hand to reach for him. He startled when the tips of my fingers dragged along his shoulder, but he didn’t cease his playing. He didn’t look at me.

Heat from his skin, his dark tunic, radiated up my arm. It blazed from the inside out, and I wanted more. I wanted to be nearer.

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