Startled by her own reaction, Emeline swiftly buried it.
What is wrong with you?It didn’t matter what Hawthorne and Aspen did together. It was none of her business.
Just then, Rooke returned. Handing her a glass of whiskey, he squished back in beside her.
Grace cocked her head, studying Emeline. “You all right?”
Emeline shook her head.
Sweat beaded down her neck from wearing too many layers in too warm a place. As she unbuttoned her coat and shrugged it off, she explained her predicament: the king’s second chance, her need to learn all eleven songs, and the missing pages.
“I don’t know what to do.” Thinking about it more, if the missing musicwasat Hawthorne’s house, wouldn’t he have seen it and brought it to her? She was certain he would—he’d wanted her to learn the songs as desperately as she did. “I only have two days to find it.”
She took a long, burning swallow of whiskey, trying to numb the panic sparking through her.
“This is exactly why I back up all my files,” she muttered. On her Elegy appandin the cloud.
“Maybe the Song Mage did too,” said Grace, who was dressed in a periwinkle shirt with lace sleeves. Her copper-brown eyes glittered in the lamplight. “Even if he didn’t, there are probably rough drafts, right? Maybe at his house?”
Grace was a genius. Of course there would be rough drafts! As a last resort, she might be able to piece together notes and lyrics in lieu of the finished song. If she could find such things.
Hope sparked inside Emeline. “Does anyone know where he lived?”
The table went quiet.
Aspen stiffened. Rooke’s smile faded right off his face. It was Nettle who leaned in eagerly, her eyes going round as moons. “The Song Mage’s estate lies just outside the city, due west from the gate.”
“It’s more of a shell than a house,” Rooke interjected. “Like all of the settlements beyond the wall, the curse has claimed it. No one goes there anymore.”
“Because it’s haunted,” added Aspen.
Emeline glanced down the table. “Haunted?”
“By the Vile,” said Nettle. Her smile was too big and too bright. It reminded Emeline of Grace’s warning:She’s a cat who likes to play with her prey before she kills it.
Emeline looked to Grace for clarification. “What’s the Vile?”
“The witch I told you about,” said Grace. “The one who delivered the Song Mage’s head to the king in a velvet pouch.”
“She was desperately in love with him,” said Aspen. “But he spurned her; he loved another.”
“So she cut out his heart,” said Nettle. Her amber eyes gleamed, as if this thrilled instead of saddened her.
“She’s a horror now,” continued Rooke. “People believe she created the shadow skins and that they do her bidding.”
“It’s why you can’t go to his house,” said Aspen. “She’s not something you want to meet.”
Rooke nodded his agreement.
And if I have no choice?Emeline didn’t voice this thought. From the looks in their eyes, she doubted she’d get any encouragement. Except, perhaps, from Nettle.
Suddenly, the music changed. The fiddles in the corner slowed, their song morphing into a waltz. Grace rose, her eyes on Emeline.
“My usual dance partner isn’t here tonight,” she said, that iron ring winking on her finger. “Do you mind? I need the practice.”
“I …”
There was a secret blooming in Grace’s eyes. And from the way her brow lifted, almost like a dare, Emeline wondered if she wanted accompaniment for something other than dancing.
