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Finally the ballet finished and the curtains closed so that the Orchestre National de Paris could set up with privacy. Talos could not care less what piece they chose to play as a replacement. His only stipulation was that it must not be the ‘Méditation’ from Tha?s.
The compère, a famous American comedian, came onstage and told some jokes to keep the crowd entertained. They’d been sitting in the amphitheatre for over five hours but showed no sign of restlessness.
The audience burst into a roar of laughter at a joke the compère had told but Talos hadn’t heard a word of it.
Grinning hugely, the compère pressed a finger to his ear, listening to his earpiece, then raised a hand for silence.
‘It is now time for the final performance,’ he said, becoming solemn. ‘As this is such a special occasion only the most special performance can be allowed to finish it. Ladies and gentlemen, performing the final composition of this beautiful island’s Queen Rhea, I give you the Orchestre National de Paris and their celebrated violinist, Amalie Cartwright.’
What...?
Loud applause broke out, and the curtains were drawn back to reveal the orchestra already seated.
Heart thumping, Talos’s first thought was that someone had forgotten to tell the compère about the change. It had been too late to alter the programmes, so they’d agreed that the compère would inform the audience that Amalie had been taken ill.
He got to his feet, ready to find out what had gone wrong.
Then he spotted the figure standing at the front left-hand side of the stage.
His heart twisted into a clenched fist. He couldn’t move; his feet seemed rooted to the floor until his grandfather took hold of his wrist and gently tugged it.
Unable to move his eyes away from her, he sat back down, breathing heavily.
Amalie looked beautiful. Divine. She wore a snug-fitting mid-thigh-length dress, with a scooped neckline and short sleeves. Its red wine colour set her apart from her orchestra, who all wore black. It highlighted the paleness of her skin, and with her hair swept up in an elegant knot she looked fragile. Incredibly fragile. And scared—like the rabbit caught in the headlights he’d found in the Parisian practice room all those long weeks ago.
Her eyes searched his side of the crowd until she found the royal box. It was too dark for her to pick him out but he swore that she found him.
The conductor stood before the orchestra and silence fell. The first pluck from the string section echoed out, then the whisper of the flutes.
Amalie’s teeth bit into her lip before she placed her violin under her chin and put her bow in position. She straightened, visibly strengthening. Then she closed her eyes, listened for her cue and played the first note.
Talos held his breath. Beside him, he heard his brothers and grandfather hold their breaths too. It had been an open secret around the palace that the star soloist was suffering from a severe case of stage fright.
Their worry was unfounded.
Her eyes scrunched tightly shut, Amalie began to play.
When she’d played the piece for him in the bedroom the beauty of the underlying melody had made his heart expand. Coupled with the accompanying orchestral arrangement it was taken to a whole new level of beauty, heightening the sensation he’d experienced that first time, pulling him into a swell of emotion.
Watching her, the sway of her hips as she played with the whole of her body, the marvel of her finger-work, the purity of her vibrato...
The child prodigy was reborn—a virtuoso of such melodic stature that he was certain there couldn’t be a dry eye in the amphitheatre.
As she approached the climax of the piece—the part that tore his heart into shreds—her eyes flew open and found the royal box. She was crying, he realised, huge tears falling down her cheeks.
His grandfather tugged at his sleeve for attention.
Blinking away the burn at the back of his eyes, Talos felt his chest constrict to see his grandfather’s face also swimming with tears.
‘Surely my fighter of a grandson isn’t so scared of a woman’s love that he would throw away his one chance of true happiness?’ he asked in a choked voice.
It was as if his grandfather had stared right into his heart and read what was there. And in that moment the truth hit him with full force.
Suddenly it was there, as if he’d always known. There in his head. In his heart.
He’d fallen in love with her.
As epiphanies went, it beat them all.
He loved her.
Gazing back at the beautiful woman who held the thousands in the audience in silent captivation, he had never felt so full; as if his heart and chest had expanded so much they could explode out of him.
