Page 45 of Unraveling Fate

“Who did you lose?” he asked quietly.

“My father.”

Thomas nodded. “A grief that only those who have experienced can truly understand.” He handed the picture frame to Cadenza. “Would that she were here now. She’d make a far better teacher for you than this old man.”

Cadenza didn’t answer. Thomas was talking about performing music that everyone could hear, but she didn’t need a lesson in being one with jazz or opera.What I need is someone to teach me about the earthsong.

“Harriet understood how to be a part of the music like none other I’ve met.” Thomas continued. “She used to say that you have to let the music play its part. Find the place where you can feel the song all around you, then move with it. Like a duet.” He interlaced his fingers. “The parts have to play together.”

Thomas held her gaze, eyebrows lifted, expectant. A note unlike any she’d heard before reverberated from the room around her, deep and ringing, like running a finger around the rim of a wine glass. She stared at the walls. What if Thomas wasn’t talking about normal music after all?

A question formed in her throat. If she could just not be alone in whatever this gift of hers was. She almost asked. That lookhe gave her—like he wanted her to ask. And the note ringing through the room, like it wanted her to recognize it, or like it recognizedher.

She almost asked.

But she swallowed the words. Thomas couldn’t hear the music. No one could. And she couldn’t afford to lose this gig by sounding insane. The ringing note faded.

“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll try to work on that.”

Taran satcross-legged in the center of the field behind the cottage.

The exact center.

He knew where the exact center was, he’d paced it off years ago. Only so much to do on the same 227 acres of land.

The estate.

He snorted and threw a rock into the darkness. It flew past the tree line and down the hill, until he heard it splash into the creek. 977 feet away.

He’d measured that too. One should know the limits of one’s cage.

A stick cracked near the dirt road. Seven and a half seconds later dry grass crackled as Drostan lowered himself down next to Taran with a grunt.

“Gorgeous night.” His father pointed at the stars. “Or morning, I suppose, since it’s three a.m.”

Taran didn’t look at him. “You’re getting sloppy. I heard you coming from the road.”

Drostan shrugged. “Soft living. I can’t remember the last time I bothered to stay up for three a.m. stars before you came back.”

Taran barked a laugh. “At least I’m good for something then. We need to get your pudgy self back into shape.” He eyed his father’s waistline. “You really should lay off the biscuits, athair.”

Drostan rolled his eyes. “I don’t see what for.” He tossed a rock toward the creek, and a splash sounded back to them.

“Not bad,” Taran said. “Perhaps you haven’t lost all your skills, old man.”

“Old man?” Drostan huffed. “You always did have cheek, lad.”

Taran grimaced. “Aye, too much. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

“Maybe.” Drostan chewed the inside of his cheek. “But I’m glad you’re back. Six more months and it would’ve been too late. And then what would I have told your mother when I finally shoved off from this old world?”

Taran didn’t answer. Six months. Had he really come so close? But then, that had been the point. To reach the end. To free his father from having to worry about him. From being tied to this spot.

“Sorry,” he said, voice hoarse. “Next time I’ll bring a watch.”

Drostan chuckled. “There’s my boy. Always joking.” He sobered. “Speaking of joking, I want to talk to you.”

Here it comes.Taran steeled himself for whatever lecture his father had planned.