Page 36 of A Veil of Gods and Kings

My throat tightened.

My heart raced.

Suddenly, the entire city seemed consumed in flames.

The moon hanging high in the sky.

Screams renting the air.

I shook my head and shifted away from the breeze.

It was fine. There was no fire.

I blew out a breath.

Gods, who was I kidding? My life would never be normal. This last year wouldn’t even have the decency to smack with a sense of normality.

The drinking and senseless pleasures had already dulled for me.

I rested my chin against my knees.

I wanted one year of life.

But how could I do that when I was so afraid of living it?

When I was so afraid of losing everything?

And I was dragging this all out for Temi, too… Shit. Temi. I’d promised to meet her at the Patrollo. I jumped up, grasping my knapsack, and scrambled down the ladder. The road teemed thick with people bustling along, and I had to fight my way through the crowd. The acrid smell of sweat and sweet burnt odor of sticky buns clattered with each other. I edged through the masses and released a sigh when I made it to a street off the main path where only a dozen people ambled about.

I raced down a few more blocks and pulled back a heavy wooden door. Inside, the warm glow of candles flickered against the glass sconces they sat encased in. Tables tucked against the walls where patrons reclined, fingers curled around goblets, laughter swelling in the air.

“Andreas,” Temi said, skimming over my veil. “I’m glad you made it.”

I bent down and kissed her cheek. “Of course.”

“The musicians that were supposed to play here tonight didn’t show up.”

I clicked my tongue as someone turned sideways to edge by us. “Do you wish to go somewhere else?”

“No.” She grinned. “I was just telling my friends”—she nodded to a table in the corner where two other women sat—“that my brother is a fantastic musician himself.”

I groaned. “Must you make friends everywhere we go?”

“Must you avoid making them anywhere?”

I huffed a sigh. “I’m not really in the mood tonight.”

Someone smacked the table beside us as they roared with laughter, their hand thunk-thunk-thunking against the wood. Temi’s eyes welled up. “Please. Play some of Mother’s songs for me?”

I hesitated for a moment, my fingers gripping into my knapsack ties. “All right. For you.”

A smile like a full moon rising flashed across her face, and my heart fluttered. Well, if it made her happy, damn my mood. She clutched her arm into mine and pulled me up to a corner stage. A man in a tan robe passing out goblets of drink nodded to me, and I loosened my bag, pulling the lyre out, the polished wood gleaming in the room’s candlelight.

Music was what I recalled most about Mother, and it was all I had left to offer Temi of her. Sometimes I’d sit and try to draw images of our Mother forth. She had smooth dark skin and the same tall posture and long neck that Temi bore. She was quick with her smiles but also her temper. And everyone loved her.

Beyond that, I couldn’t remember much. And Temi had never really met her, of course. She’d died hours after her birth. My divine memory was what allowed me to remember the little that I did. But, despite all of that, her music remained clear enough that if I closed my eyes, I could hear the sweet soprano of her notes so distinctly I could almost smell the lavender of her hand lotion.

My fingers trailed the strings, a lively jig trailing out. Mother never liked to sit still.