Page 43

Aveline

I step onto the platform while Mordred is still securing the boat to the rail. He’s already made one knot, and he makes a second one over it, then tests both with a firm pull.

“It won’t drift,” I say. “You’ve never lost it before.”

“I’ve never left it this long.”

“It’ll be fine.” I hold out my hand. “Come up.”

The platform dips under his weight, then settles. He takes the hauling line in both hands and pulls, the rope runs over the pulley somewhere above us with a dry sound, and water drips off the rails as we rise out of the lamplight. I hear every turn of the wheel.

Soon, the light above us goes from gray to white. The platform stops, and we’re standing in the collapsed pit with the stage in front of us and the whole House of Voices around us. There’s no one here.

It’s afternoon, and the sun comes straight down through the open upper floors. Snow has come down with it. It lies on the broken rows of the boxes and across the floor of the church. I feel the cold through my cloak. I hear nothing but our breathing and the drip of water far below.

“This is a bad idea,” Mordred says.

“It’s a great idea.”

I reach up and set his mask straight. It’s slipped a little to the left. I rise on my toes and kiss the porcelain ribs over his mouth. They’re cold, but his breath through them is warm.

“Open the grille,” I say.

He squeezes his hand around the lock, and it breaks with little to no effort. He swings the gate open, and I take his hand and lead him up onto the stage, past the altar, down the steps, and through the long aisle of the auditorium. His boots and mine leave prints in the snow. We pass under the statues with their broken instruments and walk out into Nivallia.

This was my idea. I asked him, and I kept asking until he ran out of reasons to deny me.

“You should enjoy your city,” I tell him. “You’ve watched it from the shadows long enough. Stop hiding. Let them love you.”

“It isn’t real love,” he says.

“It’s love, nonetheless. And you aren’t hurting them anymore. You’re just walking down the street.”

He sighs.

The snow is soft under my boots, and the sun is so bright that I have to squint. The square in front of the House of Voices is empty, and the street beyond it is quiet. Mordred walks beside me with his hand in mine and his head turning toward the roofs, the shop signs, and the walls with snow along their tops. He slows at a shop window and stands there until I tug him on. I’ve never seen him look at anything like this. He knows every house on this street and every family in it, but he’s never once stood in front of any of them in daylight.

“You’ve never seen it from here,” I say.

“No.” His voice comes low through the grille.

A woman comes around the corner with a basket on her arm. She stops in her tracks. Her mouth opens comically. She looks at the mask, at me, at our joined hands, then her knees fold and she’s down in the snow. A man behind her does the same. Two children come out of a doorway and drop where they stand. Their mother follows, and after we take a few more steps, the whole street is on its knees and murmuring.

“Cantor.”

“Mordred.”

“It’s him. It’s Mordred.”

I giggle.

“Please, that’s not needed. Please, all of you, rise. Rise.”

They rise slowly, but instead of going back to what they were doing, they follow us. More people come from the side streets, and before we reach the market, there’s a crowd around us, standing close and saying his name to each other in low voices. Every one of them looks strong, well fed, and rested.

I see Callum among them, in his black cloak and his gold. His face is back to its fullness, and his hands are still. Near him stands a man in a formal coat with a chain of office across his chest, and I know without asking that this is the mayor. He kneels at first, then rises.

I stop, and Mordred stops with me. I turn to face as many of them as I can.