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I have never been away from Melodi and Aika this long, and the knowledge of what I left them to face alone is more than I can bear to think about.
I move toward the piano and settle onto the bench. My sentinels wait outside the door, but Khijhana follows at my heels, sitting between me and the doorway as though she is the one guarding me.
Hesitantly, I lift the lid that protects the ivory keys. I was brought up as a lady — we all were — so I know how to play, even though I generally choose not to.
There is sheet music here, but it is foreign and looks as barbaric as the rest of this place feels. Instead, I let my fingers play along the keys an achingly familiar tune. It’s not long before I am lost in the notes, lost in my own head.
It’s warm on the balcony we share at the château, even with the late evening breeze rolling in from the water. Madame is in Bondé, and we are left alone for a rare change.
Aika plays her fiddle beside me, her shiny black hair whipping around with the intensity of her motions. She is tiny, shorter even than my shoulder, but everything she does is intense and fiery and bold.
Melodi dances along as if there isn’t a care in the world, as if we haven’t just watched a person be slaughtered for nothing more than a show of power. She is swept up in this moment in a way I am incapable of replicating, giving herself entirely to the music while her tightly coiled red curls spin nearly as gracefully as she does.
Mel begs me to sing, and usually I would give in. Usually, I can deny her nothing, but tonight I am playing the piano because Rose is sleeping. I can hardly begrudge her the escape I long so desperately for, not when she needs it so much more than I do.
Her golden waves and deep blue eyes are even more appealing than my own unique features, and that means nothing good here. At least she doesn’t have to worry about that right now.
So, I am grateful, but I am jealous, too. Jealous of Rose’s sleep, and Melodi’s sense of self, and Aika’s endless supply of passion…of everything that allows them to cope with the unthinkable when all I can seem to do is disappear a little more each day.
There is no relief now that I’m here, now that I’ve left them to fend for themselves without even my dubious, haphazard protection. Besides, it’s not as though I’ve escaped. Not really.
Not at all.
Chapter Seventeen
Idon’t know how long I pound my fingers along the polished ivory and onyx before I finally force myself to stop. Missing my sisters, worrying for them — it solves nothing.
I am marveling at the rare feeling of a bead of sweat on my brow in this icebox when Khijhana lets out a low growl. Her ears fold back, and she lifts slightly off her haunches, as though she’s ready to pounce.
I don’t have to wonder long what’s riled her up. Odger, the man from the feast with the silver star on his mask, glides into the room. His gloved hands are giving me a muted, polite clap, and I am nearly off-kilter enough to tell him exactly where he can put his praise.
But I still my tongue, because I may yet need him for information.
Instead, I rest a placating hand on Khijha’s head and incline mine in gratitude.
“I didn’t know our new queen was an aficionado,” he says in his oily tone.
“Consort,” I correct with a bland smile, as though I don’t remember him emphasizing the title at the banquet or don’t realize that he is merely trying to flatter me now that we are in private.
“Of course.” He feigns chagrin. “My mistake.”
“Think nothing of it,” I say, rising to my feet.
“Allow me to make it up to you over a game?” he gestures to a cup of dice at the nearest table.
He wants to play games, all right, but to what end?
Well, it’s not as though I have anything better to do.
“That does sound nice, but perhaps you would indulge me with a different sort of game.” I choose my words carefully and infuse my smile with more warmth this time, crinkling my eyes and allowing my lips the slightest pout.
“What did you have in mind?” He stalks closer, like the predator I know he is, and I fight the urge to cringe.
I point to the chess board.
“I haven’t played in ages,” I say truthfully, pushing back memories of the man who taught me to play. “But it could be fun.”
He hesitates before answering.
