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Lark
That night,the inn overflowed with customers. Ellyn worked the tables, with Noemi not-so-discreetly watching her. She made sure to top our drinks up, and we learned of how the inn had helped keep the town alive, and word had spread that not all was lost in Love. Even before Razak’s defeat, Love’s people had begun to return. There were a few whispers too, of how Prince Arin had returned, although if he had, he surely couldn’t look anything like the bearded, golden-haired, scruffy traveler I couldn’t tear my gaze from.
“Arin.” Ellyn reappeared with a bag and handed it out to Arin. “I’d have had it earlier but there were a few last adjustments. I hope it’s right.”
“Thank you.” He took the bag, its contents bulky enough to take up our small table. “I’m sure it’s perfect.”
Ellyn’s gaze caught mine in a peculiar way before she went back to working tables. The pair of them had conspired without my knowing.
Arin set the bag down against his leg and went back to discussing how to form a council with Noemi, and how, as an ambassador for peace, she might travel each realm, helping unite them.
And I was supposed tonotask about the bag?
I pretended to listen to Noemi’s fascinating insights on fair governing and snuck a few glances at the bag. We hadn’t been in town a day, so whatever was in that bag had been organized long before we’d arrived.
“It’s killing you, isn’t it?” Arin said, catching me trying to peer inside it.
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“Just ask.”
I laughed. “I don’t care what’s in the bag.”
“Oh, then you don’t want it?”
“No, it’s none of my business.”
“It’s not as though it’s been crafted especially for you, taking many weeks. Since you woke up in War, in fact. I sent a rider ahead. Are you sure you’re not interested?”
“Weeks?” Itwaskilling me.
Arin laughed and handed over the bag. “For you, my love.”
My love.Noemi watched, smiling, and then Ellyn made an appearance, all flustered and messy but her eyes alight with glee. If I didn’t open the bag soon, she’d blurt out its secret.
I yanked open the drawstring top to find the most glorious black and purple violin resting inside.
“Draven said your eyes lit up when he had one made for you in War,” Arin explained.
I’d lost Draven’s violin when Razak had smashed it, and it had been a marvelous instrument, but I could already tell this one was special. Because Arin had commissioned it. Its body was a glossy black with dark purple highlights. I freed it from its bag, bringing it into the light, and balanced it in both hands. It was the perfect weight—heavy enough to hint at a sturdy quality, but light enough to dance with me.
“It’s yours,” Arin said. “You deserve so much more. Maybe one day you’ll believe me?”
My heart galloped. Tears gathered in my eyes, but I blinked those away before anyone noticed. “Perhaps.” I tucked the violin under my chin and plucked a few notes; the sound was true and fine, perfectly tuned. This violin and I were going to get along. I picked up the bow and trilled a few notes, filling the inn with music. Yes, this would do nicely.
Arin and Noemi gazed over the table, as though expecting more. I’d collected a few observers nearby too. I couldn’t play here, could I? The inn was packed, wall to wall, and I ached from our journey and the wound in my middle. But the music called to me, and as the instrument was already in my hand… What effort was a little tune?
The last time I’d played, I’d walked through the streets of Pain and woken a people from their slumbering agony. I’d played for them. I always played for others, or for coin. But now, with Arin’s gift, I played for me.
Bow to strings, I set the music free. It flowed through me and the violin, into the hearts and minds of everyone here. Already bespelled, I stood and played as though I were alone, for the love of it and nothing else, nobody else. I played a light, joyous, uplifting tune—lighter and brighter than any I’d played before. And I played it for me.
And then, when it ended, I stood breathless, stunned back into a room full of people, all staring. For a little while, I’d been somewhere else, I’d been free. Arin had given this to me. Somehow, after so much pain and strife, against all the odds and despite my best efforts to sabotage us, Arin remained, and impossibly, so did his love.
He stood and clapped. “For Lark!” Others joined him—until the whole inn roared with applause. For Lark, for me, the boy who played for coin, and for hope.
Arin wiped the tears from his face, then swooped in and wiped away tears I hadn’t known I’d cried. “Now do you see? You deserve to be happy, Lark.”
I crushed him close and buried my wet face against his neck. Perhaps, in our story, the villain did get a happy ending after all?
