Inharmonic (The Music Maker Series Book 1) Read online

  “I already told you I was headed west. I had just stopped to refill my canteen at the spring when that ghost cat came out of nowhere.”

  “Where were you coming from?”

  “A small village in the Seven Steppes.”

  “If you were planning to travel all the way from the steppes to Cantio, why did you pack so little?”

  Nadja clamped her mouth shut, and her lips flattened into a thin line. Then, the memory of the other letter her mother had penned flashed in her mind, and she let it guide her reply. Pax had already shown himself to have a soft spot for a lady in distress. Perhaps she could use that to her advantage.

  She arranged her features in what she hoped was a sincere look of helplessness and fear and leaned into him. “Please, if I tell you, you must swear not to tell anyone else.”

  Pax blinked, surprise at her sudden change in demeanor written plainly across his face. “I give you my word.”

  “The village I come from isn’t a village as much as it is a people. I was born into the Wanderer tribe.” She paused for dramatic effect.

  When Pax said nothing, she continued. “As you know, my people don’t believe music should be used as it is in the rest of Amrantir. In fact, within the tribe it’s a crime. As a woman, my life was laid out for me. Marry, have children, and follow the role of my husband. But, I couldn’t do that. I wanted to experience life outside of the confines of the tribe and the rigid expectations for my life. So, I ran.”

  “That must have been a difficult decision.”

  “You have no idea.” Nadja looked out across the orchard, her gaze passing beyond the north wall and landing on the Delegates Hall. All the warmth left her body as the memory of the real reason she fled froze the blood in her veins. Baulo’s face, contorted and bleeding as he crumpled to his knees, floated in front of her eyes. She shivered as the cold and the memories fused together in an attack against both her body and mind.

  “Hey.” Pax’s soothing voice broke through her trance, and he placed a sturdy hand on her knee. “You’re all right.”

  The warmth of his touch drew her attention back to the present, and she breathed deeply, dispelling the muscle spasms. She gave Pax a reassuring smile.

  “People just don’t leave the tribe. It happens rarely, if ever, and it’s an option only afforded to men. Women don’t have that choice. So, for me, leaving meant breaking tribal law. I knew they would be looking for me as soon as they realized I was missing. That’s why I had to keep moving.”

  “That explains a lot.” Pax nodded, but his look remained puzzled. “Why didn’t you pack more supplies if you knew you were leaving? And how did you end up at the conservatory?”

  “My leaving was a last minute decision. The night of my . . . of this big celebration, everything kind of came to a head. I saw every day for the rest of my life laid out in perfect order before me, and I knew I couldn’t do it. So, I slipped away when no one was looking, tossed a few things in a bag, and left.”

  Why did she hesitate to tell Pax she had been betrothed?

  “And the conservatory? How did that fit into your plans?”

  “Oh . . . well . . .” Nadja licked her lips.

  She didn’t want to say it was a convenient hiding place. His presence here proved he valued the use of music differently than she did. He would likely find it offensive she was using her coveted position within the conservatory just to keep out of sight.

  “Like I said, the Wanderers don’t believe music should be used to manipulate the natural world . . . but I do,” she lied. “I want to use my talents to be a help to my friends and family and society.” There, the answer of a good little apprentice.

  “Wow.” Pax puffed out a deep breath. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you—leaving the only life you knew and cutting all ties.” His hand slipped off her knee as he leaned back and considered all she’d said.

  Nadja played her final move. “Please,” she reached out and took his hand. “You won’t tell anyone, will you? You don’t know what they would do if they ever found me.”

  Pax’s eyes reminded Nadja of the cobalt eddies where the Nostirivin River empties into the Shadow Sea. She saw the moment he made up his mind.

  Tugging her towards him, Pax wrapped his arms around her in a protective embrace. “I gave you my word.”

  Nadja’s body relaxed against his firm chest. A small sigh escaped her lips as the fear of Pax uncovering the truth disappeared. She felt the muscles beneath his shirt flex and harden as he tightened his embrace. Her eyelids fell closed. She breathed in his now familiar scent of earth and pine and allowed herself a single moment to imagine the what-ifs.

  Her scalp tingled as Pax’s hand began stroking her hair. How protected she felt in that moment. How nice it must be to have someone else share your burdens. Someone to lean on. Someone to protect you.

  Someone to speak for you.

  No!

  Nadja sat up and pushed away from Pax. The last thing she needed was to wind up under the control of another man. To have no say in how to live her own life. To always ask permission as if she was still a child.

  How could she have even entertained that idea?

  “I’m sorry,” she stammered, “I shouldn’t have . . .”

  “Shouldn’t have what?” Pax eyed her curiously.

  “Shouldn’t have burdened you with my troubles.”

  Pax smiled. “I didn’t leave you with much choice in the matter.”

  Exactly. “No, you didn’t.”

  Nadja scooted over, desperate to put more space between them. She pulled her cloak tightly around her middle, anxious to close the conversation. “Your turn.”

  “For what?”

  Nadja lifted her chin and shot him an accusatory look. “The last time I saw you, the only thing on your mind was finding the Auldwood Oak and bringing honor and riches to your family, or something like that. It seems to me that would have been more than a couple-weeks’ job. What happened?”

  That crooked grin once more appeared on Pax’s face. He stretched his legs out into a reclining position and laced his fingers together over his stomach. “You.”

  “Me?”

  Pax sighed and looked up into the branches above them. “You know how I told you I come from a long line of woodsmen? That’s true. That’s what my family does and has always done. When I was too small to be much help with the felling and splitting, I would gather up leftover scraps of wood and carve things with them. Toys, mostly. Little ships or whistles, that sort of thing.” He smiled at the memory.

  “As I got older, I became more interested in carving instruments. Simple ones at first, and then more complex. And I was good at it. I decided I wanted to be a craftsman.”

  Pax looked at Nadja and chuckled. “But, you know how this part goes. It wasn’t what was done. The Raynor family have been woodsmen for as long as anyone can remember. My father discouraged any ideas I had about becoming a craftsman. He said my work was good, but not good enough to be accepted into the conservatory. I don’t blame him. He has always wanted to see his two sons take over the family business like he and his brother did from his father. And, I think maybe he didn’t want me to deal with the disappointment of not getting accepted if I did apply.

  “And then, one day I was in the woods minding my own business when I heard this woman locked in combat with a ghost cat. Not exactly how I was expecting to spend my afternoon.” He flashed Nadja a grin. “And you called me a craftsman. You were a stranger judging my work for what it was.

  “So, I found the tree and mapped its location before heading straight home. I knew it was probably too late in the year to apply for admission, but I crossed my fingers and submitted some of my pieces anyway. Two weeks before classes started, I got my acceptance letter in the mail.”

  “And what about your father? Your family?”

  Pax’s face contorted as if being squished on one side, and his voice rose in pitch. “Well, let’s just say they weren�
��t all that excited for me to leave. But, they are happy I found the tree. And my mother and sister, at least, wished me well.”

  “That must have been hard.”

  “I’d be lying if I said it was easy. But, my brother will get over it soon enough. And my mother has always known I’m a craftsman at heart. My father,” Pax looked down at his hands, “well, time will tell.”

  The breeze picked up speed and whirled Nadja’s hair into an obsidian tornado. Pax reached out and tucked the errant strands behind her ear, wearing an almost sorrowful expression. “At least I can go home.”

  His touch was soft and gentle, yet her skin burned in the trail left by his fingers. Guilt and something else, something not unpleasant which stirred low in her belly, collided in a sickening combination which sent a wave of anxiety through her body. Nadja inhaled a sharp, icy breath and replied curtly, “And for that, I am glad.”

  With quick movements she smoothed her hair back and twisted it into a knot, pulling up her hood to hold it in place. “Please don’t pity my circumstances. I shared my story with you because you demanded an explanation, not because I need your help or sympathy. The only thing I ask for is your silence.”

  “You have it,” Pax reassured her once more.

  “Thank you.”

  Nadja rose from the bench. Swaths of pink and orange which now colored the sky caught her eye. “It’s getting late. And I believe we’ve done all the work we can today. Your idea is brilliant, and I look forward to its completion. Good night.”

  With those words, Nadja spun on her heel and hurried towards the conservatory, leaving Pax staring at her back. She meant what she had said. This project couldn’t be over soon enough. Why had she agreed to be Pax’s partner? She’d sentenced herself to countless hours alone with him. It was one thing to indulge in the memories of their kiss when he was just someone from her past, but quite another to deal with his very real existence in her present. She didn’t like the storm of emotions he could conjure within her with a simple touch of his hand.

  He could be too easy to care for and rely on. Too tempting to trust.

  Just when she had gained her independence, Pax had appeared, offering a return to the life she left behind.

  No thank you.

  Nadja pushed back her hood and unfastened her cloak, allowing the chilling twilight winds the victory they had fought for all afternoon. She invited the brisk current to dance across her face and neck, and twist up her skirt and around her legs, chasing away all warmth and frustration and leaving only cold resolve in its wake.

  Chapter 16

  The notes emanating from Nadja’s flute were anything but pleasant. She struggled through the Pantomarian folk song for the hundredth time since sitting down for her lesson in Grandmaster Kero’s office.

  “ . . . five, six, seven, one, two, three . . .” Meliina Kero counted the beats of the random organization of notes and rhythms which had been giving Nadja a headache from the moment she began learning it. The morning sunlight streamed through the windows and flashed a steady beat across Meliina’s mop of white curls as she bobbed her head in time. Her short, unruly mane stood out as the single untidy feature within her office, which was arranged in a comfortable, though minimal, presentation. Bookshelves and cabinets covered the walls, filled to the brim with books, music, and instruments. But, though the paraphernalia was numerous, every book, baton, reed, or paper was neatly ordered in precisely the space it ought to occupy.

  Nadja stopped playing and fidgeted in her straight-backed chair, glaring at the music before her. The lack of ink on the page had duped her into believing the Pantomarian piece would be easy to learn. However, its atonal nature and irregular rhythms soon taught her that music is rarely what it seems at first glance.

  “It shouldn’t be this difficult,” she snapped.

  The feelings of self-doubt which had troubled her the day of auditions returned full force. She remembered hearing the other hopefuls playing their pieces with such perfection and grace. Songs much more difficult than this simple Pantomarian tune soared through the air as a testament to the skills and proficiencies of their performers. Yet, somehow she had managed to get in. And now, that mistake was revealed. Now, they would finally discover she had fooled them. They would know she was a fraud.

  “I can’t,” she whispered, defeated.

  Meliina regarded her with thoughtful scrutiny, then nodded her head. “Why do you think you were accepted into the conservatory?”

  “I was wondering that myself.” Nadja shook her head. “I heard some of the other auditions. I know how good most of them were—much better than I am. My audition wasn’t perfect, and my song choice was probably less difficult than two thirds of the others. Honestly,” she said, deciding to come clean, “I think maybe you made a mistake.”

  “Are you questioning our judgement?” Meliina challenged.

  Nadja thought she couldn’t feel any smaller than she already did, but Meliina proved that false. Her face heated, and she looked down at her flute as she stumbled over her words. “Of course not. It’s just that, well, I know I’m not as good as most of the other students here. Maybe I had a lucky audition. I don’t know.”

  A dainty hand closed over the top of her own, and she looked up to see a smile softening the pair of eyes ringed by thick-rimmed glasses. “You think you were given a lucky break?” asked Meliina.

  “Yes.”

  As quick as a whip, the tiny hand smacked the back of her own. “Nonsense.”

  Nadja looked at Meliina’s suddenly stern face in surprise, unsure of how to respond to the abrupt, though innocuous, blow.

  “It’s true your audition wasn’t technically one of the best we heard. But you play with heart and feeling, something most of other auditions lacked. Heart is just as important as technique, especially in the way we use music, but much more difficult to teach. You already have that natural tendency within you. As for the technique, we have four years to improve on that point. And I have no doubt you will.” Meliina’s harsh expression softened once more, and she relaxed back in her chair. “Now, enough foolishness.” She smiled. “Why do you think I assigned you this piece in particular?”

  “I have no idea. It’s not melodic. It’s not easy on the ear. I can’t find any pattern or reason within the song. It has no steady rhythm, so it’s difficult to feel.”

  “Ahh, and there you have it.” Meliina wagged her finger at Nadja. “All of the things you said are true. This is an older Pantomarian tune, and they had disparate ideas about musical structure and composition. The musical fundamentals upon which this song is built are foreign to the ears of most Amrantirians, which is why we fail to find its ‘feel.’ But, the same could be said of much of the music created and played by master musicians all over our land.

  “Not every piece of music used in our work has a nicely packaged melodic line. The musicians in the northern Viridian Mountains near the Gelid Highlands utilize the wind flowing down through the maze of gorges there to produce tones through enormous pipes. The tones produced are low, droning sounds, which would hardly be called inspirational. But, by opening and closing valves at specific intervals, the musicians can play the exact tones needed to move the cool, moist Highland air down to the southern mountains, so they get the rain they need to keep green all year long. It’s not a song you’re likely to catch yourself humming the next day, but it gets the job done.

  “Even if the notes on the page don’t immediately inspire your heart, learn them. Spend time studying them and playing them. It will come.”

  Meliina rose and paced the floor. “One thing which might be helpful is learning to sing the piece before playing it. Are you familiar with ‘The Green, Green Grass in Spring’?”

  “The children’s tune?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very.”

  “Good. Then, if I played it for you now, on any instrument, you could tell me if I was playing it right or wrong based on your familiarity with the tune, not becau
se you had the music in front of you. Set aside your flute for a moment and let’s try to sing your piece instead.”

  Meliina padded over to the small studio piano which occupied one corner of her office and plinked out the first line of the melody. “Sing that to me.”

  Nadja took a deep breath and began, “La, laa, di, daa, laa, da—”

  “No, that ‘daa’ needs to be higher.” Melina played the line once more. “Try again.”

  “La, laa, di, daa, laa—”

  “No, still higher on the ‘daa.’ Again.”

  A burning irritation ignited in Nadja’s belly as her frustration returned. She gritted her teeth against it and tried again.

  “La, Laa, Di, Daa, Laa, Da—”

  “Higher.”

  “La Laa, Di, DAA, Laa, Da—”

  “Yes, but your pitch fell on the ‘di’ this time. Again.”

  Nadja closed her eyes and tried to focus on the notes even as the frustration flamed within her, warring for her attention. “LA, LAA, DI, DAA, LAA, DA, LA, DA, DA,” she spat.

  She braced herself for another correction, but Meliina was silent.

  Nadja cracked her eyes and peered at Meliina through blurry slits. Startled, she opened her eyes wide.

  Scarlet tinted Meliina’s fair features, and the muscles in her jaw pulsated as she clenched and unclenched her teeth. A grimace twisted her lips, and the overall effect caused Nadja concern. She knew she didn’t have the melody right yet, but she didn’t think she had done that badly.

  As Meliina continued to stare wordlessly at her, Nadja’s back weakened and shoulders slumped. Meliina knew. For all her encouraging words, she knew Nadja was a fake. She couldn’t even get the first line of a simple folk song correct. Of course she didn’t belong at the conservatory.

  Meliina blinked a few times as if emerging from a haze. “That will be all for today.” She turned her back to Nadja and moved to one of her bookshelves, running her fingers along rows of spines.

  Stung and ashamed by the abrupt dismissal, Nadja gathered her belongings and hurried from the room.