Inharmonic (The Music Maker Series Book 1) Read online

  “Oh my.”

  The unfinished wood passed like silk beneath Nadja’s fingertips as she ran her hand down the length of the barrel. There was no denying Pax’s craftsmanship. He had the makings of a master.

  Their new instrument prototype looked every bit like his finished sketches, save the detailed decoration and ornamentation. In the few weeks which had passed since their first meeting, they’d tweaked and refined his initial design, taking into account not only Pax’s eye for aesthetics and construction, but also Nadja’s perspective on playability and tone quality. Now, it was her turn to test its functionality and suggest any final changes which might need to be made.

  “It will probably still need some adjustments, but it is pretty good,” agreed Pax.

  Nadja glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. It was one thing to be an unwitting fool to hubris, but quite another to be confident in one’s obvious strengths and talents. Nadja still wasn’t sure on which side of that coin Pax resided. She was leaning towards the latter, but she didn’t need to tell him that.

  “Yes, ‘pretty good’ about sums it up.” She smiled as his smug grin faltered. “I’ll get to work on the testing and let you know how it goes.”

  She was bending down to wrap the instrument in its protective woolen cloth when Pax’s hand shot out to stop her. She turned to find his nose inches away from her own.

  “Allow me,” he said, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

  His woodsy scent overwhelmed the crisp autumn breeze whipping through the orchard and ignited her senses. She pulled up straight and watched him rewrap his work. He took great care to weave tiny strips of wool between each string before swaddling the entire piece in a neat package. Then, tucking the bundle under his arm, he asked, “Where are you headed?”

  “Back to my room.”

  “Great. I’ll walk you there.”

  Nadja sputtered, “There’s no need.” She’d maintained a comfortable distance from Pax these past few weeks, and she wanted to keep it that way. It felt too personal to let him accompany her to her room.

  “It’s no problem. I’m headed that way, too.”

  Before she voiced another objection, Pax’s long stride had taken him halfway down the orchard path, leaving her no choice but to follow.

  “You know,” he began, once she came alongside him, “we’ve put in a lot of work on this project over the past few weeks. I think we need a break.”

  Pax’s suggestion hung before her like the possibility of a refreshing rain shower after months of dry heat. Of course! Why hadn’t she thought of that? Now the design phase of their project was complete, and the prototype was crafted, the bulk of the work remained with her testing. They wouldn’t need to meet as often. In fact, they would only need to exchange the instrument once she had completed testing so he could put the finishing touches on it. She doubted she’d find anything in the design which needed to be changed.

  Nadja smiled up at him, nodding her head in agreement even as she tried to push aside a niggling sense of disappointment riding the coattails of her new hope. “That’s probably a good idea.”

  Pax grinned. “There’s a Harvest Bazaar happening in the middle ring tomorrow. They’re inviting farmers and merchants from all over Amrantir to come and set up stalls for the next two days. There’ll be food and performers and artists. What do you say?”

  “It sounds like fun.”

  “Great! Why don’t we head that way after lunch tomorrow? Or, even better, we could get there early and see what food we can find in the stalls.”

  Wait, what?

  Nadja’s toe caught a rogue tree root, but she righted herself well enough. Her uneasiness returned as she realized her mistake. Pax didn’t want to take a break from her. He wanted to take a break with her.

  “Oh, I thought . . .” She trailed off, searching her brain for an excuse.

  Pax reached out and pulled open one of the back doors, ushering Nadja through the opening with a light hand on the small of her back. Even through her cloak, she felt a pulse of energy spark at that point and shoot tingling trails across her skin.

  “You thought what?” Pax prompted.

  “I thought when you said we need a break you meant we didn’t need to be meeting as often.”

  “You’re probably right about that,” agreed Pax. “Now you have the prototype, we’ll be doing most of the work that’s left on our own. All the more reason for you to join me tomorrow. I’m going to have to work harder to come up with excuses to spend time with you.”

  Nadja’s heart did a flip-flop in her chest, for which she cursed it. Yes, he was handsome and kind and generous and talented. He was also a flirt and a ladies’ man and not at all what she needed.

  Just before rounding the corner, she caught a flash of red hair disappearing into one of the practice rooms. And, like a small present which had fallen out of the sky and into her lap, she had her excuse.

  “That’s sweet of you,” she demurred, “but don’t you think that would be unfair to Laurel?”

  It had taken only a few days for the beautiful one-woman welcoming committee to attach herself to Pax, much to his followers’ chagrins. She had become a regular fixture at his table in the dining hall and on his arm. This hadn’t deterred the rest of his fans—yet—but it was assumed the two of them were a couple. And who could blame him?

  Pax’s steps slowed, and Nadja detected a change of color in his cheeks. “What does she have to do with anything?”

  “I assumed the two of you were together.”

  Pax sighed. “We’re just friends.”

  “Really? Well, that’s a surprise to me, and likely anyone else who has seen the two of you together. Are you sure it wouldn’t be a surprise to her, too?”

  “Look,” said Pax, stopping and coming around to face Nadja. “I’m friends with lots of women, and Laurel is one of those friends. But that’s all she is.”

  “If I were ‘just friends’ with a man as friendly with me as you are with Laurel, I would think his intentions reached beyond friendship,” she snipped.

  Why was she getting so irritated at this line of discussion? Pax with Laurel was a good thing.

  Nadja smoothed her features into a mask of placidity before continuing. “You and Laurel make a lot of sense together, and I wish you all the best. You and I, on the other hand, we don’t make sense.”

  Pax’s free hand reached up and grasped her chin, squaring her eyes with his own. He took a step closer to her and lowered his voice. “I don’t want Laurel. I want—”

  “I thought that was you!” The sweet and musical voice floated down the hall towards them, heralding Laurel’s approach.

  Pax looked over Nadja’s shoulder and dropped his hand. Nadja thought she heard a small groan before he pasted on his now familiar smile.

  “What are you two doing, lurking in the halls?” asked Laurel through yet another tight-lipped smile as she ducked under his free arm and draped it across her shoulders.

  Before Pax could respond, Nadja jumped in. “Pax was just passing along the instrument we’re working on for our Sound Theory class.”

  “Oh yes.” Laurel’s smile relaxed. “That project has been keeping him completely tied up lately. It’s like he hardly has time for anything else.” She reached up and patted him on the chest.

  “Well, he’s passing the work along to me now, so it shouldn’t be a problem anymore. In fact,” she continued, as an idea struck her, “he was just saying something about going to the Harvest Bazaar tomorrow. Since he’s not so busy with our project anymore.”

  Over Laurel’s head, Pax shot her a warning look.

  Nadja plowed ahead, ignoring him. “I’m sure he would love some company. I hear it’s supposed to be pretty lively.”

  Pax opened his mouth to interject, but was cut short by Laurel. “What a great idea! They always have the best food, and musicians and entertainers from all over Amrantir. And there are contests, and, oh, they clear out a section near the counting hou
ses each night for dancing.” She turned her radiant smile upon Pax. “It looks like you can finally show me those two left feet.”

  Satisfied with herself, Nadja reached out and took the package still tucked under Pax’s other arm, all the while avoiding his withering glare. “It appears you two have some things to discuss, so I’ll just be on my way.”

  With a curt nod, she stepped around the couple and made her escape.

  Once back in the safety and solitude of her room, Nadja felt a tiny pang of guilt for throwing Pax into Laurel’s path the way she had. Probably because she got the sense Laurel’s determination and ambition was bound by nothing, not even friendship.

  But, it was for Pax’s good as well as her own. Laurel wasn’t Nadja’s favorite person, but Pax would enjoy himself. Of that she had no doubt.

  She seated herself on the bed and unwrapped the woolen bundle, eager to begin work on their creation. Bringing the instrument to her lips, she blew a few notes. The sound was high but mellow, and the strings hummed along behind the wind notes like the faint echo of some enchanted and elusive woodland creature. It was a pleasant effect and caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand at attention.

  After she played a series of notes, it became clear at least one of the strings was out of tune. She laid the instrument across her lap and inspected the metal cords.

  “Why, you arrogant . . . ugh,” she muttered to herself.

  The strings were fixed. She and Pax butted heads over this particular feature repeatedly throughout the design process. He thought fixed strings would eliminate the need for tuning or human error, while she believed the effects of weather, temperature, and temperament would require tunable strings.

  The final design showed tunable strings.

  Evidently, thought Nadja, Pax thought he could prove his point in practice.

  Clearly, this was not going to work.

  Frustrated she wouldn’t be able to continue testing until the issue was resolved, she examined the two end caps. The strings were connected to screws, so surely they could be adjusted at least a little.

  Spying Helaine’s violin case lying at the foot of her bed, Nadja crossed over and opened it. She hoped Helaine wouldn’t mind her borrowing a tool or two. Lifting the lid of one of the small compartments lining the inside of the case, she found a small screw driver.

  She moved to the table in front of the fireplace and laid the instrument on its back. Inserting the screwdriver into one of the screws for the top string, she gave it a gentle twist. She played a few more notes and smiled. That did the trick.

  The fourth string was the only other rebel, so she tightened one of its screws as well. Another play-through revealed the string was still just shy of tuned. She placed the instrument back down on the table and once again inserted the screwdriver.

  This time, however, as she tightened the screw she heard a loud crack! Bits of wood splintered as one end of the string went flying, whipping her across the back of her arm.

  “Oh no!” she gasped.

  The once pristine creation now looked as though someone had slashed it across one side of its face with a jagged knife, leaving behind a sort of maniacal half smile. Tiny wooden shards pointed in all directions around the wound, and the initial damage affected the surrounding area, leaving the three bottom strings dangling lifelessly.

  “No, no, no, no, no.”

  Nadja grasped at limp strings, vainly attempting to put them back in their proper places.

  Pax was going to kill her.

  No, think. There had to be a solution.

  Nadja began pacing. This was the conservatory after all. Plenty of other students and teachers had the skills to repair the instrument.

  Of course, getting help from someone at the conservatory almost guaranteed Pax would find out about the damage. And the last thing she wanted was for Pax to learn it had taken her a matter of minutes to destroy what it had taken him weeks of hard work to create, especially after she had just fed him to the wolves. Or, to one wolf in particular.

  Just then, Nadja heard the familiar cadence of Helaine’s footsteps approaching in the hall. With no time to hide the instrument, she snatched it off the table and tucked it behind her back just as the doorknob turned.

  Chapter 17

  The tinkling brass bell announced Nadja’s entrance as she pushed against the weathered door. The scents of wood and oils tinged with a metallic note and something else she couldn’t identify filled the air of The Broken Chord instrument repair shop.

  It had taken no time for Helaine to discover the cause of Nadja’s distress and, after being sworn to secrecy, just as long to offer a solution.

  Nadja had avoided leaving the conservatory grounds since the day she moved in. But, the repair shop was located in the middle ring, and it was the best bet for getting the instrument fixed without Pax knowing.

  She had enjoyed picking her way through the Harvest Bazaar. She kept an eye out for Pax and Laurel, but it was easy for her to blend into the crowd. Being cooped up in the conservatory for weeks had started to get to her. But, having seen no hint of the Wanderers since her arrival in Cantio, moving freely through the bustling marketplace had given her a sense of joy and liberation she had not felt since fleeing her home.

  Once inside the door, Nadja paused, wide-eyed. From the outside, no one would guess how many things were packed inside the small building. Piles of sheet music and books were mounded here and there, interspersed with stacks of crafting materials. They reached so high they seemed to support the ceiling, which dripped with instruments of all shapes and sizes, each in varying stages of repair.

  Two narrow paths presented themselves, one to the left and one to the right, both leading into different parts of the jungle. A rustling sounded ahead of her. Unable to see past the mess, Nadja tottered down the left path, trying not to bump into any of the precariously assembled stacks.

  “Hello?” she called into the disarray.

  The rustling stopped. Then, after a beat, it started again. Perhaps an animal? She could easily imagine a family of small rodents making a home under one of the piles for some time before anyone noticed. With nothing else to go on, she continued along her path, choosing the forks and turns which led her closer to the noise.

  “Hello?” she called again.

  “There you are!” exclaimed a disembodied voice.

  Nadja jumped, then turned towards the sound.

  A shock of wiry gray hair bobbed above one of the shorter piles, and a little man stepped into view. He hurried away from the pile, smiling down at something in his hand and murmuring to himself. Intrigued, Nadja followed.

  “Excuse me,” she began.

  “Now if I can only find your sister, we’d be on to something,” he muttered. Then, a little louder, “I’ll be right with you.”

  Nadja followed the path around a corner and into a clearing. A large worktable sat at its center surrounded by more mountains of objects, though these looked better organized. The wee man stood behind it, bent over a jumble of metal tubes. He moved his hands deftly over the tangle, all the while muttering and clucking like a mother hen.

  “. . . has to be more comfortable for you . . . cooperation would be helpful . . . brass might be more to your liking . . . what can I help you with?”

  Unsure if this last comment was directed at her or the mass on the table, Nadja looked on in silence.

  “Ah,” said the man, clapping his hands together and sliding the tubes to the side. He looked up at Nadja.

  She swallowed a giggle as she met his gaze. He wore a magnifying glass on a band over his left eye like a myopic pirate. The giant grapefruit-sized eye reminded her of some of the larger fish she’d encountered in the Shadow Sea.

  The man remembered his now superfluous accessory almost at once and replaced it with a pair of thick, black-rimmed eyeglasses.

  “That’s better,” he chuckled. “Now, what can I help you with, my dear?”

  “Are you Morris?” she
asked.

  “Morris Alrhen, at your service. So sorry for your wait. I was in the middle of a side project. Nothing of great import.”

  The lines on his face and lack of hair on top suggested to Nadja he was around the age of her grandfather. And the way his blue eyes twinkled as he spoke gave her the same sense of warmth Goran had always given her.

  She placed her bundle on the table and unwrapped it.

  “Ahh!” began Morris, as he examined the instrument. “What have we here? Mmm . . . maple body, very nicely crafted, but unfinished . . . joins are smooth and snug . . . these strings, what a mess . . . screw placement not reinforced, well that’s your problem . . . never seen one like this before. Where did you get it?”

  “It’s an original creation, for a class assignment.”

  “So you are a student at the conservatory!” Morris beamed at her. “Rafe Gilmoren’s class, no doubt. What is your name?”

  “Nadja Machinal.”

  Morris nodded, knowingly. “I see.” He removed his glasses and cleaned the lenses with hem of his shirt before replacing them. “Yes, I see. Nadja Machinal, lately of Grenyan, I believe. Niece of Tau Machinal. And how are you faring at the conservatory, my dear?”

  Taken aback by his intimate knowledge of her, Nadja stuttered. “Uh, well, sir. I’m sorry, how do you know I’m from Grenyan?”

  “Oh, like many others, I make it my business to keep abreast of the goings-on at the conservatory. Makes sense, considering my line of work, wouldn’t you agree? And, as an alumnus myself, I do have more personal reasons.”

  “You were a student at the conservatory?”

  “Many, many years ago.”

  “What did you study?”

  “Oh, this and that . . . nickel!”

  In a flash, Morris disappeared once more into the looming stacks. A moment later, he reappeared holding a small valve.

  Nadja watched curiously as he bent once again over the tangle of metal tubes. He removed two screws and inserted the valve, replacing the screws when he was finished. “Much better,” he declared.

  Before he could run away again, Nadja brought his attention back to her problem.