Inharmonic (The Music Maker Series Book 1) Read online

  She smiled at Helaine. “Lead the way.”

  The temporary population increase, which always accompanied a delegates meeting, meant most of the roads and pathways were compacted by a steady stream of foot traffic. Though the roads were cleared by conscientious shopkeepers, there were invisible ice slicks every so often set like inadvertent booby traps, so Nadja and Helaine stepped carefully. The occasional burst of winter wind blew puffs of white powder down from rooftops onto unsuspecting pedestrians below, giving Nadja the perfect excuse to keep the hood of her cloak snug around her face.

  “So, what about you and Pax?” Helaine asked, casually.

  Nadja almost stumbled. “Um, what about us? Not that there’s an ‘us.’ I mean, there’s a him and there’s a me.”

  “Really? Because I would have bet my best bow there was something going on between the two of you before we broke for the Candlefire Celebration.”

  The sudden pain in Nadja’s chest took her by surprise, much like it had done when she said goodbye to Pax before the break. And she had no wish to follow this line of conversation down whatever path it might lead.

  She leaned in and gave her friend a conspiratorial wink. “There was something going on.”

  Helaine’s eyes widened. Nadja glanced around to make sure no one else was listening, then whispered, “We were working on a class project together.”

  Helaine straightened and rolled her eyes. “I know that. But, what else?”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say. Pax and I are friends, but that’s as far as it goes.”

  “Petrin says he speaks very highly of you.”

  Nadja’s first instinct was to ask for more details, but she quickly realized that didn’t matter. Friends should speak highly of one another.

  Helaine pressed on. “Do you mean to tell me that, in all that time the two of you spent together, not once were you the teensiest bit tempted to run your fingers through that gorgeous head of hair?”

  “Helaine!”

  Nadja’s face warmed at the memory of sitting in the orchard with Pax, his arms around her and his fingers running through her hair. Even though it was only in a comforting, friendly kind of way.

  “What? I’m not blind, Nadja. Anyone with eyes can see Pax is a very attractive man.”

  “Yes, I’m not denying that. But, in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t go around throwing myself at every attractive man who crosses my path.” Nadja attempted to shift the conversation once more. “Lucky for you, or else you’d have competition on your hands.”

  “Now, really!” Helaine looked appalled for the briefest moment before dissolving into giggles. “Petrin is handsome, isn’t he?”

  “Absolutely. And it’s a good thing too, because I’m afraid once he sees you in that dress, he won’t be much for conversation.”

  “Oh, stop!” Helaine swatted Nadja’s arm.

  “Speaking of your dress, how do you plan on wearing your hair?”

  Helaine cut her eyes at Nadja, but allowed the change in subject. She began listing various hairstyle options and the pros and cons of each. Nadja relaxed. Since Helaine required little contribution from her on the matter, she mulled over her friend’s original question.

  What about her and Pax?

  They were exactly as she wished. Good friends.

  But something had changed. Pax was as kind and friendly as ever, but something had been missing since his return from the winter break. There was a sort of emptiness in their encounters which caused her heart to ache. The level of intimacy they had shared before she had sent him home had evaporated, replaced by a cordiality she secretly loathed. Even more, she hated herself for loathing it.

  After a quarter hour of weaving their way through shoppers and businessmen and sidestepping black ice and miniature avalanches, they stopped in front of a colorful stall. A jolly man bundled in leather and fur stood behind the counter taking orders while two smaller versions of himself ran around filling them. The line was long, but if the steady flow of customers towards the stall was any indication, the frozen sweet cream was sure to be a treat.

  Nadja and Helaine queued up. The stall owner and his sons scurried around like crabs running with the tide, keeping the flow of customers moving. After a few minutes waiting in line, the crowd around the stall and in the streets grew exponentially.

  The buzz of activity and conversation hummed all around them. Nadja caught bits of phrases which escaped above the din.

  “The new old threat . . .”

  “. . . uncontrollable . . .”

  “. . . still people, just like us . . .”

  Puzzled, she leaned in to Helaine. “Is it just me, or is there more tension in the air than usual today?”

  “Yes,” said Helaine, eyeballing the menu board and waving her hand dismissively. “It’s the great Mevocali debate.” She rolled her eyes. “My father said it pops up about once every generation. Old rumors resurface. People get anxious. Then nothing comes of it. It’s silly, really. I mean, the Mevocali have been gone for hundreds of years. I guess some people just aren’t happy unless they have something to worry about.”

  Nadja nodded, remembering the couple she’d overheard talking with Morris at The Broken Chord. She was glad it was nothing but rumors. After growing up with an aversion for how music was used throughout the rest of Amrantir, she was finally becoming comfortable with her new life as a musician. Like any gift, it had to be wielded with wisdom.

  Thankfully, it had its limitations. Instrumental music could manipulate the natural world, but that was the extent of its use. It couldn’t heal people, and it certainly couldn’t affect people’s thoughts and minds. And, it was a skill available to anyone who wanted to learn, not something reserved for a select few.

  “In fact,” continued Helaine, half of her attention still fixed on the frozen cream flavor options, “I’m pretty sure that’s the main topic of discussion at the delegates assembly.”

  A crisp gust of wind blasted down the road, sending a chill through to Nadja’s bones. She shivered, tucking her chin.

  Finally, the two women reached the counter. With plenty of time in line to study the menu, they didn’t waste a moment placing their orders. Helaine requested the caramel and walnut flavor while Nadja went with cinnamon sugar. Almost as soon as Helaine placed the coppers into the stall owner’s hand, two frosty cups appeared on the counter before them. Molded snow and ice formed the cups which were filled with mounds of a stiff and slick concoction of cream, sugar, and spices. A thick, flat ice shard stuck out of the top of each cream, and a cursory glance at previous customers told them it served as a kind of spoon.

  They thanked the stall owner and stepped aside. As soon as they were on the edge of the crowd, Helaine raised her icy cup and took a bite right off the top of the creamy mountain. Nadja watched in amusement as her roommate’s eyes rolled back into her head before fluttering closed.

  “Ohhh myyy woord,” Helaine sighed, elongating the words as if savoring the taste of each.

  “That good?” Nadja laughed as she spooned a bite into her own mouth.

  The frozen creation was silky and sweet, and Nadja thought she had never tasted anything like it in her life. She appreciated Helaine’s reaction as her own eyelids fell closed. The cinnamony cream numbed her already cold face and lips as it slowly melted in her mouth.

  “Thith hath got to be one of the motht delithith thingth I have ever tathted,” said Helaine. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she dissolved into a fit of giggles.

  Nadja joined in her roommate’s laughter, noting Helaine had already eaten half of her cream.

  “Agreed,” she smiled, taking her time to savor the next bite.

  They strolled around the edge of the crowd back towards the main road, taking their time and enjoying their treats. The kitchen staff at the conservatory would serve dinner soon, but Nadja doubted anything would ever taste as good as what she held in her hands.

  They emerged from the stall crowd. As
soon as Nadja’s feet landed on the main road, another surprise burst of wind swept down the street and blew back the hood of her cloak. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention. As she reached up to replace her hood, she turned her face into the oncoming wind.

  In the space of a second, the frosty air penetrated to her core and sucked the breath from her lungs. She froze in midmovement, the fingertips of one hand lightly touching the edge of her hood, while the grip of her other tightened around her cup.

  No more than twenty paces away stood a figure at once familiar and foreign to her. An old man with dark eyes and a white beard was engaged in a lively group discussion along a pathway between the frozen sweet cream stall and the border of the government district.

  Nadja squeezed her eyes shut against the wind, unsure if what she was seeing was real or a creation of her own paranoid imagination. Opening them again, the reality of the situation hit her like a blow between the shoulder blades.

  Baulo.

  Not the strong, fearsome monster who attacked Kizzy and whom Nadja had almost killed, but an older, rougher, more worn version of the man. It had been just two seasons since their encounter, not long enough for his dramatic change to be merely due to the passage of time. His salt-and-pepper beard and mustache now mirrored the color of the snow. The lines on his face had deepened, and deep purple shadows colored half-moons beneath his eyes.

  As if sensing her presence, Baulo’s eyes drifted casually over the crowd until they locked with her own.

  Unable to look away, Nadja stared at him, frozen in place. Her pulse quickened and her vision darkened around the edges. What now? Would he order her arrest? Could he even do that within the borders of Cantio? Would he come at her himself? Her disassembled blowpipe was tucked into her pack. Would she even have time to put it together if he did come?

  Then, he did the last thing she expected.

  He smiled.

  If she had any lingering doubt the old man was indeed Baulo, the familiar rows of crooked teeth put that doubt to rest.

  Her eyes widened. His smile broadened as he bobbed his head in acknowledgement before turning his attention back to the discussion.

  A light popping sound, followed by sharp pain in her wrist broke Nadja’s trance.

  “Oh dear!” exclaimed Helaine through a mouthful of sweet cream.

  Nadja looked down at the hand holding her frozen cup, now clutching a few broken pieces of ice and a sticky mess. A thin line of red blossomed across her wrist just above the cuff of her glove where a jagged piece of ice sliced the skin.

  “I guess that cup wasn’t as sturdy as it looked,” Nadja sputtered with an embarrassed laugh.

  “And you’ve cut yourself,” said Helaine, grabbing Nadja’s hand for a closer look.

  “It’s nothing,” said Nadja. She pulled away from her friend’s grasp and examined her injury. The blood welled slowly, and her eyes followed its path over the edge of her wrist.

  Two red drops stared up at her from the white snow below. Baulo’s face flashed in her mind. Not the old man who stood paces away from her, but the monster, blood pouring from his eyes as he advanced on her and she . . .

  What had she done?

  Screamed, yes. But no scream could have done that to a man. There had to have been something else.

  “But you’re bleeding,” she heard Helaine protest. “Oh, that looks like more than nothing to me. Should I fetch a doctor? Mind your clothes!”

  Nadja squeezed her eyes shut at the gruesome memory and shook her head. This was not the time to get lost in thought. Lesson one: Always be aware of your surroundings.

  She jerked her chin up and cast a sidelong glance towards the chatty delegates.

  “No, no, I’ll be fine,” she muttered absently.

  The group was still deep in conversation, but with one small difference. Baulo was no longer among them.

  Nadja’s senses went on high alert. Her eyes scanned the crowd, but found no sign of him.

  “You don’t look fine,” said Helaine. “You’ve gone as white as a sheet.” She took her friend’s arm. “Let’s go back to the conservatory and get you cleaned up properly.”

  “All right.” Nadja offered her roommate a weak smile and pressed her uninjured hand over the cut to halt the bleeding. They hastened their steps towards the center of the city.

  The conservatory was the safest place, and the crowded streets would provide a relative amount of protection as they traveled back. This was neither the time nor place for a confrontation. Baulo was too calculating to attempt anything less than honorable in so public an arena.

  Still, the hair on the back of Nadja’s neck stood tall as her eyes darted over the street, failing to find their mark.

  No doubt he would soon learn of her attendance at the conservatory—if he didn’t know already. And then what? His reaction to seeing her both puzzled and terrified her. There was no way to predict his next move.

  One thing was certain, however. He would make a move. Never a man inclined towards mercy and forgiveness, Baulo had always favored swift justice. But what he might consider justice with regards to Nadja left her with an inescapable sense of doom.

  Chapter 25

  The geese drifted through the azure sky in a wide, lazy arc headed for one of the ponds which dotted the farmlands outside the walls of the capital city. Like the other flocks which had begun to appear in the past few weeks, their return from the warmer climates of Grenyan confirmed spring had finally come to Amrantir.

  Nadja watched their aerial display through the conservatory’s window with divided attention. The birds’ yearly cycle of travels from north to south and back again, ever chasing warmer climates, reminded her of her old life—of the Wanderers. They couldn’t be farther away from her than they were now, preparing to leave the coast soon and turn northward into the steppes.

  Her mother would be making her last dives of the season, collecting fat oysters from the deeper waters of the Shadow Sea. Some would be eaten right away, while the rest would be set out to dry in the sun, then added to the food stores. They would be enjoyed later in the year when the briny sea air and sandy coast became a distant memory.

  Goran, her grandfather, would be working alongside Jamila. At his age, his activities were confined to the shallows, trapping crabs in inlet waters and casting nets for schools of blue arrowfins which favored the surf at tide’s change.

  Nadja’s mind drifted to Kizzy. As a gatherer, the winter and early spring months were largely uneventful for her, which was a good thing. She would have been able to take as much time as she needed to recover privately.

  But Nadja sensed things were not going as planned.

  When she’d parted with Luca, he’d promised to tell Kizzy’s father, Harman, the truth of what had happened. Luca promised to stand with them and protect Kizzy if she would come forward. However, seeing Baulo in his capacity as Wanderer delegate at the midwinter meeting led her to believe Kizzy wasn’t convinced. Or worse, she’d made her accusations, but the support of Harman and Luca wasn’t enough to convince the Elders to charge Baulo.

  Though her heart ached at the thought of her family so far away, Nadja’s consolation was that Baulo should also be among the tribe. The next quarterly Delegation wouldn’t take place until midseason, so unless Baulo contrived another reason to be in Cantio, she was safe for the time being.

  But Baulo was not to be underestimated. It was because of this she had left the conservatory grounds only twice since seeing him. She suspended her training sessions with Wheedler and Brooks and spent her days off within the walls of the conservatory.

  Nadja continued to practice her combat skills in the early-morning hours in a secluded area of the back orchard. She knew she could not best Baulo, despite her moderate level of training and his altered physical state. But, she didn’t want to lose the strength and skills she had already acquired.

  She was a small child playing with a jack-in-the-box, completely at the mercy of t
hat smug-faced harlequin, waiting for it to jump out at her when she least expected it. The best she could do was stay hidden and wait to hear from Luca.

  “Do you not agree, Miss Machinal?”

  Grandmaster Xavier Pennequois’s annoyed tenor penetrated her distraction, and she snapped her eyes to the front of the classroom. A single raised eyebrow accompanied his look of disdain.

  Heat crept into her cheeks as she stared back at him. She had no idea how long she had been gazing out the window, and no clue what he was talking about.

  “Oh, I am sorry,” he said, feigning remorse. “Did I interrupt your daydreams? Or perhaps you find no value in singing?”

  Ah, singing.

  “No, singing is very valuable,” she mumbled, lamely.

  “Quite so.”

  He gave an exasperated sigh ensuring everyone in the class was well aware of his disappointment. Nadja slunk lower in her chair. From the seat next to her, Helaine shot her a pitying look. Xavier Pennequois was the kind of teacher who expected much from his students, yet always assumed they’d fall short of those expectations.

  He turned his attention back to the rest of the class. “If any of you bothered to read the syllabus distributed at the beginning of the year, you already know you’ll be giving a performance in one week’s time during the Heartstide Festival. This class is called Music for Enjoyment for a reason. Please choose a piece you believe will connect with the audience. It doesn’t have to be a happy song, per se. Melancholy songs can be enjoyable in their own right. You may perform solo, or in a small ensemble.”

  A low murmur came over the class as students began grouping together and discussing song choices.

  Grandmaster Pennequois raised his hand and spoke over the noise. “Just be sure each person has an opportunity to sing solo.”