Inharmonic (The Music Maker Series Book 1) Page 23

  The talking ceased at once, and everyone regarded the grandmaster with collective surprise.

  Nadja’s stomached clenched.

  A hint of a smile crept over his lips, highlighting his already conceited expression. “Oh, didn’t you know? These will be vocal performances.”

  He waited for the news to settle over the stunned class before continuing.

  “It is true we focus on instrumental music here. However, since vocal music is not utilitarian in nature like instrumental music is, it’s the perfect medium for exploring music purely for the sake of enjoyment.”

  The class once again began to murmur, and the grandmaster once again raised his hand.

  “And I want to hear no complaints of, ‘But I can’t sing!’ Any idiot with working vocal cords can sing. Singing is just speaking with greater range.”

  Without warning, he launched into an aria from “The Night of a Thousand Moons.” His voice was strong and sure, and he performed with gusto, emoting with a flourish like a professional upon the stage. Nadja hated to admit it, but he was good.

  When the song was over, he paused for dramatic effect. A smattering of applause, led enthusiastically by Laurel, stroked his vanity.

  “Of course, not everyone who sings can do so with great skill.” He bestowed a gracious smile upon the class, aiming particularly at the ladies. “Skill will factor little into your final grade. The point of this exercise is for you and the audience to relish in the music for its own sake.”

  He dismissed the class with a wave of his hand, giving no chance for questions or argument.

  “Singing. Well, I didn’t see that coming.” Helaine said.

  “Me either,” Nadja mumbled, her stomach now at a full roll. Memories of her last vocal performance came to mind.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s easy for him to say anyone can sing when he does it so well. Let’s just say there’s a reason I play an instrument.”

  “Oh dear, don’t worry! You heard what he said. Skill won’t matter much to your grade. You must sing a duet with me. I love to sing.” Before Nadja could agree, Helaine began planning the whole thing. “We can take turns, and I can take on any difficult parts. In fact, you choose the song. Pick whatever you like. Something you’re comfortable with.”

  Nadja was glad for her friend’s offer to help, but didn’t want to mess up other plans which might already be in motion. “Thank you for the offer, but wouldn’t Petrin be disappointed? I’m sure he’s already making plans to sing with you.” She scanned the classroom for Helaine’s spindly beau.

  “Oh, he’s a bit under the weather, poor thing. Hopefully he’ll be well in time for the Heartstide Festival, but he may have to make up the assignment.” Helaine sighed. “I’ll take him some food after Music Theory. I hope it’s nothing too bad . . .” Then, she shook herself, flashing a smile at Nadja. “But I want you to sing a duet with me.”

  Nadja couldn’t help but smile back. “Of course.”

  Helaine snapped her fingers. “You know, Grandmaster Pennequois said solo or small ensemble. We could do a trio or quartet if you like. That way we could spread the solo parts around even more.”

  Nadja’s eyes flitted over the class. Most of the students were already grouped together or had left the room. Her gaze paused on a couple towards the back corner of the classroom.

  Pax’s angular profile captured her attention as he leaned across one of the long tables, resting on his forearms. The months spent away from the physical demands of the forest had done little to diminish his impressive form or the sun-baked hue of his skin. She watched the strong line of his jaw bob up and down as he spoke. He grinned, and tiny crinkles accented the corner of his eye.

  A high musical laugh broke through the buzz of conversation. Laurel sat across the table from him, wearing a smile which enhanced her already impossibly perfect features. She reached out and traced her slender fingers down the length of his arm, bring it to rest in his open palm.

  Nadja flinched.

  She dropped her eyes to the floor and blinked a few times, then looked up and gave Helaine what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

  “No, I think a duet is just the thing.”

  “No!” exclaimed Nadja.

  She looked at Helaine’s face, cheeks flushed and eyes brimming with unshed tears.

  “I’m so sorry,” croaked Helaine. “Here I am, letting you down in your time of need. What a wonderful friend I turned out to be.” She buried her face in her hands.

  Nadja’s shoulders slumped. Her best friend was sitting in bed propped against the headboard, fevered and in pain, and Nadja’s first reaction had been self-pity at the loss of that evening’s duet partner. A wave of shame washed over her, and she softened her voice.

  “No,” she said. “I shouldn’t have shouted. I was just surprised that’s all. How are you feeling?”

  “Like someone set fire to my throat,” Helaine whispered.

  Nadja sat on the edge of the bed and placed her hand across Helaine’s forehead.

  “No,” said Helaine, pushing her hand away. “I don’t want you to catch it.”

  “You are burning up.” Nadja stood and crossed the room to the water basin, returning with a cup of fresh water. “Drink this. I know it hurts, but you need it. I’ll go down to the dining hall and bring you back some soup. Would you like me to send for Nurse Silvers?”

  “There’s no need,” said Helaine, taking a small sip of water. “I know what it is.” She raised her eyes to meet Nadja’s, and she bolted up in bed. The tears which had been threatening to escape finally broke free.

  “Oh Nadja, it’s all my fault,” she cried, her voice sounding like sandpaper. “I knew better, but I just couldn’t help myself. And now I’m not the only one who will pay for my foolish actions. I hardly ever get sick. I guess that’s why I was so arrogant. Stupid. Completely preventable.”

  “Woah,” Nadja crooned. She grasped Helaine gently by the shoulders. “Slow down. What are you talking about?”

  Helaine took a deep breath which trembled as she released it. “It was Petrin. He was just so pitiful. Like a helpless little boy lying there. The worst of it was over, and I thought it wouldn’t be catching by then. I just couldn’t seem to help myself. So I . . .”

  Nadja nodded slowly. “Ah.” She released Helaine’s shoulders. Then, stifling a grin she asked, “Couldn’t keep your lips off him, could you?”

  Helaine shook her head and sniffed. “See what I mean? Stupid. And now I’m sending you out on that stage all alone when I should be there right beside you.”

  Nadja chuckled, and Helaine glanced up at her with a puzzled look.

  “It’s fine, Helaine, really.” She reached out and patted her friend’s hand. “I could sing this song in my sleep, duet or solo. Don’t worry about me. Just promise you’ll get some rest this evening.” She paused and looked pointedly at her roommate. “And don’t even think about sneaking out to Petrin’s room, no matter how irresistible his kisses are.”

  Helaine let out a giggle which sounded more like a hiccup, and Nadja saw her shoulders relax.

  “Are you sure?” asked Helaine.

  “Yes,” said Nadja, placing her hands on Helaine’s shoulders once again and leaning her friend back against her pillows. “Now, you relax, and I’ll get you that soup.”

  She stood and headed for the door.

  “Besides,” she called back, “it’ll do me good. I need to stop hiding behind my own insecurities and just lay it all out there. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  Chapter 26

  Nadja rolled her flute back and forth between her palms. The coral instrument, cool when she removed it from her pack, had warmed to match her own temperature due to copious amounts of fidgeting.

  She sat with the rest of her classmates at one of the small wooden tables positioned in front of the modest stage at The Hen and Harp. The rest of the room was filled to overflowing with celebrants, most at tables or at
the bar, with a few choosing to prop against walls or support beams when seats were not to be found. Couples made up the majority of the crowd, heads leaned together, seeing little more than each other. One large table was filled entirely with women, imbibing pints of the pub’s special festival brew and conversing boisterously with one another.

  The pub itself was decorated from top to bottom in honor of the Heartstide Festival. Basketfuls of spring blooms adorned almost every nonfunctional surface in the building. Chains of heavenly scented lilac and snowdrops spiraled their way up beams and railings. Festoons of pink crocuses and cheery daffodils dipped and swayed back and forth across the ceiling. The flowers, symbolic of the spring’s new life and the bloom of love, adorned the hair of many women.

  Nadja was not one of those women. While that night’s patrons gathered to indulge in the more tender feelings of the heart, all Nadja wanted to do was get her performance over with. Unfortunately, she would have to wait.

  Grandmaster Pennequois had ordered them all to meet in the Music for Enjoyment classroom an hour before they were due at The Hen and Harp. He noted each song to be performed, then ordered them as he saw fit.

  If Nadja hadn’t been so caught up reworking her duet into a solo, she would have made it on time. As it was, she’d slipped into the classroom a few minutes late. The grandmaster had been annoyed by her tardiness, and even more annoyed he would need to rework the set list. In the interest of time, however, he had begrudgingly tacked on Nadja’s song at the end.

  The dread of having to sit through everyone else’s performances first, stomach rolling and palms sweating, had been mitigated slightly by the fact she hadn’t had to travel to the pub alone. She’d navigated the dusk-shadowed streets of the market district safely ensconced in a pod of her peers.

  And now, one hour and a dozen or so songs later, her turn had come. She sat, head down, mentally going over each transition in the music as Vatara’s sweet soprano offered a touching rendition of “The Lady with the Long Dark Hair” in the background. Nadja had chosen to lend her flute playing to her own piece in the absence of a duet partner. She told herself it would add interest and perhaps help camouflage her less-than-expert vocal skills. In reality, it was a crutch she used to prop up her courage.

  The clapping and cheers shook Nadja’s concentration, and she looked up, wiping her clammy hands on her pants. Vatara bowed with a smile and returned to her seat. The host took her place center stage.

  “Next up is Miss Nadja Machinal. She will perform ‘The Tide of Love.’” The host led the room in applause and gestured for Nadja to take the stage.

  Nadja rose from her seat and gathered her flute and the small stack of music which sat on the table before her. She walked to the side of the room and took the small staircase which led onto the stage one step at a time. She distributed her music to the house band, hoping they didn’t notice the way the papers shook as she handed them out.

  “The Tide of Love” was a familiar song, and Nadja had chosen to sing it because it reminded her of home. Her mother taught it to her as a child and sang it often. Jamila said it reminded her of Nadja’s father, and Nadja, having never known her father, clung to it as if it were a piece of him. She loved the sweet story. But, mostly, she loved the way her mother’s face looked when she sang it, wistful yet content. She was one who had known great love, and though she had lost it too soon, she was better for it.

  She turned to face the crowd.

  The band struck up at once, surprising Nadja. The shock sent a jolt of adrenaline through her body and she breathed deeply, trying to calm her raw nerves. Instinctively, she raised her flute to her lips. Almost as soon as the instrument was in place, she realized the flute part didn’t come until after the first verse. By then it was too late. The moment had passed.

  Nadja looked over her shoulder at the band leader and grimaced. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Can we try again?”

  He nodded and cued the band who stopped in perfect unison before picking up at the beginning once more.

  Nadja turned back towards the crowd, offering them a tight-lipped smile. The whole situation felt eerily familiar. She remembered the last time she sang in front of an audience. She had missed her entrance then, too. Only that time, she didn’t have her flute with her. No. She had sent Kizzy to fetch it. But Kizzy had never come back with it. While Nadja had been performing for her party guests, Kizzy had been enduring unspeakable acts at the hand of Baulo.

  Baulo.

  Nadja’s eyes widened as they darted back and forth across the crowd. The table of women smiled and whispered amongst themselves. A few of the couples diverted their attention in her direction, but most were still engrossed in their partners.

  Of course, Baulo had no business being in Cantio. It wasn’t midseason yet, at least not for a few more days. But, as the Wanderer delegate, he could create an excuse to come into the city any time he saw fit.

  As this thought crossed her mind Nadja spotted a lone figure seated at the end of the bar. The figure was dressed simply enough, but wore a long, hooded cloak, which was odd for the season. The man’s body, for that size and build could only belong to a man, was turned towards the bar, but his head faced the stage.

  Though Nadja couldn’t see his face, she could feel his eyes on her. Studying. Scrutinizing. She studied him in return, unable to look away. His form and bearing was all too familiar. Panic rose in her throat as she realized her ability to stay hidden from Baulo had come to an end.

  The music coming from behind her faded away as a great rushing sound filled her ears. She tore her gaze from the man and found every eye in the room trained on her.

  Why were they all staring?

  Did they know?

  Had he told them?

  Were they helping him?

  Nadja felt like she was standing at a mark, waiting for him to give the order to fire.

  Without warning, a strong arm snaked around her waist, and a hand wrapped firmly around her side. Nadja gasped, nearly dropping her flute.

  “May I join you?” Pax whispered low, his breath tickling her ear, his caramel-coated voice soothing her nerves. She turned and looked up at him in surprise, her head clearing as she inhaled the scent of freshly hewn wood and rain.

  She heard the band clearly now, vamping the same bar, waiting for her entrance.

  Nadja felt a rush of embarrassment. No wonder everyone was staring.

  Pax turned his winning smile on the crowd and launched into the first verse, still holding her to his side, as if sensing she needed the support.

  “My love came to me like the rising tide

  Gracefully she approached, bearing treasures so sweet

  With a love as deep as the sea is wide

  That summer’s day two hearts did meet.”

  Pax’s voice swept over Nadja like the spring breeze. He was surprisingly good, his smooth baritone coating the room in a wash of warmth and tranquility. She smiled inwardly at the way he deftly changed “he” to “she” in the verse as if this had been the plan all along. As he sang, the tension melted from her body, and she leaned into him ever so slightly.

  She thought of their first meeting, how he appeared out of nowhere and saved her, much like he was doing now. That time had been a matter of life or death. And this time may well be, too. She chanced a quick peek at the bar. The cloaked man still sat much as he had before, but perhaps a little more intent.

  As Pax neared the end of the verse, he glanced down at her and winked. The worry-induced tightness in her gut transformed into something fluttery and moved lower in her belly. She turned to the audience before her feelings showed on her face and joined him on the refrain.

  “The waves may crash and roll and roar

  But I am my love’s forevermore.”

  Pax’s hand gave her a gentle squeeze.

  “Your turn,” he whispered, before dropping his arm to his side and slipping the flute from her grasp. A tingling sensation bolted up her arm as thei
r hands connected. He set the flute on a nearby music stand. Then, he pulled her to face him and took both of her hands in his. She looked up into the endless blue of his eyes.

  “Don’t worry about them,” he breathed. “Just sing to me.”

  He was coaching her through it.

  Right before her eyes that perfectly polite yet aloof Pax of the past few months dissolved into the Pax she had come to know and care for. His face was open and supportive, and his grip on her hands was firm, yet gentle as he rubbed his thumbs back and forth across her knuckles.

  She inhaled and closed her eyes.

  “Face to face, and hand to hand

  Lips to lips, in joy and love

  There we played upon the sand

  Heart to heart, ’neath blue skies above.”

  Opening her eyes, her gaze came to rest on his mouth. She thought of their kiss. Hasty, but full of joy. Though it had been many months, she still replayed that moment often in her mind. Her cheeks prickled as she thought of his hands on her face. She unconsciously licked her lips. Pax leaned towards her and parted his.

  His voice carried the refrain solo this time. Nadja startled, embarrassed to have been caught staring at his mouth. Pax’s eyes met hers, his encouraging expression replaced by a questioning look which carried with it an undercurrent of heated intensity.

  She knew that look. She had seen similar ones color his features before, and she had always run from them.

  But this time was different. This time, she didn’t want to run.

  From the time she had left the tribe, Pax had been the one constant in her life. He treated her with nothing but kindness and caring. He was like the Auldwood Oak—strong, protective, persistent, and rare.

  Why had she run?

  She didn’t want a man to speak for her, to play proxy for her to the rest of the world.

  But, Pax never offered that. Yes, he wanted to protect her, but he never discounted her.

  How she longed to feel the security of his arms around her again, to lean into his powerful body and share her worries like she had done that day in the orchard.