Incarnate

“Some things we might discuss about your music.”

I slumped. “It was awful, wasn’t it?” He’d let me work on it for hours before telling me? I couldn’t decide whether to be angry or devastated.

I wanted to run upstairs and hide my shame, but that wouldn’t help me improve. Instead, I grabbed the notebook and started toward the parlor. Might as well get it over with.

“Actually, I thought it was pretty.” He touched my elbow. “Did you even read what I wrote? Or did you just assume?”

“What do you think?” I pressed the notebook against his chest. “You didn’t say anything about it, and I just started. I knew it wouldn’t be perfect, but this page is filled. I think the next one is too.”

He gave me an exhausted look as his hands closed over the notebook. “Nothing is perfect, not even when you’ve been playing for several lifetimes.” Without waiting for me, he marched back into the parlor and set the notebook on his stool. “I know you think either you’re amazing the first time, or you’re a failure, but that’s not how this is. Nothing is like that. Yes, there’s room to improve this piece, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad. Remember? You just started. And you didn’t bother to notice I wrote things like, ‘This is lovely.’”

v

“Fine.” I sat on the piano bench again, determined to do better. Even my scales sounded angry.

Sam slipped onto the bench next to me, interrupting a major scale. His hands covered mine.

“Music is the only thing that ever mattered to me,” I whispered to the ringing silence. “Every time I hurt, I had one place to turn. I need to be good at it.”

“You are. I don’t, and probably won’t, tell you enough. Can’t have my students getting cocky.” He smiled; I didn’t. “But you are good at this. I’ve never enjoyed teaching someone as much.” He curled his fingers with mine and leaned toward me. Our thighs pressed together and his voice deepened. “I want to tell you something.”

“Okay.” All this touching today. It was disorienting and distracting, because he’d mostly been so careful to keep his distance. What if he did the same thing he had in the kitchen our first day here?

I couldn’t let him hurt me — even unintentionally — because he’d had a tough morning. I had, too.

“Wait,” I said when he started to speak. “Not right now. It’s just too much. I’m sorry.”

He drew back a fraction, released my hands. “You’re probably right. We still have a lot to do today.”

I exhaled relief. “Okay, so this music. First tell me all the things you like to help my ego recover. Then you can tear it down again.”

r

We didn’t make it to the library until after dinner, and it was mostly my fault. I kept asking questions, trying to understand the things I’d done right without knowing, and the things that didn’t work. My harmonies, he said, didn’t coordinate properly with the melody, and we discussed ways to fix that without changing the heart of the piece.

He swore it took practice to find the right balance, but I was determined to write a masterpiece next.

At the end of the day, we were both exhausted, but I was happier. We took care of chores and ate a small dinner before heading to the library; I pestered him with more questions the whole way, clutching my flashlight in mittened hands.

Though the snow hadn’t lasted, the cold had. With any luck, the weather would warm in the next couple of days; the masquerade was coming up, and I hadn’t been smart enough to plan for freezing temperatures.

Sam hauled open the library door, letting me duck in first. Heat made my cold skin prickle as I escaped the temple’s glow.

“There you are!” Whit pushed up from the desk he’d been hunched over. “We thought you two had given up on us.”

“Unlike some people I know,” I said, removing my mittens and scarf, “we don’t live here.”

“She says that now.” Sam followed me toward Whit’s and Orrin’s desks, where they worked over flat electronic screens. “But the first thing she said when I showed her the library was that we should move in.”

Orrin lifted an eyebrow, oddly delicate for someone so large. “The acoustics would be terrible.”

“Exactly what I said.” Sam laughed — it was really nice to hear him laugh again — and took my coat and cold-weather accessories to stash away, like he usually did. Well, like he did until the market attack. This cheered me, too; he hadn’t run straight to his mysterious research, and he remembered my existence for more than two minutes.

“We could still rearrange things.” I sniffed, feigning offense. When I caught his eye, his grin stretched wide, and there was something about it that made me blush, something I didn’t have a word for but would have liked — in private. Face still hot, I peered over Whit’s shoulder. “What are you two doing anyway?”

“Well,” he said, shifting to give me a better look, “we had a thrilling morning scanning genealogies into the digital archives. Now we’re reviewing logs to see where books have been going. A large number of diaries have—” He shifted and covered the screen. “Huh.”

Ominous. “I was actually looking for some diaries last night. Sine was with me. She thought I might have better luck if I researched Menehem and Li, but the diaries weren’t here. Still in the digital archives, though.”

“There are no rules about taking books from the library, as long as they’re returned.” Orrin smiled from behind his desk. “Did the console give you any trouble?”

“No, it was fine.” I glanced at Sam, who was no longer smiling. Last night, there’d been a death trap of books on his floor. More worried for Sam’s health, I’d barely noticed they were gone this morning. “So did you find out who took them?”

“Sorry,” said Whit. “Who takes what is privileged information for archivists and Councilors. But you’re welcome to continue using the consoles.”

“Oh, all right.” Torn between annoyance and suspicion, I headed upstairs. Surely if Sam had been the one to take the diaries, he’d have told me. He didn’t need to research my parents, and the books on his floor might have been music books.

“The reason we were late,” Sam said, “is because Ana started composing a minuet.”

“And you made her work on it until her hands were blue?” Orrin chuckled.

“You should both ask her to play it for you next time you’re over. It’s very nice.”

Beaming at his praise, I found the console I wanted and called up Menehem’s diaries. Reading like this hurt my eyes, but I made it through every page, searching for a hint of Menehem’s research goals and where he might have gone after abandoning Li and me.

He seemed like the curious type, which fit with his being a scientist. There were entire diaries dedicated to the geothermal features around the caldera, especially the gases a few gave off. He questioned the Council’s decisions, Heart and its glowing temple, even the reasons for everyone’s existence when there were a dozen other dominant species in the world: dragons, centaurs, phoenixes, unicorns, and giants. Not to mention everyone’s nemesis, the sylph. He hated Meuric’s insistence that Janan was responsible for humanity’s existence even more than Deborl’s idea that we were here because we were superior to other creatures, and eventually we’d claim the rest of the world.

Both thoughts seemed foolish to me. I hadn’t settled on an opinion about Janan yet — he might be real, though I doubted he was benevolent — but I definitely didn’t agree with Deborl’s idea. As far as I knew, no one had ever tried claiming the rest of the world, and if that was his goal, he should have started before “eventually.” Besides, you couldn’t kill sylph.

By the time I finished reading Menehem’s latest diary, I got the feeling he wasn’t well liked in Heart. He was defensive and cynical, and often accused society of having become stagnant, complacent with the world as it was. I didn’t agree about the stagnant state — people were still coming up with lots of interesting things — but I appreciated that he didn’t accept simple answers to hard questions, and thought people should challenge themselves.

I’d always hated him because he’d abandoned me to Li, but getting to know him through his journals, there were some things to admire.

Before I ran out of time, I peeked at his professional journals. He’d been studying sylph before he disappeared, trying to use chemicals to influence or incapacitate them. There was no indication whether he’d succeeded, though.