Asunder

“I know.” She bounced on her toes. “He’s the most amazing thing. I love him more than anyone. I mean”— she eyed Wend, who fake-pouted—“he’s tied with someone else for my greatest love.”

They flirted back and forth until Cris and Sarit walked over. “I just had the best idea,” Sarit announced.

“We.” Cris rolled his eyes. “We had an idea.”

“Sure. Cris and I had an idea.” Sarit leaned against the back of the sofa. “It had to do with roses. We think they should go all over the Councilhouse stairs when we speak, like you have here tonight. Not only would it be pretty, but Cris was telling me how special the blue ones are to you.”

“We have things in common.” I smiled, imagining the Councilhouse columns wreathed in red and blue.

Phoenix roses for oldsouls. Blue roses for newsouls. “Are there enough roses?”

“We might have to steal some of these,” Cris said, “but I think we’ll make it. Sarit volunteered to do all the arranging, and I can run to the cottage and get a few more blue ones if necessary.”

“Thank you.” I hugged both Cris and Sarit, gratitude filling me up. Maybe—hopefully—others would notice the significance of the roses, too, and see how beautiful they all looked together. Heart could be like that.

“The stage will be gorgeous! Don’t you think so?” Lidea nudged Wend, who nodded.

“Now it’s my turn to hold Anid.” Sarit held out her hands. “Give him, or no flowers for you, ladybug.”

I laughed and handed him over, and when Sarit, Lidea, and Wend moved toward the piano, Cris sat on the arm of the sofa and lowered his voice. “I’ve been thinking about those symbols of yours. I meant to bring the list.”

“Oh.” I shuddered, too easily remembering Meuric trapped in the tower, the grating of his voice, the fluid seeping from his eye. His delight when he told me Janan was consuming newsouls. I clutched my stomach and tried to swallow the acid taste in the back of my throat.

“Are you all right?” Cris touched my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“I think I need some water.”

Cris slipped off the sofa and led me to the stairs. “Sit here out of the way. I’ll get you a glass.”

When I was settled on one of the upper steps, looking down at all my guests chatting and admiring the roses, I tried to relax. I was out of the temple. Safe. I would help the newsouls coming to Heart. I would learn to read the books from the temple. I would discover the connection between Janan and the sylph. I would…what?

I still had no idea what Janan had planned for Soul Night.

“Focus,” I whispered to myself, wrapping my fingers around the stem of a blue rose. First the newsouls.

Stef’s voice came from just below my stair. “Did you see her holding Anid earlier? Babies holding babies.”

I clenched my jaw.

“Ana is an adult,” Sam said. “Almost four years past her first quindec. If newsouls had full rights, she could have had a job years ago.”

I appreciated him standing up for me, but it wasn’t like I’d always known what I was going to do. I liked learning about everything.

“Physically,” Stef said, “nearly four years past first quindec describes you too. But that’s physical.

She’s cute, and anyone can see why you like her, but stop pretending that five thousand years don’t matter.”

“She’s accomplished more in these last months than many of us did in entire lifetimes. Even before we met her, she’d taught herself how to do things it took us ages to learn. She hasn’t been a child in a very long time.”

I certainly didn’t feel like a child.

Sam spoke so quietly I almost didn’t hear. “There are a million things she can teach us, simply by virtue of being new and seeing things differently.”

“Like Templedark?”

His voice was a razor. “Ana rescued both of us that night. And hundreds more. Everything else was Menehem. You know that. Ana is no more responsible for his actions than you.”

“You’re really hopeless about this, aren’t you?” Stef gave a long sigh, and her tone turned to steel.

“Listen, Dossam. People are talking about your relationship with her. Whatever you’ve done with her?

Inappropriate. Whatever you want to do with her? Inappropriate. She’s five thousand years younger than you, and even if she doesn’t know better, you should.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, glad I was on the stairs where no one noticed me. More than anything I wanted to march over and tell her to mind her own business, but there were still so many people around, all chatting and having a nice time.

“People don’t know anything about it. One day,” he growled, “you’re going to have to accept it. I don’t care if she’s eighteen or eighteen hundred. I love her more than—”

“What?” Stef’s voice was low and dangerous. “More than music? More than me? More than everyone you’ve known for the last five millennia?” She paused, and the silence was heavy like the moments between a lightning strike and a roll of thunder. “More than all the darksouls?”

I gripped the rose stem so tightly it cracked. Did Sam love me like that? Was that kind of love even possible?

“Yes.” His word was barely a breath. “More than all that.”

Relief and horror poured through me. Stef had listed herself in there.

“It’s unfair to ask me to rank feelings,” Sam muttered.

Then Cris was back with a glass of water, still much taller even when he sat a step lower. “Were you just listening to them down there?” He kept his voice soft, and when I shrugged, he leaned on his elbow toward me. “Don’t let it get to you. She’s probably hearing a lot of cruel gossip—probably more than you or Sam, since she’s been his friend so long and people know…”

“She loves him,” I whispered into my water.

Cris lowered his eyes and nodded. “It makes people do strange things sometimes.”

“It’s fine.” I put down the rose I’d been holding and took a long drink of water, trying to think of a way out of this. Cris was nice, and I’d have to remember to talk to him about the symbols from the books, but right now, I just wanted to make it through the night. “Thanks for the water. I’m going to see if anyone wants to play some music.”

Cris unfolded himself to rise, then offered a hand to help me up. I headed downstairs with him and took my flute off its stand.

That was enough to draw looks. Sam and Stef first, both dark-faced from their fight. Then the hum of conversations drained, and others began to claim instruments or find stands. Most, as far as I knew, played at least a few instruments. They were Sam’s friends, after all.

When everyone had chosen, Whit and Armande ran upstairs to the music library and returned with appropriate music for each instrument. Sam adjusted the lights so everyone could read.

We started with scales to warm up, then moved on to a few pieces we all knew. At first I thought they’d chosen simple songs because I was new, but after a few squeaks from Lorin on the oboe, I realized they weren’t going easy on me.

As unlikely as it was, I was a better player than a few of these people; I practiced several hours a day, while they practiced when they felt like it and when Sam scheduled a group performance.

Of course, as soon as Moriah, Orrin, and Whit played a dizzying reel on a cello, violin, and clarinet, my pride vanished. They practiced every day. Someday, I would be as good as them. Better.

Sarit sang a ballad to Stef’s piano. Others moved in with duets, trios, their favorite pieces. They made lots of trips to the music library upstairs, and I had a brief surge of worry that they’d stumble into my room and find the temple books hidden all over, but no one was gone long enough for that. Anyway, Sam would have heard someone walking into the wrong room.

My heart swelled as we played more group pieces, broke off into more small ensembles. How did I get this lucky? Friends—surely they all counted as friends now—who were willing to help with the newsouls, and play music with me? It was too incredible. Too wonderful.