Music swirled around the parlor, bringing the room to life. I struggled not to grin around my embouchure as we came to the coda of a waltz.
“What about”—Stef hmmed—“Blue Rose Serenade? Did anyone see the lute?”
“Um.” Sam glanced at Cris as awkward silence fluttered through the room. People glanced at me, at Sam, at Cris, at the roses all around. “One of the strings snapped. I haven’t replaced it yet.”
“Maybe whatever you and Ana are working on?” Cris lowered the clarinet he’d been playing.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. We’d been practicing flute duets, and Sarit and Stef had listened a few times, but more people?
“Come on.” Sarit batted her eyes. “Let everyone hear.”
Sam gave me a look like it was up to me, so I nodded, mostly to stop the awkwardness. He had never mentioned Blue Rose Serenade before. He’d probably forgotten about it when he’d given me the code to add all his music to my SED.
Later, I vowed, I’d ask what had happened between them.
Sam warmed up on the other flute while I found our music, and my heart thudded at the weight of everyone watching. Listening.
But as soon as he met my eyes and silently counted off, my fear evaporated. I stood up straighter, rolled the flute in where my high notes tended to go sharp, and played like I never had before. Every time I glanced at Sam for a fermata or tempo change, he looked as though he wanted to smile.
Before I was ready, we came to the last note and held it until Sam nodded, and our duet ended.
When everyone left, I shut the door and locked it, and Sam and I cleaned up, talking about who needed to practice their favorite instruments more. I wanted to ask him about his fight with Stef, but how did one even open a conversation like that?
“What’s this?” Sam bent to retrieve something from the floor. He pinched a tiny wire between his fingers. “From a flute?”
“Ugh.” I checked mine. Sure enough, the wire was a spring that had popped out. A set of keys flopped pitifully. “Lorin was messing with it earlier. Guess she got a little enthusiastic when she was pretending she knew how to play.”
Sam smirked and handed me the spring. “She’s banned from holding flutes from now on. Will you take this upstairs? I’ll show you how to fix it tomorrow.”
I nodded and carried the flute and spring to the workroom, which held a dozen instruments in various stages of repair, as well as tools to fix them. Building and repairing instruments wasn’t Sam’s job, but he insisted it was important for every musician to know the basics. All this looked like more than basics to me, though.
I left my flute on the workbench and headed back downstairs. Just as I reached the last step, thunder tore in the north, and the ground rippled. “Was that an earthquake?” Range was constantly shifting, but most earthquakes were too tiny to feel.
“No.” Sam was pale, staring northward with wide eyes. “I think it was an explosion.”
I raced for my coat and then into the cold. Nearby, an orange glow raged against the dark sky.
Sam followed me out, a water bottle in his pocket and his SED pressed to his ear. “Alert all the guards and medics. Hurry.”
We ran down the walkway as secondary explosions shattered the night. Crashes and bangs, pops and screeching. I ran as fast as my legs would carry me. Sam raced across the street ahead, not waiting.
From the fiery glow beyond a line of trees, smoke poured into the black sky, obscuring the moon and stars. The acrid reek burned through my nose and throat, caught in my lungs. The sting made my eyes water, and we hadn’t yet come in sight of the fire, except where its light shot between trees.
The roar of flame covered the sound of my footfalls beating the ground—I could only feel the heavy
Hot brilliance blinded me as we broke through the trees, reaching the house. Dark and light. I couldn’t see because my eyes didn’t know how to adjust.
I crashed into Sam. He held his sleeve over his face, using his free hand to press a wet cloth into my hands. I wondered where he’d gotten the water, but then remembered the bottle stuffed into his pocket.
“Put this over your nose and mouth.” The fire tried to consume his words. The rush and groan were louder now that we stood in the yard. Heat billowed toward us, bringing smoke and sparks. In spite of the inferno, I was glad for my coat to protect my skin. I’d already experienced enough burns to last several lifetimes.
“We have to help whoever’s inside the house.” I squinted at the trees silhouetted between bands of firelight. “Who lives here?”
“You’re not going anywhere until you put that over your face.” He pressed the handkerchief over my nose. Breathing turned wet and heavy, more difficult than inhaling smoke. He wasn’t wearing a wet handkerchief.
“But you—” I bit off my words when I saw his expression, like pieces of him were being ripped out and hurled into the flames.
“I can’t stop you from going in,” he said, probably at a normal volume, but the fire made his words soft. “I can only try to help you make it out alive.”
I pinned the handkerchief against my face and gave a curt nod. We dashed toward the house.
Outbuildings had collapsed in the initial wave, but the white stone remained solid. Janan’s doing. At least the entire structure wouldn’t fall in on us, though there was still furniture to dodge inside.
And the fire.
We went in. All the doors and windows had blown out—glass crunched under my boots—and tables and chairs were nigh unrecognizable. Everything was black and red, blazing hot. I didn’t even have time to sweat beneath my wool coat; the dry air sucked the moisture out of me, and out of my handkerchief as I searched through the terrible heat and burning remains of someone’s home.
The fire roared and rushed. It seemed impossible I’d be able to hear anything else, but I caught the ragged sound of coughing. Metals clattered against stone.
Smoke and fire. Debris piled up. I couldn’t find the source of the noise.
There, between a fallen bookcase and the remains of a large stringed instrument, lay a woman on her side, facing away from me.
At my approach, she rolled over. Her stomach bulged like Lidea’s had while she’d been pregnant.
Geral. I’d taken lessons from her, about building roads and constructing outbuildings.
I rushed for her, screaming her name, and as I jumped over the wreckage I lost track of Sam.
“Geral!” Smoke suffocated my voice as I reached her, but her face twisted with confusion. “I’m here to help.”
Her eyes focused as I pressed the mostly dry handkerchief over her nose and mouth. It took some maneuvering and shifting her weight, but finally I got her arm around my shoulders and used every muscle in my legs and back to haul her up. By my ear, her breath came shallow and weak from inhaling smoke.
We turned toward the direction I thought I’d come, but the room had changed. Beams had fallen, burning brightly. Blackening rubble blocked our path. And where was Sam?
I coughed at the smoke singeing my lungs, and shielded my face with my free arm like Sam had. It didn’t help.
“This way.” Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to talk, but it helped me focus through the dizzying heat, and she relaxed—only slightly.
Windows and doors were in the same place on every house, and there was some kind of opening on every wall. Any direction was better than standing still. I guided Geral, both of us coughing. Only the fact that the upper level had collapsed on the other side of the house saved us from suffering worse; the smoke had somewhere to go.
I hoped Sam wasn’t over there.
Our journey to the wall was unbearably hot. My eyes watered, and Geral was too heavy for me to carry, but that wouldn’t stop me. We stumbled again and again.
I reminded myself—maybe out loud—that I’d endured worse, with my hands inside a sylph. But this was everywhere, and I wasn’t alone. Geral counted on me to get her to safety.
The world swam with blackness. I staggered, Geral heavy on my shoulders, but as my knees hit the ground, a cool mist bathed my face.
