“No.” I clenched my jaw. “No, they can tell me to stop, but I won’t. I’m not giving up.”
“Good.” She sighed, and a minute shivered past. “I’ve been riding hard to Purple Rose. The road has been snowy, but fine. A drone will come through if it gets bad.”
“So you’ll be home soon?”
“Yeah, a few more days. This horse is going to hate me, though.” Something clanked in the background. “I’ve been calling my people. I checked in with Lidea and Moriah, and they’ve been in touch with their groups. Everyone is doing their part. You just get ready for yours and don’t worry about the rest of us.”
“That’s hard to do with Cris and Stef missing.” With explosions, people destroying parlors, and nursery break-ins, anything could have happened.
“I’ll call their lists. It’s fine, Ana. I’m sure they’ll turn up soon.” She didn’t sound convinced, though.
“I bet Sam could use your company right now. Go be with him, and I’ll talk to you soon. Love you.”
The SED clicked, and she was gone. Just in case, I tried Stef and Cris again. They didn’t answer, so I left messages. Then I readied another tray of food for Sam, hoping he’d finished the last, hoping he’d gotten up to bathe.
He hadn’t. He didn’t break his intense study of the floor. His scowl never eased as I replaced his food tray.
Heavy with dread and worry, I did the only thing I could think of that might rouse him from his misery.
I sat at the tall harp and positioned my hands like he’d shown me a few months ago—right hand close, left hand far—and plucked at the first string my fingers found, then the next.
On the bed, facing the other wall, Sam sat taller. He tilted his head.
I played another string, and another. Long, low ringing filled the bedroom like gentle snow. It was slightly out of tune, but I didn’t know how to fix that. I’d only played the harp a few times before, though the strings on my fingertips, the curve of wood against my shoulder—they felt natural.
My fingers wandered into familiar patterns from Sam’s brief lessons. I played a simple tune, belatedly recalling how to work the pedals to change key. My playing wasn’t what anyone would call
He came back into the room—water still running in the background—while I fumbled across a series of notes I couldn’t remember; I was used to having music in front of me.
“Here.” He took my hand and placed it on the correct string. “The arpeggio begins here.” His fingers fell off mine, skin grazing skin.
I nodded, continued playing, and watched while he took clothes from his wardrobe and drawers, then went into the washroom. Steam wafted from the door he’d left ajar.
My music soared through the house, even when my fingertips started to hurt and I lost track of which strings were which. I needed the music, too.
Shower water silenced, and a few minutes later Sam appeared in clean clothes, his hair chafed damp against a towel. He sat on the bed near me while I kept playing the harp.
“I remember building it,” he murmured, almost a countermelody against the delicate harp. “The piano.
I remember covering it with coats of clear finish to let the natural wood shine through, fitting the cloth into corners and creases to ward away bubbles and drips. It felt like it warmed under my hands, like it was alive. I could already hear all the music I’d make. Preludes and nocturnes, sonatas and waltzes.”
My fingers found a darker melody to match his mood.
“I never imagined choosing a favorite instrument, but even before I played the first note, I thought the piano could be it.
“Each piece of ivory and ebony came from faraway lands. I carved and polished every one myself. I cut the maple from forests near Range, and mined the ore—to be smelted and purified for wires and such —with my own hands.”
Which hands were those? Ten generations ago?
“It took half a lifetime to plan and gather the materials, learn the necessary skills for constructing what I envisioned. I couldn’t do it all by myself—some things just need more hands—but I worked so hard on it. When it was complete, I was an old man and my fingers ached from all that I’d done to create this thing, but when I touched the keys and played the first notes, it was so beautiful. So wonderful. Even now, I can almost hear the echoes of music from centuries ago.”
I leaned my cheek against the smooth wood of the harp and let my hands rest on my knees. The music faded.
He watched me with dark, haunted eyes, his damp hair pressed against his skin. Anguish shone raw on his face: the strained set of his mouth, the way he made breathing look like the hardest thing in the world.
“I didn’t make other people’s pianos. I gave the construction plans to people who could do a better job. I’m a musician, nothing else. But I was proud of that piano.”
“Nothing I say will help.” I lowered my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Your music helped.” He reached as though to touch my arm, but I couldn’t stop remembering what he’d suggested before we came in and found the parlor. He wanted me to leave. He wouldn’t have suggested it unless he meant it.
I pulled away from him; I had to protect what was left of my heart, too. “The temple books are gone,” I said, standing up. “And Menehem’s research.”
Sam said nothing.
“Stef isn’t answering her SED. I went over there to see her, but she’s gone.”
He dropped his gaze. “She probably decided to wait out the snowstorm with another friend. I doubt she felt welcome here.”
“Because you two were fighting.” About me. Did that make it my fault? “She should have answered her SED, anyway. I called a million times and left a million messages.”
He clenched his jaw. “She’s angry with me. Maybe she’s ignoring you by association.”
I doubted that was it, but I wished he were right. Stef avoiding me was better than Stef being missing.
“We’ve been at such odds lately.” He dragged in a deep breath. “I thought she would be happy I was happy. I don’t understand why she’s been acting like this.”
Really? He didn’t understand? How could someone with so much history and experience be so oblivious?
I’d reached the end of what I could take. Every piece of me felt like it was vibrating so fast it might fall off. A piano wire. A harp string. I’d spent the last day dragging off pieces of instruments I loved, too, to be sorted into scraps later. I’d frozen, seen friends killed, and Sam had asked if I wanted to leave. So what did it matter if I told him?
“She’s in love with you, Sam. Really, really in love.” My throat ached, and my heart felt dashed into a thousand pieces. “She’s jealous that you’ve spent so much time with me. She just wants you back.”
He was shaking his head. “No. We’ve had relationships in the past, but nothing like you mean. She can’t.”
“Because you said?” I raised an eyebrow. “You don’t get to say how other people feel or don’t feel.
You can choose to be blind, but that doesn’t change what everyone else sees. She
He seemed lost, like he didn’t know where we were or who I was, let alone the language I spoke.
But I’d told him. Now he had to choose what to do with the information; I’d already decided what I’d do with everything he
“Why? Where?”
“Li’s or Ciana’s, like you said. Maybe Sarit’s until I get my own things.” I bit my lip, wondering at what point my heart would crumble under the weight of my decision. Any second now. “I hope you don’t mind if I stay here until the snowstorm is over.”
His mouth dropped open, and he just stared for what seemed like hours. Like after the instruments, this was going to break him. I couldn’t feel bad, though. Wouldn’t. He’d suggested it. I’d have stayed forever if I thought he wanted me.
