The Black Witch. Laurie Forest

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       CHAPTER TWELVE

      Lukas Grey

      It’s a relief when I finally leave the crowded ballroom for the private hallway that leads to my room, my feet cramped in my pinching shoes. I briefly ponder escape.

      I enter the deserted room and my breath immediately catches tight in my throat.

      There, lying open on my bed, is a violin case. Within, nestled comfortably in green velvet, is a Maelorian violin—the highest-quality violin in the Western Realm, made by Elves in the northern Maelorian Mountains from rare Alfsigr spruce. There’s a note card carefully slid under the strings, a message written in my aunt’s flowing script.

      Make the family proud.

      I sit down beside the violin and stare at it. How Aunt Vyvian obtained the use of such an instrument, I can’t begin to imagine. When I finally take it in my hands, I feel as if I’m lifting a holy object. A picture of a tapering Alfsigr spruce tree set on a sloping mountainside caresses my mind as I gently pluck at the strings.

      Perfectly in tune.

      A tingling excitement bubbles up within me as I tighten the bow, lift the instrument into position and slide the bow across the A string.

      A perfect note sounds on the air, pure as a still blue lake.

      A rush of joy quickens my heart. Overwhelmed, I set the instrument down, go to my travel bag and fish excitedly through the music folder for my favorite piece, Winter’s Dark, quickly locating the stiff parchment. I stare at the crisp lines of notes, the music already dancing in my head.

      I glance over at the door and my euphoria rapidly implodes, my unwelcome task waiting to press down on me like a miller’s stone.

      Steeling myself, I make a decision. If I’m going to go down in flames in front of half of Valgard, I might as well go down in flames to the tune of the most beautiful piece of music ever composed for the violin.

      I carefully secure the violin, tuck my music under one arm, force myself to my feet and purposefully walk out to meet my doom—well, as purposefully as one can possibly walk in the most uncomfortable shoes ever invented.

      * * *

      I reenter the crowded ballroom and immediately begin to fall apart at the seams, my mouth becoming dry, my gut clenching and worst of all—my hands start to tremble.

      My aunt regards me with a polite smile as I approach. She’s speaking with Priest Vogel and a group of Mage Council members. Marcus Vogel stares at me with unblinking intensity, and I wonder again if he can read my mind.

      “Thank you for the use of this...amazing violin, Aunt Vyvian,” I say, my voice quavering.

      “You’re quite welcome, dear,” she beams. “We’re ready for you.” She gestures toward a gold music stand positioned next to the orchestra and in front of a magnificently carved piano, the ebony of its wood cut into the likeness of multiple trees that support the piano’s broad surface on leafy branches.

      Aunt Vyvian leads me to the music stand. The members of the orchestra dip their heads and smile in greeting. I stoop down to fumble with the violin case as the trembling in my hands worsens.

      “This is Enith,” my aunt says. I look up to see a young Urisk girl with wide, sapphire eyes and bright blue skin. “She can turn the pages for you.”

      “Pages?”

      My aunt looks at me like I’ve taken leave of my senses. “Of your music.”

      “Oh, yes...of course.” I straighten up and reach under my arm, handing the parchment to the Urisk girl. She takes in my shaking hands, her brow knit with worry.

      The conversation in the vast room gradually dies down to a hush as more and more of the guests notice my aunt waiting for their attention.

      “I’d like to introduce my niece, Elloren Gardner,” Aunt Vyvian says smoothly. “Some of you have had the pleasure of meeting her already. Some of you will be attending University with her this year.”

      I look out over the crowd and am horrified to see Fallon working her way to the front with a large group of young people.

      I reach up to turn to the first page of my music and knock it clear off the stand, the pages scattering everywhere on the floor.

      “Sorry,” I choke out hoarsely.

      I crouch down and fumble around for the pages, the Urisk girl stooping to help me. I can hear Fallon and her entourage trying to disguise their derisive laughter with coughing.

      After what seems like a mortifying eternity, I rise. The Urisk girl grabs the music from my hands, perhaps not willing to let me ruin her designated end of the job.

      I lean down again to lift the violin out of its case, rise, steady it with my chin and tense my bow arm to try and bring my trembling under control.

      Fallon and her group watch me with wicked anticipation. Aislinn Greer, who’s standing near the front of the crowd, nods with friendly encouragement.

      I fear I might throw up right there in front of all of them if I hesitate any longer, so I begin.

      My bow strafes the violin with a harsh screech and I wince, surprising even myself with how incredibly horrible I sound. I plow on, disastrously off-key, as I struggle to stay focused on the music, feeling like I’m rapidly losing all control of my shaking hands.

      I stop, violin still poised, tears stinging at my eyes, too ashamed to look into the crowd.

      More coughing and shocked laughter waft over from Fallon’s direction.

      The sound of their ridicule sends a spike of angry hurt through me, unexpectedly steeling my resolve. The violin’s wood faintly pulses with warmth. The image of rough, strong branches flickers behind my eyes then retreats, as if the wood is trying to reach me.

      Bolstered, I concentrate on relaxing my hands, force the trembling into submission and begin again. This time my bow slides smoothly across the strings and the melody begins to fall into place. I grit my teeth and play on, the quality of the instrument rendering the music nearly passable...

      And then it begins.

      Piano music from behind me, accompanying me.

      But not just any piano music—beautiful music, twining itself around my feeble attempts at the melody.

      I falter for a moment in disbelief.

      The piano music catches me, slowing where I’ve stumbled, improvising where I’ve missed the notes. Another swell of warmth suffuses the wood as sinuous branches fill my mind, winding through me.

      I relax and fall into the music, little by little, my hands steadying, the notes coming into focus. I close my eyes. I don’t need to look at the music. I know this song.

      The crowd in front of me fades then disappears until it’s just me, the violin, the piano and the tree.

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