We glared at each other until I burst into laughter and she followed shortly after, giggling until she wiped her eyes.
“Aria,” she sighed, flinging open the wardrobe. Dresses glimmered in the low light, endless silk and petticoats and yards and yards of frills and fabric that would make anyone jealous. “I swear, you’re too curious for your own good. You need a man, no, a lover to calm you down and make you happy again. Then maybe you’ll forget about disturbing the ghosts of High Tower.”
My hunger vanished at her words and I put the fork down, staring sightlessly at my half-eaten fish and potatoes. How could I forget about ghosts and spirits? I had to admit, ever since my father’s death, I’d had a childish hope he’d send a spirit from the afterlife to teach me how to sing like my mother. I still recalled his words as he held my hand, his voice shaking with pain.
Count Zorik of High Tower is the only one who might help, but he is not a man you should become indebted to. I’ve made too many mistakes, and you might be saved this once. If you have nowhere else to go, call upon him, and he will come. But do not tarry in High Tower. If you can use your gift, your music, perhaps it will free you from the misery I have inflicted upon you.
“Samara, it’s because I want to sing, and you know Count Zorik will arrange a marriage for me and send me away if I don’t. I’ve taken a year to grieve and now he won’t listen to excuses. Besides, did you hear the music this evening?”
Samara jerked, then continued to shake out my dancing dress. It was low cut, form fitting, and gathered at the waist. The skirt ended just below the knee, layered with fine black silk. The gown was meant to move and swirl with the music, despite its revealing style. I had to remind myself I was no longer a fine city lady, but a connoisseur of the music of the night.
Samara laid the dress on the bed and picked up my hairbrush. “I did not hear the music,” she began, glancing around the room to ensure no one was listening. No one was, but all the same she lowered her voice to a conspiring whisper. “But we saw another sighting.”
“A sighting?” I raised my eyebrows.
“Aye, of the ghost. Word is, he haunts this castle by night and the tower by the wood by day, sneaking in to cause chaos. The cook claimed he tricked her today. The Count wanted roasted quail, and she swears he requested baked fish, no seasonings. You can’t imagine the uproar dinner was. He was livid, all red in the face and shouting. Poor cook.” Samara wagged her head as she untangled my curls. “She should have known better. No one likes baked fish without seasonings. But that’s not the half of it. Earlier today, a strange man borrowed the Count’s favorite horse, and the horse keeper, poor Lawrence, claims it was the Count himself who took it out earlier.”
The ominous tone of her words made me shiver. Unexplainable events took place within High Tower Castle, nothing more than innocent pranks, yet there was a distinct tilt toward slighting the Count, making him seem stupid in front of the lords and ladies and servants.
“What does the ghost have to do with the music?” I asked.
Samara’s eyes widened. “Some say the music is only the wind, blowing through the old pipes of the tower and giving it song. Or fairies playing a joke. What if it’s a spirit whom the Count has offended? Coming back from the dead to haunt him?”
And there’s where the story lost me, for how could it be a spirit when the music felt so genuine and compelling? I could sense it within, just as real as the stone floor beneath my feet.
I dressed quickly, waving away Samara’s help to smooth the lines of the dress and clench it tight around my waist. The neckline plunged, displaying an expanse of cleavage that left me uncomfortable, with almost transparent gossamer sleeves. I snatched up my cloak and tossed it around my shoulders to preserve my modesty as we left my room.
“It’s not wise to walk alone,” Samara whispered, hooking her arm around mine.
“You do it all the time,” I retorted as we moved into the wide passageways. It was cold and echoed with a pool of light every few feet. Zorik had boasted to me about the modern invention of gas lamps that kept the castle lit, day and night. Although I appreciated the light, sometimes a sense of dizziness overwhelmed me as I passed, as though the lamps were sucking away the air I breathed.
“No one bothers the maids,” she said. “Besides, I always carry a candlestick. If anyone bothers me, I’ll rap them on the head.”
I snorted at the idea of petite Samara smacking anyone on the head with a heavy candlestick holder.
Samara poked my side. “You could join the other dancers in the dressing room off stage and save us this walk.”
“But then we wouldn’t be able to gossip,” I reminded her.
“True,” Samara consented, picking up the pace.
Anticipation twisted in my stomach whenever I walked to the grand hall where my spirit would bask in the glory of music. The moments that passed with and without music were distinct in my mind. Song made me come alive, and I felt the very same energy within me, flowing through my veins, lifting me out of my grief and alighting the world in vivid color.
The melody of flutes and stringed instruments hovered as the orchestra warmed up. I took a deep breath, tasting the hints of wine, cinnamon and sharp cheese in the air, refreshments for the guests who came to watch tonight’s performance. The production would run for seven days, and then the singers and dancers and musicians would rest before preparing for the next. Butterflies danced in my stomach as I moved behind the curtain to take my place with the other dancers.
Samara took my cloak and faded into the darkness. I closed my eyes as I waited for the cue, wishing that instead of moving onto the stage to dance, I could stride forth and boldly sing. Singing made me feel close to my departed father, and the mother I’d never gotten a chance to know, for she, too, had been a singer, wooing my father with her voice. Count Zorik had made it clear that he had more than enough dancers and was in need of another singer. If I could not fulfill that duty, he’d arrange a marriage and send me away, perhaps back to the city or an estate with a rich old lord I’d have to submit to.
An idea plunged into my worried thoughts. I had to learn to sing well and who better to teach me than the spirit that haunted the tower. After the performance I’d sneak away and find out the truth for myself. Pulse pounding at the boldness of my decision, I pressed my lips together to keep them from trembling.
A memory of my father’s words rang in my ears.Be strong, Aria, be bold when I am gone. Do not hesitate to follow your heart, to find the music that will set you free.
2
Aria
Music throbbed in my veins as I danced, part of the performance, part of a work of magic. The ebb and flow pulled me, the music almost compelling me to sing along, breathless with wonder instead of dancing my heart out. My true desire washed over me in waves, fresh, poignant, powerful, until the last note faded away. If anything, the performance had done nothing but deepen my determination.
As Lady Siobhan took the stage to sing the last song, I drew behind the curtains with the dancers to take off my shoes and massage my sore feet. When she finished, the audience went wild. I could imagine the flowers being thrown and Lady Siobhan, smiling and curtsying in a fake display of modesty. My feelings toward her were ambivalent, but if she knew I planned to steal the spotlight, she’d have words. The theater often hung on her whims and moods. If she did not have her way, she was prone to refuse to sing. Count Zorik rarely interfered, only commanded others to ensure she was happy. I wondered what he’d do if she wasn’t.
