She wore a thick, knitted white scarf around her neck and was carrying a large, steaming mug of what I assumed to be hot water. Her chin-length inky black hair swung as she seemed to glide effortlessly into the gilded light downstage. She ignored everyone else, but her eyes narrowed as she spied me stretching on the floor between dances.
“Fifi!” she hissed at me, passing close enough that I could hear her voice without her having to strain it. “Fifi! You will never guess who is waiting in the atrium!”
Carlotta and Maren were the only ones on the planet who could get away with calling me Fifi. Her singsong voice made it very easy to guess who was in the atrium. I pursed my lips, trying not to seem too eager to hear the answer.
“It’s Seff, Fifi! He’s waiting for you in the atrium!” She made the word atrium sound like it had about five extra syllables.
Seff was a complicating factor in my life. We had been courting for a few months now, but nothing wasofficial. We’d known each other when we were children but lost touch over the years. Six months ago he had moved into the heart of Lutesse. His wealthy father was a patron of the Lutesse City Opera, and when Seff saw me on stage for the first time, he sought me out. It had been a whirlwind romance in the months since that day—flowers and chocolate after every performance, chaste kisses and grand declarations of my beauty and grace. I had a suspicion he was going to make things official soon. I would have said yes that first day, the moment I saw him after the opera. Marrying Seff would complicate my laissez-faire lifestyle, and I wasn’t quiteready to give that up. But Iwasa hopeless romantic, especially when it came to him and the history we shared.
“Thanks, Lottie.” Two could play at the nickname game. I waved her off to her dressing room. Carlotta gave me a pointed stare before flitting backstage.
“Seff? He’s here?” Maren came up beside me, eavesdropping on Carlotta’s singsong revelation. “Why? Oooh, did you two finally…?” Maren began. I shushed her. I didn’t need the entire Lutesse City Opera gossiping about my sex life.
“No,” I hissed. “Well… no… not yet. It’s complicated. I will talk to you later.” I glared at Maren. Her mouth was half open, ready to demand details, when Madame Giselle stomped her foot.
“Back to the beginning, girls! Enough tittering and gossiping—we have work to do.” She looked me in the eye, and my face turned the colour of a ripe strawberry. Maren ducked her head and slunk back into formation before she could incur the wrath of our choreographer.
Yes, I needed to discuss the situation with Seff. But our relationship was among the least interesting of the things that Iwantedto talk about. Because it was getting harder and harder not to confide in Carlotta and Maren about my forbidden ambitions—my illicit dreams of singing centre stage.
Sometimes, I thought my relationship with Carlotta was the most toxic. She was my best friend—the only real family I had. And I admired her so much—the things she was able to do, the way she lived, her talents, her audacity. But then, every once in a while, a sliver of envy, so sharp it had dug into every part of my soul, would work its way into the forefront of my consciousness. I loved her. But I wanted tobeher so badly it hurt.
Her skills were unparalleled. Her magnanimous personality was larger than life. Everything about her, from her shiny black hair to her golden skin, to her impossibly large eyes, waswonderful and perfect; she was effervescent and bubbly, but also sharp as a tack and tough as nails. I was paralyzed by the sheer weight of being near her.
I didn’t want to feel this way. Shame would crash over me on nights when sleep eluded me, leaving me feeling sick to my stomach. It wasn’t that I didn’t want her to be all those things as well. It was just… why not me? What did she do to deserve it all? The talent, the looks, the personality, the way men would fall at her feet to have the chance to worship her. Envy was like a worm. It had made me into a liar. I was lying to everyone around me, including myself.
Listening to Carlotta sing was otherworldly. When my friend sang, the heavens shook—she could move mountains with her voice. There was a good reason that she wastheprima donna. I loved to watch her sing, but there was also that part of me, a deep, shameful, almost buried part of me, that was jealous.
Because I loved to dance. There was no denying that fact. But what I wanted, more than anything in the world, was to sing. And Icouldsing. I was a classically trained soprano. But I also couldn’t. Because as my mother lay dying she made me swear that oath, that I would never sing in front of anyone, for the rest of my life. And so I was here, dancing in the background, every day, longing to sing in the spotlight.
For as long as I could remember, I had practised singing with my father. He had been a renowned musician himself, calling me hisAngel of Music. While he played various instruments, I sang beautiful songs he had written just for me. He was the only one allowed to hear my voice. I never asked why, and they never told me. My mother had been so insistent in her last moments. Lucidity was fleeting as she drifted in and out of consciousness toward the end, but in that moment she had locked eyes with me and I knew that she was serious.
You must promise me, Seraphina. So I did. I didn’t sing in front of a single soul, save for my father, from that day on. Even though singing made my soul soar, even though it was the only thing I truly wanted, I contented myself with singing in secret, any time I could sneak away into a back alley, or when I knew Carlotta wasn’t home.
Dance had been my mother’s gift. She had been a prima ballerina, and after she made me swear that oath, I had chosen to follow in her footsteps. Choosing ballet, ignoring the voice in my head that told me I was meant for more than the chorus line. For now, dance was enough. The ballet chorus was enough. And if I told myself that enough times, maybe one day it would be true.
WITCH
Ineeded to get cleaned up, maybe get a few hours of rest in. I pulled on my street clothes after rehearsal, which comprised of soft, black, high-waisted pants with suspenders and a loose button-up shirt. During the war, women had stepped into many professions where they had traditionally not been allowed. They couldn’t be bothered with elaborate dresses and constrictive fashions anymore, so many of them started wearing pants, button-up shirts and suspenders instead. The trend had not ended after the war, to my delight. I loved dressing up, but on a regular day, I would much rather slip into a pair of comfortable leggings than petticoats and skirts.
I let my wavy hair out of its bun, the tightness of which was giving me a throbbing headache. The curls, still damp from sweat and the morning rain, hung just past my shoulders. I donned my still damp wool jacket, slung my bag over my shoulder and headed out into the atrium.
The Lutesse City Opera House resembled a palace more than a theatre. Vaulted ceilings soared overhead, and everything shone gold and glittering in the warm lights of countless candelabras. The sweeping marble staircase, the focal point of it all, ascended to the upper mezzanine levels. I could have spententire days analyzing the intricate artwork. Every detail was exquisite, from the starburst patterned tiles on the floor to the damask carved pillars and the frescos painted on the ceilings. The design spoke of a time before Scion’s brutal authority. A time when art and dance and music were valued above all else. I was always a little wistful when I imagined a time like that. My thoughts meandered through the annals of history as I walked around one of the intricately detailed pillars, where I slammed right into Seff.
Seff looked resplendent as usual. His white-blonde hair swooped in front of steel-blue eyes. He wore a tan coat over a clean-cut white shirt. His light brown pants were in perfect contrast to the coffee-brown leather shoes, the entire outfit accentuating the leather holster he always kept strapped to him—just in case. He had a tie loosely placed, but not tied, around his neck. It looked purposefully effortless. He took great pride in the way he presented himself. I smoothed my hands down my wool pants, which were still wrinkled from spending all morning crumpled in my bag. I had to wonder what someone as composed and collected as Seff saw in me, when I looked so disheveled most of the time.
Seff stepped back, placing his hands on my shoulders, and looked me up and down. “That was a long rehearsal, you look tired.” The gaze that raked over me was not altogether flattering. “Why don’t we walk back to your place, and you can get cleaned up.”
My face flushed from the suggestion that I didn’t look my best but also from the possibility of what might occur when we went back to my place.
“Sure,” I replied, breathless. “Carlotta will be at rehearsal for the rest of the afternoon…” The statement hung in the air, suggesting what I would have wanted to do with the afternoon. My face heated. Our physical relationship had not gone far. Notfor my lack of trying. I was desperately attracted to Seff and would have launched myself into bed with him from the first moment I saw him after all those years. But he was taking things slow. It was both sweet andfrustrating as hell.
“Let’s go, then.” Seff took my hand and led me toward the door. “I want to take you to the club tonight,” he continued as we padded through the palatial atrium. “My parents are in town, and my father is dying to finally meet you. He’s hosting a party at Montmartre. You and the girls would be very welcome—VIP guests, of course.”
Seff came from money. In fact, his family was positively dripping with wealth. I had never met his parents—they had been largely absent, even when Seff was running around the coastal town where we first met as children. His father was a viscount, signifying old money. A well of wealth that ran deep. Seff, as their only child, was to inherit it all. It was overwhelming to think about. The viscount was also deeply enmeshed with the Church of Scion.
I wasn’t thrilled at the possibility of meeting Seff’s father tonight. I would have much preferred spending the evening alone with him. However, it did show that Seff was taking our courtship seriously. He wouldn’t introduce justanyoneto his conservative and traditionalist father. The thought had my stomach twisting in knots. Impressing the viscount would be no easy task. But I steadied myself, putting on a brave face for Seff.
“Sure. As long as you’re sure your father won’t mind having a celebrity in his midst.” I gave a half-smile. Evenings spent out on the town with Carlotta were a spectacle. As the prima donna of the opera, she was well known around Lutesse. She had plenty of gentlemen suitors, sending drinks, paying for bottle service and putting us up at VIP tables. We were never undercover or subdued. Maren and I were happy to go along for the ride.
