“I understand.” Loosening the hair on my bow, I slip it into the case as well.
“I’m not sure that you do.”
I straighten, considering my teacher with new eyes. A brisk, biting tone—that, I am not used to. “Is something on your mind, sir?”
He traces the large wheels of his chair, as he often does when deep in thought. “I’m concerned that the time you spend with the South Wind is disrupting your focus.”
It takes an effort, but I successfully smooth the coarseness from my breathing. The old man hasn’t a clue what he’s talking about. “I appreciate your concern, but I have everything under control.”
“Do you?” Ibramin regards me with a disapproval I would expect from my father. “Can you look me in the eye and say, with complete confidence, that you are putting all your effort and attention into the competition?”
As a matter of fact, I cannot. The South Wind is due to enter the labyrinth tomorrow. As we have grown closer these past months, I have begun to fear for his life. It is silly. He is, after all, immortal. He cannot die except by a god-touched weapon. He told me so. But who is to say what powers this beast possesses?
Last night, I did not return to my rooms until dawn. I wished for that night to last forever. It was cold. The sky was black, chilled by a thousand icy stars. Standing beside Notus in the courtyard, I opened to him in a way I had opened to no one else. I told him of my upbringing, of music, of my desire to see the world. I shed the bonds that made me small.
“I want great things for you, Sarai,” Ibramin says. “Your gift has only solidified the king’s commitment to your success in the endeavor. The King Idris Violin Competition will open so many doors for you.”
He does not have to inform me of Father’s intention. I know. I have always known.
But here is something I have told not a soul. Sometimes, I want more from life. It would be mine alone to paint with whatever hues I saw fit. Or maybe I would not use paint at all, but a sculptor’s tools, a weaver’s loom, a storyteller’s quill and ink.
But that is neither here nor there. “I do my best, sir. I am diligent in my studies. You know nothing is more important to me.”
“I am glad you recognize this. Whatever distracts you will surely pass, but music will remain. You alone are responsible for your future.”
I shut my case with a loud thump, struggling for breath. For the first time in years, I feel a connection with someone as unknowable as myself. I cannot bear to think of him leaving.
“I appreciate the concern, sir,” I say. “However, you forget that I am a princess of the realm. I will do as I see fit.” I depart without delay, shutting the door with a quiet snap.
It is a long, sleepless night.
Only hours ago, the South Wind entered the labyrinth with only his scimitar and his winds. We parted with a heartfelt embrace. I cried. I never cry. Six men followed to meet their fate.
I’m not sure when or if he will emerge. Inside lies a complex tapestry of winding corridors, or so I have heard. It is possible he will not return at all.
The idea renders me breathless. Lying spread-eagled in bed, I stare up at the obscured ceiling, thinking back on these glorious months spent in the South Wind’s company. It has been a reluctant unfolding—for both of us. But I do feel seen by this deity. It is something I hold close to my chest.
After a time, I slip out of bed and move toward the window. Due to the sacrifice, additional guards have been stationed in the torchlit courtyard below. They wait to see if the shadows seething beneath the labyrinth doorway are soothed. If the beast has been satiated for another decade.
Then—movement. Notus staggers forward, having emerged from the labyrinth’s gloom. He hits the ground. His sword skitters across the stone. I gasp and fly from my room, racing down the hallway and stairs, out into the courtyard where the guards have gathered around him. I shove them aside, seeing only the weeping cuts marring the South Wind’s purpling face, the tattered state of his robe, the unnatural angle of his right arm. Nothing else.
He lifts a hand to cup my cheek. Even wounded, his touch is gentle. When he speaks, he says but one word.
“Sarai.”
“Can you get away?”
Partially shielded by a thicket of ivy, I turn toward Notus, who has appeared at the garden’s entryway, its abundant flowers and sweet-smelling blossoms hemmed in by tall hedges. Generally, the groundsare unoccupied in the evenings, but today is King Halim’s nameday. The palace has opened its doors. Wealthy aristocrats, government officials, longstanding families at court—all are present. The South Wind is Father’s honored guest. He failed to slay the beast in the labyrinth, but he survived—the only person to have ever done so.
Notus angles his ear toward me, though continues to scan the guests milling about on the patio separating the garden from the ballroom, its doors open to the evening breeze. “Don’t you tire of sneaking around?” he murmurs. “Your father will find out soon enough.”
Shielding my developing relationship with Notus is the only way I can ensure it stays mine and no one else’s. “I’ll tell him, just… not now.”
“When?”
“After the competition.” Once I win first prize—and I intend to win—Father will be far more amenable to the idea of my relationship.
“Sarai.”
