MY DARLING FAYE,
MAY ALL YOUR DREAMS COME TRUE
LOVE DAD
Chapter Sixteen
Dorien
After Elena’s performance, Madame Usher dismissed us so she and Radcliffe could talk shop with Solokov. In the hall, Heather threw her arm in mine. “You should have been the one playing for him,” she said. “You know you’re the most talented pianist here – especially when I accompany you. Madame only chose Elena because she’s exactlyhistype.”
“Mmmm.” My gaze fell to the stairs, where Ivan and Elena walked hand in hand, their heads bowed in hushed conversation. Heather had so many reasons to be jealous of Elena – who was a hundred times the musician Heather could ever hope to be – but Radcliffe’s attention was not one of them. Ivan’s hand on Elena’s shoulder trembled with rage as he led her to their room, the door slamming behind her. I thought about following Ivan, trying to calm the rage that had already threatened to unleash itself tonight, but I was in no state to be a good friend. Besides, he had Elena, and that was all that mattered. For now.
Faye slipped out after the performance. Madame flashed me a satisfied smile that felt like something slimy crawling up my spine, and I knew that old witch had something planned, something she hadn’t told me. I didn’t like not knowing shit, especially when Madame Usher was involved.
But I couldn’t just warn Faye, not without risking everything. I couldn’t speak to her, and she despised me, which was exactly what Madame Usher wanted. I needed tothink. I needed to know why he hadn’t fucking messaged me in two weeks. I needed the silence to stop so I could figure out my next move on this fucked-up chessboard with enemies on all sides—
“Dorien,” Heather’s shrill voice pierced my thoughts. “You’re not listening to me.”
“Not one bit,” I growled.
She leaned against me, rubbing her cheek against my shoulder and staring up at me with heavy-lidded eyes. I’d seen the look on hundreds of girls – in the front row of concert halls in Milan, in the lineups of Amsterdam whorehouses, in Clare’s deep brown irises. “Come up to my room, and I’ll find ways of taking your mind off Elena. I stole a bottle of port from Madame’s stash. We could drink it together and—”
“No.” I kicked open the door to the kitchen, and rushed through to the back door and out into the night.
Rain droplets splattered my face and clothes, but I didn’t give a fuck. I needed air. Inside the house, I felt like I was choking on the lies and the shit and Faye’s goddamn intoxicating scent.
I walked to the back of the garden, following the overgrown path toward the gazebo. The storm had eased off, though a bitter wind still tore at my exposed flesh and the rain splashed into puddles between the gnarled tree roots. My fingers fumbled in my pocket. I tugged out my phone and tapped the screen, cupping my hand against it to protect it from the rain. No messages.
Don’t panic. He said he’d text when he could. Just because you haven’t heard from him doesn’t mean he’s in trouble.
I scrolled back to his last text, my eyes flicking over the words even though I knew them by heart.
Father Aaron took my shoes today.
Six words. Six measly fucking words. I scuffed the ground, my sock squelching where the water had soaked through. The wind whipped my hair across my face, flogging the strands against my skin – a self-flagellation that didn’t feel nearly perverse enough. Even though it was still technically summer, the mountains could be unforgiving.
Over the roar of the rain, I caught the wafting notes of a violin. I glanced back at the house, but no one should be playing now. We had a strict curfew – no music after 10PM. It was almost midnight, and Solokov would be sleeping over in one of the guest rooms. No one would dare risk Madame’s wrath.
Someone clearly didn’t give a fuck about Madame’s rules, and I had a feeling I knew exactly who that would be.
I followed the mournful notes down the path to the gazebo. I didn’t recognize the melody, but I didn’t have to for it to fill my chest and wrap around my heart. The melody had an ethereal quality to it, as though the music came from another place entirely – every note an invitation to fall through a hole and end up in some strange and forgotten fae realm.
A shadowed figure stood under the ruined structure, and I knew even before they came into focus who it would be. No other musician could make me step outside myself the way she could.
Faye turned in a slow circle, her eyes closed as she drew the bow over the strings. I’d heard flashes of the piece she played through the walls when she practiced, but here with the rawness of nature raging around her, she wove magic into the very air. Her fingers flew with ease over the arpeggios, and her bow made light work of the spiccato. The music lifted through the storm, bringing hope and light and beauty to this place of darkness. Her damp hair clung to the curve of her back, and I almost expected wings to sprout from between her shoulders or a sprite to peek out from behind her ear.
I drew forward, mesmerized, not noticing where I stood until my foot caught on a loose stone, kicking it into the side of the gazebo.
Faye’s eyes flew open. The bow squeaked on the strings. The music stopped, and the spell that drew me to her broke. She glared at me and jabbed her bow toward the house.
“Go away.”
“It’s a free garden.” I stepped closer. The moonlight played off her raven hair. She must have come outside when it was still raining heavily, because she had mud splattered up her legs and her dress was soaked through, the fabric clinging to her skin, revealing every curve of that fucking gorgeous body.
“You talking to me now?”
I let a slow smirk play across my lips. Even with that defiant flame in her eyes, she still couldn’t resist rising to my challenge. “You’re playing out in the rain when there’s a perfectly good bed inside. Consider me intrigued.”
