“She and I have been through a lot together.”
There were letters, barely visible on silver. Selene held it up:The Nightingale.
Selene’s heart beat più mosso. “My father used to call me that.”
“I know,” Victor said.
Lovesick.
She met his eyes. He had named a ship after her. He had sent letters for years. He had carried a glass rose across continents and through whatever skirmishes he had gotten into in this fast, little ship. She was far from forgotten. He had kept her on his mind since the moment they parted.
She licked her lips, the taste of him still there.
She put the daguerreotype on the saucer beside her teacup. Victor watched her as if he were waiting for admonition. Selene didn’t have words for him. She clenched her hands into fists, hoping to catch the tremble before Victor saw. She stood up and leaned against a set piece, her foot pulsing with familiar pain. The magic of it called to her. She needed the space, the distance to untangle the mess inside of her.
“Do you remember the song your father used to sing?” Victor stood a few feet away from her, spinning a dusty globe. His exposed chest glistened in the candlelight.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve sung anything but magic.” She’d need this fraction of sorrow to shape her magic later. She leaned into the pain.
The wolf has lost the moon
The stars are bright as eyes
They watch the wolf weep to the north
Leedle-lie, leedle-lie, leedle-lie
The hawk clings to the trees
The wind is sharp as knives
It brings my ship back home to you
Leedle-lie, leedle-lie, leedle-lie
I wait for you til dawn
I wait for you by night
I’ll never leave your side, my love
Leedle-lie, leedle-lie, leedle-lie
The wolf has the moon
And the hawk has the sky
You’ll always have my heart, my love
Leedle-lie, leedle-lie, leedle-lie
Victor joined his voice with hers for that lastleedle-lie. His voice was easy, not furrowed with concentration or the strain of opening to the magic. He had sung this song since she’d last seen him. Perhaps while he sailed his ship across the seas.
“I used to call it the waiting song.”
“I always called it the wanting song,” Selene said.
“What is waiting, but wanting something for more than a moment?” Victor rotated, facing her. The distance between them shrank. “The wolf wants the moon, the bird wants the skies, and I want—”
