“How could I forget?” he says. Then he signals to her and she reaches under the old sofa and pulls out a fiddle and a bow, handing it over to him. Straightening himself out on his stool, he settles the fiddle onto his shoulder, resting his chin on the old instrument and bringing the bow up to the strings.
He plays a few notes and I recognize the song immediately. It’s an old love song that’s always been popular in Slate Quarter. Me and my sister used to sing it to one another a lot. And I’m guessing I must be a lot drunker than I realize, because despite everyone gathered in the room, I close my eyes, and, as Mr. Tudor plays the song on his fiddle, I sing the words.
Everyone else is silent, listening to us. The song isn’t exactly a happy one, pretty sad in fact. A young girl crying over the loss of her true love, lost in a battle long, long ago.
As I sing the words, I think about everything Professor Cornelius told us. I think about what I read in those lumomancer books back in the library. There’re hints in this song, in the lines, hints about light, about magic, that I never noticed before. Or maybe I’m just seeing clues everywhere now, even when they don’t really exist.
We come to the end of the song and Mr. Tudor lowers his fiddle from his shoulder, taking a little bow as everyone in the room claps. Fly even whistles.
“Never knew you could sing so well,” Fly says. “Especially when you wail and scream like a banshee. I assumed your singing voice would be the same.”
“Thanks,” I tell him flatly.
“And Mr. Tudor, you’re a real whiz on that fiddle.”
“Actually,” he says, “it’s Fox who’s the whiz, the real musician.”
My gaze flicks straight to the Professor, who’s standing, leaning against the wall, his hands deep in his pockets.
“You are?”
“He never told you?” his mom says in outrage, snatching the fiddle from her husband and thrusting it at her son.
He looks at it. “It’s been a long time since I’ve played. Probably can’t do it anymore. Probably don’t remember how.”
“Nonsense,” his mom says, shaking it at him. “It’s not something you can forget.”
“Fine,” he says with a sigh, taking the fiddle and the bow, one in each hand. He rests the fiddle on his shoulder, adjusts the strings a little, examines the bow, then leans his chin against the fiddle’s belly and begins to play.
His dad wasn’t exaggerating. He’s really good. And this time he plays something more upbeat and energetic. Something I’m sure has the people in Slate at the old dance hall on their feet.
Dray must have the same thought because he jumps up and says, “Let’s dance.” Except he’s not talking to me. He’s directing his request at Clare.
“Who? Me?” she squeaks, jolting so hard her glasses are knocked askew on the bridge of her nose.
“Yeah, you,” he says, reaching forward, grabbing her hand and yanking her straight up onto her feet. “You’re my favorite dance partner.”
“Me?” she repeats. “But how about Briony?”
“Nah, it’s you,” he says with a big grin. And before she can protest, he’s spinning her around like a madman.
Mrs. Tudor looks to Mr. Tudor and then both of them are up on their feet too. Even old Barney lumbers to his feet and finds the energy to jump about, yapping in excitement.
I slide off Thorne’s lap and hold out my hand.
“I’m not really much of a dancer,” he tells me. “In fact, I’ve never danced. I don’t know how.”
“It’s fine,” I tell him. “I’ll do the dancing.”
And just like Dray had done with Clare, I reach forward, grab his hand, and drag him up onto his feet, which is mighty hard considering how big and heavy he is.
He stands there like a statue in front of me, but I’m undeterred. I take his hands in mine and tell him to step side to side, copying my moves. He does it pretty much in the same statue-like manner, but it’s a start, and I twirl under his arms and attempt to swing him around.
There isn’t much space in the small front room of the Tudor house and we all bump into each other several times, treading on each other’s toes and sending our elbows into each other’s ribs. We’re all smiling and laughing, though, and I’m not sure I’ve ever been happier. In fact, I think in this moment, surrounded by all the people that I love, I think this could be the happiest moment of my life.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Dray
