“Then . . .” Jacob tapped his right hand against his thigh and frowned as he stared at the Statue of Liberty. After a moment, he nodded to himself. “I’ll hide a room in your mind. No one can access it. Not the leggerock. Not you. You won’t remember tonight. All right?”
My heart thunked and fluttered like the bird’s wings. The last time I agreed to something like this, I’d lost Finn.
“All right.”
Jacob grinned and twisted his hand. Suddenly, the bird was gone, and we sat facing each other inside a dark black room. The walls, ceiling, and floor seemed to be made of obsidian. When I looked at the glossy black surface, I saw myself staring back.
“What is this? Where are we?”
“Don’t worry. We’re still in the ornithopter. Well, I mean, we’re in your mind. But since you’re in the ornithopter, we are too.”
“Did you lock me in a maze in my mind?” I asked. For some reason, I wasn’t scared. If this was where the Wards had locked the last lockpick, it wasn’t as bad as I’d thought.
Jacob laughed, and it echoed off the walls. “Funny. You’re a Ward. You can’t be locked in a maze.”
I frowned at him.
“It’s true.” He shrugged. Then he stood and walked to the wall. He stuck his hand through it. It moved aside like water. He felt around, sticking his arm through past his elbow, then up to his shoulder, and finally, with an “Aha!” he pulled out an object.
I blinked. “That’s the lyre. The one Finn won during the Bard’s game. How?—?”
I stopped at Jacob’s grin.
“I spent a decade researching leggerocks. Dad expected the leggerock to make you a nine. He said it was the best way to hide you. He always thought we’d be able to pull you out before you became a mine. He promised we could nullify the oath. It wasn’t a lie, but I always got the feeling it wasn’t exactly the truth either. So I scoured historical records, researched objects of power, visited conjurers around the world checking up on leggerocks in other countries. Not all of them had nines or mines, but the ones that did had one thing in common.”
A tight clamp squeezed my throat. The burn of Jagger’s blood slid through me. I was almost afraid to ask. “What was it?”
“They fed on souls,” Jacob said. “Furtig. Murder. Mines. They consumed souls. If they stopped . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I never saw one stop. But I think if they stop, they’ll dry up like the husk of an insect and crumble to dust. The Furtig is a quick snack, like a fruit juice. It doesn’t last long. A murder is more like a sandwich. But a mine, for a leggerock . . . I think a mine is like Thanksgiving dinner. It just keeps on feeding him as he sucks you dry. If we could stop it?—”
“If he dies, I die.”
Jacob nodded. “I know. It makes it tricky. But if we could stop it, if we could somehow break the link . . .” He hefted the lyre. “In Greece, I heard a regional folktale about an ancient lyre. The story claimed it was so powerful it would break any oath. An army would turn against its leader. A husband would turn against his wife. A child against his mother. It breaks all bonds and makes a new one.”
“With you?”
“It depends on the intent. It’s why I wanted so badly to win it during the games.” He shook his head. He’d come in second. “The song you play determines the outcome. You can sing a song of binding or one of breaking. I’ll sing you a song of freedom. Don’t laugh—I’m not a Bard.”
A quick smile surprised me. “You should hear me sing. It’s like a choir of crows.”
“And still, you’ll have a better voice than me.” Jacob crossed his legs and settled the lyre in his lap.
The moment he strummed the lyre, I was ensorcelled. The notes filled the obsidian room with a thrumming, dancing vibration that called to my soul. Each plucked string caught on a part of my being and wrapped it around the lyre’s song. It was enchantment. It was music. It was a siren song birthed from the depth of a Bard’s power. There was only one family who could’ve created an instrument that so thoroughly enthralled a being with the strumming of a single note.
My being broke apart, all the pieces inside me floating in an arrow that pointed toward the lyre’s song. Jacob was singing, but I couldn’t understand his words.
I could only hear the music.
It promised love. It promised joy. It promised eternal bliss. I only had to follow. I only had to give up everything for it. If I did, I would have everything I’d ever wanted.
The notes stopped, and at the lonely, barren silence, a whimper escaped my lips. Without the music, the world was meaningless, hollow, cold. It was a world without the sun. I curled in on myself and took a jagged, pained breath. A tear leaked down my cheek.
“Please,” I whispered.
I needed to hear the notes again. I needed to hear the song. I needed the music to live. I would do anything for it.
“Break free of the leggerock,” Jacob said, his voice vibrating with the power of the lyre.
I closed my eyes. Another tear leaked free.
