I’m not afraid of dying; never have been. I’m afraid of dying before doing anything worthwhile. There’s an irrational compulsion to repay whatever power decided that I should be born, like I need to justify they were right and I deserved the gift.
The gift, not the curse.
These three men have swayed my previous opinion, that I’m not here simply to suffer like it’s my cosmic due. They make it finally feel like a gift to be alive, just because they’re a part of mine, no matter how brief.
As I slide back into the chorus, I suck in a breath, only to have the words echo around me before I can get them out. My eyes fly open, dozens of changelings in the room in front of me, along with several guards and my mates. Skipping a single beat in confusion, I carry on with the next line of lyrics, only to have the changelings parrot it back, heads tilted in contemplation like they’re searching for a faint memory.
Grinning, a watery laugh bubbles out and I swipe at my face with the back of one hand, throwing myself back into it. Though the piano isn’t the best to accomplish it, Song #3 is too apropos not to attempt, and I like to imagine that I pull it off. Whether it’s a delusion or not, I’ll gladly go to my grave pretending if it means holding onto this moment.
I’ve never been able to bring myself to look when I was forced to play growing up, unwilling to see the disdain on their faces and taint the feeling I was already struggling to bring to life. But now, looking out over the guards that remained indifferent to my torture, seeing the way they’re as paralyzed as I was out in the hall...it’s a heady feeling. I should have seen through Rickon’s cruelty sooner; none of the guards inside of the castle ever did anything more than Elorie commanded, typically remaining as far away from me as possible.
Just because they were ordered not to intervene didn’t mean they were indifferent to my situation. For all I know, there are several of them that would welcome a change from her tyrannical reign and simply tried to survive it as best they could, to provide for their own families and keep them safe.
I was blind to everything beyond my own pain for so long, I didn’t even consider the suffering that other people around me might be enduring too.
Time has no meaning and I can’t bring myself to stop despite the ache in my hands. The spell they’re trapped in, rooted to the spot as the compulsion wraps around all of the people in the room besides my mates, is too fragile to risk taking a breather. The moment I do, the distraction will cease to matter. If Cody and Elorie aren’t far enough away, the changelings’ preternatural speed will make quick work of catching up whatever distance they might have gained, might turn onus.
Gradually switching to calmer songs now that I have their undivided attention, I close my eyes again, concentrating. As exciting as it was to have them as invested as I am, the last thing we want is to keep them keyed up. So as my fingers fly across the keys, I imbue every bit of power that I have, steadily growing within me the longer I play.
Slower, I change not only the tempo, but the atmosphere in the room. Just like the day I helped Dorian, I morph all of that rage surrounding me into something more manageable, a yearning formore.For something better. A physical ache that leaves you distraught, needing something to cling to so you don’t drift off into the abyss.
And then I become it, that anchor in the darkness, the tether they’re desperately seeking to keep themselves from splintering apart. My arms start to burn, and my fingers nearly trip over the keys. But eyes clamped tightly shut, I push through the sensation, refusing to so much as cry out. It’s a dull pain, and after what I’ve experienced at Apollo’s hands, at Rickon’s, it hardly even registers as noteworthy.
Exhaling, I force myself to concentrate, to keep going. Even as sweat trickles down my temples and my back aches from holding the position for so long, when my hands start cramping, I don’t stop or fumble a note. My chest is heaving as I stop singing for a single song, long enough to regain my breath while continuing to play.
“You just couldn’t wait to steal the spotlight from my son again, could you?” Elorie’s breath whispers in my ear the same moment she presses a blade to my throat.
My eyes fly open, meeting the guys’ as they rush away from the door they’re guarding, but they’re too far. And our changelings aren’t immune to the compulsion, under the same spell as the rest of the room. They start blinking rapidly, like waking up from a long sleep and unsure where they are, but it’s too gradual, too slow for anyone to process the scene before them.
With a twisting sensation in my gut, Elorie pulls me back from the bench against her, snapping the fingers on her free hand and transporting the two of us from the room.
Chapter 17
Cambria
––––––––
