As the crowd filtered into the concert hall, Ree hopped on his root ball. “If I can’t see from my seat, do you think they’ll let me climb up on the rafters?”
She had no idea, but probably not, given how fancy it was. “If you can’t see, I’ll hold you up,” she promised. “Or you can sit with Perri in his window.”
Reaching the front, Marin showed the tickets to the usher, the same as everyone else was doing, though she didn’t know why she required help finding a seat. Then again, she’d never been to a formal concert before, not like this. She was acutely aware she wasn’t dressed like the rest of the audience, who were wrapped in silks and satin.
Everyone else seemed to have known exactly what to wear: yards of rich fabric wrapped around their bodies. Some of the men and a few of the women left their chests bare, except for necklaces. A few of the older attendees were in robes that swept the floor in feathery trains. Most had painted their faces with gold, silver, and bronze in swirls and floral designs, and jewels dripped from their hair, necks, and arms. All of it would have been extremely impractical on a sailboat. Marin tried not to care that she and Ree stood out as badly as a pig at sea.
The usher led them inside through archways of black stone into the concert hall. Given the opulence of the conservatory itself, Marin had thought she was prepared for the grandeur of the concert hall. Nothing, she thought, could have prepared her.
It was a sea of chairs laid on a carpet of fresh grass, growing improbably inside, beneath a ceiling enchanted to look like the night sky. White birds made of paper circled above the attendees as they claimed their seats. Once a person was settled, a bird flew into their lap and unfolded. Marin spotted Perri in one of the windows, and he, oddly, did not look out of place in the ornate window frame. He could have been one of the statues that decorated the walls.
She expected the usher to lead them to any one of the many, many seats, but instead he kept walking at a clip down the grass aisleway.
“Marin, there’s no soil here,” Ree whispered.
“Well, we’re inside.”
“But the grass…”
It had to be a spell, of course. It was stunning that they’d waste magic on all the effects, especially after the revolution that had just raged outside these walls. One of the primary motivations for all that violence and upheaval was the misuse of magic, hoarding it for the rich while the poor suffered. It seemed that no one had bothered to tell the conservatory any of that. On the plus side, it did make the floor very soft to walk on, and it added the sweet, fresh scent of a meadow. The scent mixed with the perfume of the attendees, creating a mixed-up smell that Marin could only describe as wealth.
And this was Dax’s home.
She supposedthiswasn’t where he spent his days exactly. But still… It was quite a stage. She wondered what she had to offer that could compete.Only the great blue sea.
Was it enough?
Ree whispered, “Where is he taking us?”
The question had occurred to her too, as they were led closer and closer to the front of the concert hall. At last, the usher halted at the very front row, where the chairs were carved out of what looked like a single piece of marble and laden with velvet cushions, each so elaborate that they looked like thrones.
“Your seats,” the usher said with a bow.
Ree hopped up onto one of the velvet-cushioned thrones. “I can see,” he announced.
Yes, they absolutely had a good view from here. She wondered if these seats were usually reserved for nobility. Or perhaps even the emperor himself, before his defenestration. She wondered what the painted and bejeweled audience members thought of the sailor and her shrub being given such prominent placement. “Are you sure these are our seats?” Marin asked.
“Special guests of the grandmaster-to-be,” the usher said. “Are they not to your liking? You can be moved, if you wish.” He spread his arm as if to indicate they could have any seat they wished.
“No, this is fine.” If Dax wanted them to sit here… Well, he had wanted them to see his opus. It was his moment of glory, and she would cheer him every step of the way, even if this performance was only going to take him from her.
Why would he choose a life on the sea when he can have all of this?Yes, she would choose the sea. So would Ree. And Perri, of course. But would Dax?I have to give him the choice.That’s why she was here—so he’d know he had a choice. It wasn’t right for anyone—not her, not his parents, not his friends, not the grandmasters—to make it for him.
She sat beside Ree in the ridiculous throne.
One of the paper birds flew into her lap and unfolded. She read the elegant script: Daxicend, Eighth-Level Master Composer. And it had the name of his opus:The Charms of the Sea.
Marin smiled.
Once the concert hall was full, the starlight above dimmed, and the hall fell into shadows, lit only by the light through Perri’s window and a few candles near the stage.
Dax emerged from a door at the back of the stage.
For an instant, she couldn’t breathe. He looked too glorious to be real.
He was dressed in ivory silk, wrapped around his body with one shoulder exposed. His horns were decorated with crystals that hung from the tips. Musical notations had been painted on each of his cheeks, and blue streaked his eyes. His feet were bare on the grass. In his arms, he carried his guitar, cradled as tenderly as if it were a newborn child.
He bowed to the audience, his face solemn, as overhead the stars had swarmed together into a single pale moon that shone on the stage. His eyes swept the crowd, and they stopped on Marin with Ree, who was so excited all his leaves were vibrating, next to her.
