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It’s pouring into my head through my ears. I have to fight not to close my eyes against it. I smile wide, my lips stretching as I realize I can hear him.

Mordred’s voice is deep, a baritone that goes down further than any voice I ever sang beside at the Lyric House. It fills the ruins from the stage to the open roof, and I’m sure it goes out through the walls, over the whole city, maybe past its wall. He lands every note clean, holds each one longer than a human chest could hold it, and the next one comes without a break for breath.

The words he sings are old. They don’t sound like any language I know. The vowels are long, and the consonants come where I don’t expect them. None of it means anything to me. It doesn’t need to mean anything for me to hear how beautiful it is.

I’m crying, and I don’t know when it started. Tears run down both sides of my face and hang by the tip of my chin and the curve of my jaw before they drip onto the floor.

Finally, he closes his mouth. He steps from the platform onto the stage and walks toward me with purpose.

No one moves. They watch him, their eyes wet and reverent, their hands pressed together under their chins. They’re grateful. They adore him. Callum remains where he dropped to his knees. He follows Mordred with his gaze but doesn’t look at me at all. My job here is done, it seems. His plan worked embarrassingly well.

Mordred reaches me and goes around behind the pole. I feel his fingers at the knots. The rope across my middle loosens and drops, then my wrists come free. I bring my hands forward and rub the marks the rope left in them. He comes around to stand in front of me.

He looks at my face. He lifts his hand and brushes the tears from my cheek with the side of his finger.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

I can hear him. That only makes me cry harder and smile wider. It’s the same deep voice, but quiet now, a man’s speaking voice, low, even, and meant for one person. Me.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” he says. “They said that if I don’t sing for them, they will...”

“Kill me,” I say.

He bows his head slightly.

“You can hear me now.”

“Yes.” My voice comes out thick from crying. “I can hear you. Your voice is beautiful.”

He takes a step back from me.

I reach for him, but he moves his shoulder so that my hand closes on nothing. He doesn’t lift his head. I look at his hands, because he’s always answered me with his hands. They hang limp at his sides.

The tears stop, and my voice comes out steady when I speak. I keep it low so only he can hear me.

“You’re rejecting me,” I say. “Why? You don’t want me anymore?”

He doesn’t answer.

I frown and cross my arms over my chest, my foot tapping lightly on the floor.

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll leave.”

I look past him at the entranced audience. Everyone, including Callum, looks like they’ve ascended or something.

“I’ve filled my purpose anyway.”

I turn my back on him and walk toward the wings.

“Aveline!”

I keep walking toward the dark at the side of the stage.

“You... you can leave?” he asks, dumbfounded.

I stop and turn around. He’s standing where I left him, with his hands half raised and his lips parted in surprise.

“Well, yes,” I say. “I can if I want. And since you seem to not want me here anymore, that’s what I’ll do. Leave.”