The Black Witch. Laurie ForestЧитать онлайн книгу.
Mage Council members. Marcus Vogel stares at me with unblinking intensity, and I wonder again if he can read my mind.
“Thank you for the use of this...amazing violin, Aunt Vyvian,” I say, my voice quavering.
“You’re quite welcome, dear,” she beams. “We’re ready for you.” She gestures toward a gold music stand positioned next to the orchestra and in front of a magnificently carved piano, the ebony of its wood cut into the likeness of multiple trees that support the piano’s broad surface on leafy branches.
Aunt Vyvian leads me to the music stand. The members of the orchestra dip their heads and smile in greeting. I stoop down to fumble with the violin case as the trembling in my hands worsens.
“This is Enith,” my aunt says. I look up to see a young Urisk girl with wide, sapphire eyes and bright blue skin. “She can turn the pages for you.”
“Pages?”
My aunt looks at me like I’ve taken leave of my senses. “Of your music.”
“Oh, yes...of course.” I straighten up and reach under my arm, handing the parchment to the Urisk girl. She takes in my shaking hands, her brow knit with worry.
The conversation in the vast room gradually dies down to a hush as more and more of the guests notice my aunt waiting for their attention.
“I’d like to introduce my niece, Elloren Gardner,” Aunt Vyvian says smoothly. “Some of you have had the pleasure of meeting her already. Some of you will be attending University with her this year.”
I look out over the crowd and am horrified to see Fallon working her way to the front with a large group of young people.
I reach up to turn to the first page of my music and knock it clear off the stand, the pages scattering everywhere on the floor.
“Sorry,” I choke out hoarsely.
I crouch down and fumble around for the pages, the Urisk girl stooping to help me. I can hear Fallon and her entourage trying to disguise their derisive laughter with coughing.
After what seems like a mortifying eternity, I rise. The Urisk girl grabs the music from my hands, perhaps not willing to let me ruin her designated end of the job.
I lean down again to lift the violin out of its case, rise, steady it with my chin and tense my bow arm to try and bring my trembling under control.
Fallon and her group watch me with wicked anticipation. Aislinn Greer, who’s standing near the front of the crowd, nods with friendly encouragement.
I fear I might throw up right there in front of all of them if I hesitate any longer, so I begin.
My bow strafes the violin with a harsh screech and I wince, surprising even myself with how incredibly horrible I sound. I plow on, disastrously off-key, as I struggle to stay focused on the music, feeling like I’m rapidly losing all control of my shaking hands.
I stop, violin still poised, tears stinging at my eyes, too ashamed to look into the crowd.
More coughing and shocked laughter waft over from Fallon’s direction.
The sound of their ridicule sends a spike of angry hurt through me, unexpectedly steeling my resolve. The violin’s wood faintly pulses with warmth. The image of rough, strong branches flickers behind my eyes then retreats, as if the wood is trying to reach me.
Bolstered, I concentrate on relaxing my hands, force the trembling into submission and begin again. This time my bow slides smoothly across the strings and the melody begins to fall into place. I grit my teeth and play on, the quality of the instrument rendering the music nearly passable...
And then it begins.
Piano music from behind me, accompanying me.
But not just any piano music—beautiful music, twining itself around my feeble attempts at the melody.
I falter for a moment in disbelief.
The piano music catches me, slowing where I’ve stumbled, improvising where I’ve missed the notes. Another swell of warmth suffuses the wood as sinuous branches fill my mind, winding through me.
I relax and fall into the music, little by little, my hands steadying, the notes coming into focus. I close my eyes. I don’t need to look at the music. I know this song.
The crowd in front of me fades then disappears until it’s just me, the violin, the piano and the tree.
And then, no longer relying on the piano for a safety net, I suddenly take off, my hands now steady and sure, the music soaring. I continue beautifully on, even after the piano falls away, leaving me to dive into the long violin solo at the heart of the piece.
Tears come to my eyes as the melody reaches its crescendo, the music piercing through me. I let it flow, through the wood of the bow, the wood of the violin, as I gently, gracefully bring the piece to its mournful close.
I lower my bow, eyes still closed, the room stone silent for one blessed, magical moment.
The ballroom erupts into loud, enthusiastic applause.
I open my eyes as the crowd converges around me, the members of the small orchestra showering me with a cacophony of praise and compliments.
But perhaps the clearest measure of the quality of my performance can be seen in the expression on Fallon Bane’s face. She stands, her mouth agape, looking horrified, while her friends regard me with newly blossoming approval.
I turn to find out who my savior at the piano is, and my breath hitches when I see him.
He is, by far, the best-looking young man I have ever seen in my life, with strong, finely chiseled features, the dashing attire of a Gardnerian soldier and absolutely riveting deep green eyes.
And he’s smiling at me.
I can guess who this is without needing to be introduced.
Lukas Grey.
He gets up from the piano seat in one fluid, graceful movement. He’s tall with broad shoulders, the lean body of a natural athlete, and the controlled movements of a panther. And the sleeves of his black military tunic are marked with five silver bands.
As he approaches me, Fallon Bane immediately falls in next to him, threads her arm territorially through his and fixes me with a threatening glare.
Lukas glances down at Fallon’s arm with surprised amusement, then looks back up at me and cocks one black eyebrow, as if we’re old friends sharing an inside joke. Suddenly, my aunt appears at Lukas’s other side and she focuses in on Fallon, a pleasant, yet calculating look on her face.
“Fallon, dear,” she croons, “Priest Vogel and I need to speak with you.”
Fallon’s face takes on an expression of sheer panic as her eyes dart back and forth from Lukas to me and back to my aunt again. She opens her mouth as if trying to formulate a protest, but nothing comes out. Lukas continues to look at me with those dazzling eyes, amused by the situation.
“Come along, dear.” My aunt directs Fallon. She gestures across the room to where Priest Vogel stands surrounded by a bright-eyed, adoring throng. I cautiously meet the priest’s piercing gaze, and he nods.
Fallon releases Lukas’s arm like she’s abandoning a hard-won treasure and shoots me a look of pure loathing. “I’ll be right back,” she snipes as she passes, her tone holding a thick edge of menace.
As my aunt leads her firmly away, Fallon glances back at us repeatedly, her face a mask of furious desperation.
I turn to Lukas.
Holy Ancient One, he’s beautiful.
“Thank you for playing,” I say with honest gratitude.
He places an arm casually on the top of the piano, leaning into it. “It was a pleasure. It’s not often that I get to play with a superior musician. It was a privilege, actually.”