Medley of Souls

by Renee Peters

  The debt she was owed.

  The debt she had not wanted paid.

  Foolish, childish infant that she was, she’d almost let herself forget his promise — let herself believe his visits were only visits for her company and nothing more.

  She couldn’t help the light squeeze of her fingers to his where he held her, teasing out a soft spike in his violin song that leveled into an intensity that was a match to his gaze.

  A season. He was paying her a season for… guilt, wasn’t it?

  Her expression gentled, and she lowered her books back into her lap. “Oui, so you can keep your promise.” The corner of her lips lifted in a weaker smile. “I will try not to wilt entirely as Condesa.”

  Dorian touched another kiss to her fingertips. “You have given me great pleasure with your answer, Joanna,” He murmured. “We will begin arrangements for your relocation to my estate at once. You will have need of a trousseau… and lessons, before you are presented.”

  The queen very nearly broke her promise almost as soon as she had spoken it, and if Dorian had not had a hold on her hand, it might have flown to cover her face.

  Moving.

  He had meant she was moving from Anowen’s shadows. It seemed only a month ago that life had been so quiet that nothing could disturb the peace she had carved for herself in the shadows of her curse. A low groan escaped her, and she did not stop herself from slumping into a lean against the High Lord.

  Against her fiancé.

  Chapter 10

  It had taken only four days following the Elder’s proposal for Joanna to be whisked away to the Vaughn Estate, some two miles past the eastern border of Easthaven and nearly eight miles from the shelter of Anowen Castle.

  In the two weeks that followed, it had been all the queen could do to keep her head on her shoulders. The days were filled with lessons — mostly from William— on etiquette, names she would need to know, and dances. When she was not learning how to behave amid the ton, she was standing for the seamstress who must have been paid handsomely for the new wardrobe Joanna had already neatly folded away in her trunk.

  She was certain she had spent less time around Dorian in those two weeks than in the time since he had begun to visit her at the castle. She was less sure whether she welcomed the fact. He was careful again — too careful, as if he had brought a fragile jewel into his collection that needed to be displayed on cushions behind inches of glass.

  Joanna had already decided she would not be ungrateful or demanding of his time.

  Their wedding date was set for the twenty-sixth of May — only six days away. She supposed that meant she would have at least a day in his company, and perhaps fewer lessons if the praise of Dorian’s butler was anything to go by.

  That evening, however, Dorian had approached her, not for dancing lessons or to inquire about her well-being, but for something entirely unexpected.

  “Would you like to meet a Fae, Cherie?”

  “Are… you jesting?”

  The High Lord’s lips twitched a smirk that made Joanna’s heart skip, and the queen closed her fingers around the ribbon at her throat.

  “No,” he said, and for a moment his smile widened to a flash of white before his expression grew grimmer again. “Lian has taken a Fae-blooded girl under his protection at his estate. It would appear she is the cause of the music flowing again. He and I both have heard her singing without a bond.”

  Joanna’s flutes wrenched an octave deeper before she’d even considered that Lian had heard the girl too.

  She only knew that Dorian had.

  For a moment, she felt as if she were suffocating and could not fathom why.

  For Immortals, hearing a song outside of a bond was the surest way to determine if one soul was meant for another eternally in their curse. The Bond Eternal made one song of two, transcending death itself. Of the races of the Aegeans, it was the Immortals alone who could hear the call of their fated mates; seeking one another out through lifetimes.

  “You heard her?” Joanna’s voice felt tight.

  “As did Lian,” Dorian said, almost too quickly, and he coughed lightly as if to ease some of the tension in the air. “It has become… necessary to establish Anowen’s claim of protection on the child until the purity of her blood can be determined.”

  “I know little about Fae, Dorian.”

  “She seems to know little as well.” The High Lord’s expression softened. “We cannot risk the ire of the Fae Courts if another Immortal believes her to be their Eternal Bond and attempts to turn her. Lian and I have decided the quickest course will be to present her in public as your companion.”

  “As opposed to informing the Immortals in Easthaven, mon Seigneur?”

  Dorian barked a laugh and ran his fingers through his dark waves. “Would that we could account for every Immortal that has flocked to Easthaven. Word will spread quickly enough that she is under Anowen’s protection. It is unlikely any Immortal will challenge their Sovereign if they hear her singing."

  "Even among the Free?" Joanna knew little of the politics of Immortals, but she knew enough to understand that the Freeborn were scarcely bound by any decree the Housed might put forth.

  "A Freeborn will have self-preservation enough to approach our House if they wish to make a claim, and any Housed Immortals must abide by the pacts. One way or another, they will know when they come to Lian.”

  “If they come,” Joanna said, and that was the end of the conversation.

  Hours later, they rode by carriage to Lian’s Estate. The manor itself was larger than Dorian’s own estate, with its yard and garden well-manicured and neat.

  Joanna found she rather preferred the wildness of the Vaughn Estate, but made no remark upon it.

  She was much too distracted with meeting the Fae-blooded mortal who was to be her companion once she arrived in the drawing room. They made introductions over the serving tray Delilah Flowers had brought with her, and Joanna watched her, straining to listen.

  Try as she might, she heard no music from the girl.

  Was the woman what a Fae was meant to be?

  Delilah was beautiful — Joanna had expected as much. In fact, she was as lovely if not lovelier than the Immortal women of Anowen. She had a petite frame and dark curls that shimmered with reds and browns in the low burning light.

  The childish part of Joanna that only knew fairies from the stories of her childhood had expected wings.

  Delilah had none. But in a flustered moment, the woman’s Aegean blood had come shimmering to the surface of her lavender eyes in a glow — one that went unseen by the mortals in their midst.

  Lian had seen it; as had Dorian. When it was finally agreed to that Delilah would join Joanna in society as her companion, the queen finally shifted at the edge of her seat.

  “Mademoiselle,” she said and flashed a small smile. Her fingers settled briefly on Dorian’s arm until she felt the subtle rise in his music, before they drifted higher to her heart. “Would you like to walk with me a turn? Since we are to be companions? If the… darkness does not bother you.”

  Glancing between the two Lords, the queen tilted her head. “Is that all right? If we stay to the grounds.”

  “Just… do not go far. It is dark,” Lian murmured over his cup of tea. His expression was a thoughtful reflection of the low timbre of his piano song. A moment later, he had smoothed it, but he still sung out a measure of concern; despite his tease. “I think I shall manage to keep Dorian entertained until your return.”

  “Take Samuel with you.” Dorian interjected. His violins dipped in a low vibrato, and his gaze pinned the queen. “He’s used to lurking in shadows.”

  Samuel — the youth of a mortal warden who protected their family. Joanna had known the boy since he was an infant, and something in her expression softened as she listened to worry play out through Dorian’s song.

  But Dorian was not keeping her behind glass; despite the furrow in his brow and the ripple of darkness in his m
usic.

  “The darkness does not bother,” Delilah said, interrupting Joanna’s thoughts. “I should love a turn in the gardens. The Earl takes great care of his grounds. If you will but give me a moment to be free of my aprons I am pleased to attend you at the door.”

  “Oui, mademoiselle.” Joanna offered a smile the woman’s way, and after the Fae-blooded Delilah had dipped a curtsy and departed, the queen lingered between the Elders. She meant to say something, anything, to assuage Dorian’s worry, but only managed the brush of her music against his own.

  The Conde exhaled, and some of his tension slipped free of him with the breath. He had managed a faint smile by the time he stood to take Joanna’s arm in his. He escorted her to the door and disappeared to fetch Samuel.

  His music was still settled around hers like a protective cloak when she and Delilah stepped into the gardens.

  Chapter 11

  Joanna had a nightly companion in Delilah Flowers from then onward.

  It had been four days, and they had reached the eve before Joanna’s wedding night. In that time, she had seen even less of her fiance, and less of William as Delilah stepped in to fill the gaps left in her education.

  She was not sure if she was relieved for the fact or not; not with Dorian’s music inescapably close and calling out to her own. There was no peace when she rested in the early morning hours, either.

  He had given her the suite that adjoined his bedroom. The cornices and skirting boards were of plain wood paneling. But the paper hangings that stretched along the length of the room more than made up for the fact. He had surrounded her with a scenic landscape of gardens, a lake, lush trees and a sunlit sky. She could still smell its adhesive, too fresh for it to have been there before her expected arrival.

  When Dorian had not remarked upon it, she had not either.

  That a door was all that separated them was quite becoming a torture she had not expected.

  The queen’s expression furrowed where she stared at herself in her vanity mirror.

  She would not be ungrateful, or demanding of his time.

  At her back, Delilah caught the look. Her fingers stilled where they were working Joanna’s hair into pieces of fabric to curl it.

  “Did I pull?” Delilah asked. Her lavender eyes and the curiosity lining the edges of her soft features made it clear that she knew it was not a tugged scalp that had shadowed Joanna’s expression.

  “Non. Thank you. I am useless for this. My hair curls on its own so I never thought to learn to curl it into….” She twirled her finger, seeking the word.

  “Ringlets?”

  “Oui.”

  Her hair would have to be perfect for the wedding and reception the following night. She reached to thumb a bottle of perfume where it sat on the vanity’s cloth covered surface. The bottle and the ribbon around her neck were the only two things beyond her writing utensils and letters that she had kept from the castle.

  Delilah’s lips curved into a smile, and the warmth of understanding lightened her features. “I do not think the Conde will have a care for if your curls are precise. He seems a very kind man — interested only in your comfort. Or at least he appeared so during your visit with the Earl.”

  “He is… entirely attentive to my comfort, oui.” Joanna’s hand retreated to her lap, and she studied her expression in the mirror until she had reined it into a softer smile. “I fear his head might sprout a few grays for as worried as he has been for it. But… I am less concerned about his care for the curls than the….” Her frown appeared again. “I know society will say nothing to him — but the talk — I would not wish him to be viewed differently for my deficiencies. He is the one with the reputation.”

  Delilah’s lips twisted in a wry admission of the truth of her words. “There will always be talk — it needs only the courage to face it down a few times before they button up.” The girl dropped Joanna a wink in the mirror. “You will have already claimed the prize, and they can ill afford to lose the Conde’s favor.”

  Her gaze searched over Joanna’s pale features. “But there is something more, perhaps?” She paused, as if uncertain of her right to probe deeper.

  Joanna’s brows furrowed and her lips thinned to a narrow line on her features. “He needed a wife. I should not be displeased to be chosen, but I believe the arrangement might have been for the sake of sympathy.” She leaned forward, curling her hand in her cheek. “He could have selected anyone. I suppose despite the reason behind his choice, he has made it and it was made for my benefit. I just want to be happier for it.”

  Delilah’s gaze widened slightly, and in the mirror its lavender hue shifted a mercurial betrayal of her bloodline. “Well I suppose that does put a turn on things,” she murmured, and drew her lower lip between her teeth for a distracted nibble before shaking her head.

  “No, my lady,” she continued firmly. “There is nothing of more value to a gentleman than his own peace of mind and happiness — I have seen enough of the unhappy ones in service to know.” Her voice was flat. “A man will not let himself be leg shackled for sympathy — however much he might present otherwise.”

  She adjusted another of Joanna’s curls. “He may have needed a wife, but he chose you — which must mean that he thinks you will get along well together. And that is more than most married couples can avow.”

  The French queen’s fingers spread across her cheek before covering her lips and then crept higher to press against her face. She wondered if that was true. In the world of mortals, it certainly was. She had loved Jakob, and they had been partners in the years they’d had together. She could not think he would have given eight years for the sake of sympathy. But what was eight years or even twenty to forever?

  What was thirty years to a debt Dorian did not think he could repay?

  Her hand lowered, and she clutched the fabric of her nightdress. “It is only my foolishness that frets so. Most women, I am sure, would be pleased for the affair. It has all felt much like a Fae story of being swept up by a prince. But I confess, if I must have another lesson on the Sutherlys or the Prichetts, I may pull these lovely curls you’ve made from my head before the reception.”

  Delilah laughed. “Well, that’s the spirit. If you dwell upon how utterly dreary it will be to please society’s whims, finding pleasure in the Conde’s company shall certainly become easy.” There was more than a hint of a tease at that. “And from the looks of m’lord, I think any woman should be happy for the thought he might give her his… attention.” A telltale warmth suffused the girl’s cheeks. “If you will pardon my being so bold as to say it.”

  “It will be my misfortune never to see his attention at the rate he has been avoiding me,” Joanna offered dryly.

  “Perhaps he would see you wed, first.” Delilah’s tone was impish. “It is after all most scandalous that you are already under his roof. We are fortunate that it is not common knowledge.” It was the reason she had been borrowed from the Earl’s service at all, to lend some countenance to the arrangement.

  “Pauvre de moi. The least he could have done with his proposal was not to dash any expectation of soon seeing his bed.”

  Little one.

  The queen winced. There would be none of that intimacy. She was a child, yet, and he was determined to ensure her comfort as he made his reparations.

  Delilah snorted. “Oh, m’lady, if I am certain of one thing, it is that a man of the Conde’s humors is unlikely to hold to that expectation.” She finished setting the final curl with a flourish. “There now. If you will only manage a restful night, I think you shall be ready to take the ton by storm.”

  “If it comes to the worst, I shall forget how to speak English,” Joanna murmured as she touched one of the wrapped tresses. Carefully, so as not to crush them, she tied a silk bonnet around her crown. “Merci, Delilah. I would never have managed the task alone.”

  “Of course, m’lady.”

  “Ah… You need not call me, m’lady. If you are to be tra
pped in my company as a companion, the least we could do is a little less formal. It can be Joanna — if it suits you.” The woman paused. “But if you are not comfortable, I would not wish to impose such an intimacy.”

  Delilah flushed again, but held the Frenchwoman’s gaze in the mirror. “I would be honored for the liberty… Joanna,” she tested the name on her tongue and smiled. “But it is getting late. We should not keep you from your rest.”

  Joanna stood and turned to take Delilah’s hands in a light squeeze. They were warm, warmer than hers by far, but she smiled all the same.

  “I am dreadfully sorry for the hours you must keep on my account. Truly, I have a while yet before I am so inclined to rest. I can wait with you until Samuel arrives to take you back to the Earl’s estate.”

  “If you are certain it is no inconvenience,” her companion murmured. “William is quite good company otherwise.”

  The French queen’s smile grew. “Then we shall both keep his company. I’ve rather come to enjoy him; though I do wish he would be a little less stiff. Between him and the Conde in my presence, I am rather grateful for your companionship. It feels less like living in a house of boards.”

  The observation incited soft laughter shared between the women, and for a while Joanna let herself pretend that the sound of violins was not thrumming through her blood with a summons she dared not consider answering.

  Chapter 12

  Dorian Vaughn sat alongside his bride, studying her profile as the music and activity of their reception bustled around them.

  Joanna, who were it not for the moonlight paleness of her complexion and the subtle coolness to her warmth, appeared for all the world a human; not the Immortal she was. He had ensured she looked like a queen, tonight. The wedding dress she wore was of a fine white muslin, and an equally white shawl embroidered with delicate gold thread that matched her curls, graced her bare shoulders.