Last Song Before Night
Page 41
“All right,” Lin said, her eyes still shut. “So what did you want to tell me, then?”
She heard Valanir shift in his seat. “I can’t tell you what I saw, because that would be too much, like letting you inside my gut,” he said. “But it’s begun a journey for me. To undo some of the harm I have done—or, make amends for that which I ought to have done, and did not.”
“That sounds very high-minded,” she said drowsily, almost drifting off.
“Lin. Open your eyes,” said Valanir, gently.
Reluctantly, and with effort, Lin did. For a moment, her eyes needed to adjust to the light—the room was almost dark. It took another moment for her to see that this was not her chamber at all but a round bare room of stone, a single window revealing a slit of violet sky and a sprinkling of stars.
“Where have you brought me, Valanir?” said Lin. Her fatigue had fallen away. “Where is this?”
In a low voice he said, “This is the Tower of the Winds. In the chambers beneath this room, students weave songs from the night. But here, in the topmost chamber, we of the Academy perform one of the oldest of the enchantments.”
“You can’t mean…”
“It’s time,” he said. A breeze from the window ruffled his hair. The sea winds were chilly this far north, but imbued with millennia of music.
“Do the Masters know?”
“They will know once it is done,” he said.
“I don’t have the knowledge—”
“Lin, you have more than earned the right. And besides, we need you.”
She shook her head, bemused. “What must I do?”
“The work is mine—as your initiator in this rite,” said Valanir Ocune. “We will be linked to one another from now until death. And after all that I have done in my life that I regret, and that which I ought to have done … I will know that there was at least one thing I brought to the world that was good.”
Her eyes met his, and Lin suddenly found her mind skipping back to a firelit night in midsummer, green eyes watching her through a mask of Thalion. There has been no end to the road, she thought. Not yet.
“Close your eyes, dear Lin,” said Valanir.
She did as she was bid. With her eyes closed, Lin had the sensation that there were other people in the room who watched the proceedings. Darien. Hassen. Perhaps, in some twist, even Rayen. And the Seekers who had fallen on the day they had retaken the palace—following her command. She did not know if she felt their presence because of some magic invoked by Valanir, or if it was simply the intensity of her desire for what could not be.
Not in this of the many worlds.
There was nothing in life, she thought, that was purely light, or dark.
As in a chant, Valanir spoke. “I will begin the enchantment now, a song of seven verses. You entered this Tower a poet, but shall emerge with a power even greater.”
The presence of Edrien Letrell in her mind grew quiet, seemed to have receded with Valanir’s words. It would soon return, she knew. Someday she would pay a reckoning for that night of forbidden magic. But not yet … not tonight.
I will remember this night for always, Lin thought. And I will always remember that it was mine.
Valanir traced a symbol on her closed right eyelid. A warmth flooded through her from that eye, a sensation both pleasant and on the edge of pain. Much as she had come to expect of such things. “This song will be for you and will change you. Kimbralin Amaristoth,” murmured Valanir Ocune, and sea winds took the words. “Court Poet. Seer.”
Acknowledgments
My first readers, who offered tempered criticism and discerning praise when this book was in its rawest form, will always have my gratitude. They are: Rachel Beitsch-Feldman, Harel Feldman, Carolyn Kephart, Ville V. Kokko, Rena London, Devorah Moskowitz, Tova Moskowitz, Batya Ungar-Sargon, Jeffrey Schindler, Stephanie Whelan, Shlomo Winkler, and Aron Wolinetz. Professor Richard Van Nort provided invaluable consultation in matters of combat—any mistakes are my own.
To my agent, John Silbersack, and my editor at Tor, Marco Palmieri, I am deeply grateful.
At the center of everything is Yaakov—life partner, best friend, and hero. You light every day of my life.
About the Author
ILANA C. MYER lives in New York City. She has written for The Globe and Mail, the Los Angeles Review of Books, Salon, and The Huffington Post. Last Song Before Night is her first novel.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Map
Epigraph
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Part II
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Part III
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Part IV
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
LAST SONG BEFORE NIGHT
Copyright © 2015 by Ilana C. Myer
All rights reserved.
Map by Jennifer Hanover
Cover art by Stephan Martiniere
Cover design by FORT
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
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Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-0-7653-7830-9 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4668-6103-9 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781466861039
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First Edition: September 2015