‘No, we call our money “coin”, not “keys” like here. Keys on a piano are … Look, why does it matter? It creates music.’
‘Beautiful music?’
‘It can.’
‘And you know how to make one of these … pianos?’ Roh said it slowly.
Odi nodded, taking a sip from his goblet. ‘I do.’
An ember of hope glowed in Roh’s chest, though she didn’t yet dare let it flare to life. ‘This could work … If it does what you say it does … We could build one.’
‘We would need the right materials,’ Odi countered.
Roh forced herself to exhale slowly, containing the fire within. ‘And if we found the right materials? Or similar materials at least?’
‘Then it could maybe be done.’
Something dawned on Roh. ‘We would have to be able to demonstrate what it can do. Could you do that? Could you show them?’
Odi had started shaking his head before she had even finished her sentence. ‘I can only tune the instrument. Perform basic scales to test the inner workings of it.’
Roh felt as though her chest had caved in, the glowing ember within completely snuffed out. They had been so close. The idea was a good one, she was sure of it. But without proof of the instrument’s abilities, it was useless. ‘We can’t do it, then,’ she said, her voice hollow. ‘We have no way to show the council what it can do.’
Odi was studying her tentatively. ‘I can’t show them,’ he said slowly. ‘But … the Eery Brothers can.’
Chapter Thirteen
‘How do you propose to pay for all of this?’ Ames asked the next morning, scowling at the list of materials Roh handed him in his study. As his eyes scanned its contents in disbelief, she looked around. The place hadn’t changed much. Ames’ dimly lit study was in the mentor quarters two levels above the workshop. Nearly every surface was covered in piles of parchment and small vials of who-knew-what, which had always struck Roh as strange, even as a nestling, because everything she knew about Ames told her he was not a scholar. She had found herself here a number of times over the years, mainly when she and Harlyn had skipped lessons as nestlings. They had stood exactly where Roh and Odi stood now, and Ames had worn the exact same stern frown as he’d reprimanded them. If only Harlyn could see him in this moment, Roh knew the two of them wouldn’t be able to contain their laughter at the absurdity of it.
‘Maple wood, felt, nails …’ Ames rattled off the list of items that she and Odi had spent all night creating. On the floor of their chamber, Roh had watched Odi put charcoal to parchment and sketch the curves of the piano. He had explained the main parts to her before starting a fresh design, detailing the inner workings of the instrument. To say it was a complex task was a vast understatement. But as Odi’s half-gloved, charcoal-smudged fingers had worked their way across the parchment, his brow furrowing in deep concentration, Roh couldn’t help the flutter of excitement in her chest at the thrill of creating something, and the possibility that this might actually work.
‘Rohesia?’ Ames was saying, the list still clutched in his weathered hands. ‘How much do you have to your name? A handful of bronze keys, if that? Are you expecting your friends to pool their savings for you?’
The comment was like the flash of a hidden dagger, no warning but for a glimpse of silver before it drove straight into her heart. Ames knew the barb had hit home; Roh could tell from the flash of satisfaction in his eyes. Was he testing her? Or was this the messy aftermath of his decision to help her?
‘Never,’ she said coldly as she forced her gaze to his. You made your choice, she tried to convey with her eyes.
The lines of Ames’ face softened and the single nod he gave told her he had understood, and that she was right. ‘Then I’ll ask again: how do you propose to pay for all these materials?’
‘I’m going to be resourceful,’ she said.
‘Wonderful.’ Impatience laced his tone. ‘Then why are you here showing me this?’
‘Because we need a workspace —’
‘The workshop is completely out of the question, as you very well know.’
Roh cursed herself for not asking Orson to negotiate on her behalf. Her sweet-natured friend had a way with Ames, and the hardened old cyren definitely had a soft spot for that pretty round face and wide eyes.
‘I’m not asking to use the workshop, Ames,’ Roh countered.
‘What, then? You seem to think I have endless hours to stand here playing guessing games with you.’
‘Roh said you mentioned a place to her, months ago,’ Odi ventured, taking a step towards Ames. ‘An old tree-felling site?’ Odi’s eyes were alight, as though the project had awakened new life in him, too.
‘Rohesia twists the truth. I told her of no such thing. I mentioned it to a fellow cyren in passing, and her overly large ears happened to hear,’ Ames said sourly.
Roh felt the corners of her mouth tug upwards. They were close to convincing him – she could always tell when he started to use superficial insults. Sure enough, Ames was considering Odi thoughtfully.
‘You know all the others will be getting help,’ she added, as Ames patted his pockets in search of something.
‘Who said anything about help?’ Ames frowned, snatching up a bundle of keys from amidst the documents on his desk and striding towards the door, his robes billowing behind him.
‘Ames?’ she asked slowly, frowning at his left hand by his side.
He gave a frustrated sigh. ‘You really are in the gambling mood today, aren’t you, Rohesia? Perhaps you should seek out Jesmond after this. Tell me, what now?’
‘I just …’ Her frown deepened. ‘What’s wrong with your hand?’
Ames looked down and saw what she was seeing: an uncontrollable tremor. ‘Oh, that,’ he allowed, turning his shaking hand over to examine it himself. ‘The lasting effects of an illness I had as a child,’ he told her. ‘It flares up now and again, particularly when someone causes me stress,’ he added pointedly, shoving his hand in his pocket.
Roh didn’t dare say another word as she and Odi followed him down a slippery spiral staircase and into a dark tunnel. Ames held a torch high as they walked the length of the unknown passage, tripping over gnarled roots, droplets of water from the ceiling hitting their heads. They walked for an age, it seemed, but Roh stayed quiet, lest Ames change his mind. At long last, they came to a thick timber door, reinforced with iron embellishments.
Ames produced the bundle of keys from his robes and unlocked the door with his good hand, straining to push it open with his shoulder. Odi leaned in as well and the heavy door creaked inwards. A forest – or what had once been a forest – lay before them. The majority of the trees had been chopped down, leaving only stumps sticking up from the ground like round stakes, dried pollen cones wrapped in webs of spider silk littering their bases. Roh stared into the pattern of rings in each one of the felled trees’ trunks, a circle within for every season of memory.
‘They harvested these trees to make improvements on the Elder Council meeting room and residences,’ Ames explained. ‘No one comes down here now, and won’t until the next crop is due to be planted.’
Roh stared in wonder at the tree graveyard. ‘Where are we, exactly?’
‘The eastern outskirts of Talon’s Reach,’ Ames replied.
‘What about those trees over there?’ Odi pointed to the few dozen remaining trees, their trunks thin and pale. ‘What type are they?’
The corner of Ames’ mouth twitched. ‘Sea birch. And as far as Saddoriel is concerned, this crop has been harvested.’
A kernel of hope flickered in Roh’s chest. ‘So we can use those trees?’
Ames slid his gaze to hers and raised a brow. ‘What trees?’
Roh bit back a triumphant grin. That would have to do. She gave Odi a gentle push. ‘Go see if we can use them instead of your maple wood. And if there’s enough of them.’
Odi nodded and left her with Ames.
‘He’s �
�� an interesting fellow,’ her mentor mused, watching the human weave through the rows of stumps towards the living trees on the far side. When he reached them, he ran his palms flat across the trunks and tested the suppleness of the lower, smaller branches, bending them between both hands.
‘Do you want me to look at the design?’ Ames said in a low voice, not taking his eyes from Odi.
Roh started. After all his protests, was Ames offering to help? She contemplated the charcoal drawings tucked safely away in the pack she’d brought. The numerous pages detailed the working layered parts of the instrument and how they fitted together, each line, each curve painstakingly drawn by Odi. He had sketched without hesitation, jotting down the various dimensions and calculations.
To her own surprise, Roh found herself shaking her head at Ames’ offer. ‘Thank you, but … the design is solid,’ she told him.
He wiped the apprehension from his face. ‘You can borrow tools from the workshop – we have saws, clamps and glue. You’ll need to return everything once you’ve used it.’
‘Of course.’
Ames fumbled with his bundle of keys, the metallic jangling echoing in the barren space. There was a soft thud in the dirt.
‘I seem to have dropped my key,’ he said vaguely. ‘Let me know if you find it.’
Roh smiled, a speck of bronze glinting up at her from the ground.
Ames cleared his throat. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing, Rohesia.’
Roh sighed, watching Odi, who was still running his hands across the tree trunks. ‘So do I.’
When Ames had left, Roh pocketed the key and approached the remaining trees. ‘What do you think?’ she asked Odi, gazing at the sea-birch leaves fanning out above. ‘Will they do?’
Odi had snapped off several branches to examine the density and flexibility of the wood. He took up a stick and forced it to bend between his fingers. ‘We usually use layers of maple to create the body of the instrument,’ he told her. ‘But this seems supple enough. See how it bows to the pressure but doesn’t snap? That’s what we want. What are these trees usually used for?’
‘I’m not sure. Furniture … Building frames?’ Roh took a guess.
Odi nodded. ‘That sounds like the sort of timber we need.’
‘Well, that’s a start,’ Roh allowed. She took in the small pocket of woods before them. ‘We will have to cut these down ourselves.’
Odi shrugged. ‘Then we’ll cut them down.’
Roh huffed a laugh. She didn’t know if she was relieved or overwhelmed by the fact that suddenly, things were that simple.
‘Have you got some sort of lever or pulley system that could get it onto a trolley once it’s built?’ Odi asked, scanning the otherwise barren cavern. ‘It’s a heavy instrument.’
Roh nodded, thinking of the types of machinery and mechanisms she’d seen over the years. If there was one benefit to being from the Lower Sector, it was that she knew how things got done down here.
‘Then that just leaves the strings.’
Roh ran her fingers across her circlet. ‘The strings?’
‘You have the designs?’ Odi asked, palm upturned, waiting.
‘In here,’ Roh said, rummaging through her pack and passing him the handful of folded parchment.
Odi crouched, smoothing his crumpled drawing across the ground and running a finger across the charcoal lines. ‘These. They create the notes, the music.’
Roh knelt in the dirt beside him, studying the detailed design and following the arrows he’d scribbled to show where the strings went. ‘What sort of string do we need?’
‘Specialty string.’
Whatever Roh had eaten that morning curdled slowly in her stomach. Of course. Why hadn’t she foreseen this problem? There would be no special music string in Saddoriel. ‘And where do we find that?’ she ground out, furious with herself for not interrogating him more intensely the night before.
‘Home,’ Odi said simply. ‘My home.’
Roh sucked in a deep breath, fuelling the fire within. ‘Your home? As in, the human realm?’
‘We can make do with different wood and felt and keys from Saddoriel, but the strings … We need the true strings if this has any chance of working at all.’
Roh stood, drawing herself to her full height, letting her talons slip from their sheaths. ‘You tricked me.’ Her voice was deadly quiet.
Odi got to his feet, now eye level with her. ‘What?’
Roh stared into those bright amber eyes, trying to grapple with the fury that was simmering just beneath the surface. ‘You’re trying to dupe me into letting you go home.’
‘No, I’m not, Roh.’
She hated the way her name sounded on his lips: familiar, as though the time they had spent huddled over charcoal and parchment now somehow gave him the right to manipulate her. Did he really think he could match the cunning of a Saddorien cyren?
She closed the gap between them in a single step, eyes flashing. ‘Do not lie to me.’
But Odi didn’t back away as she’d expected. With his jaw and fists clenched, he took a step towards her. ‘I’m no liar.’
Roh’s eyes bored into his, waiting for him to crumble, to run. He should run. Didn’t he know where he was? Didn’t he know what her kind did to humans like him? But neither human nor cyren was willing to yield; the tension between them was palpable, almost a living, breathing entity in itself. Roh stared him down, but Odi, damn him, stared right back.
Roh exhaled hotly through her nose and swore. ‘Fine,’ she snapped, stepping back and sheathing her talons. This was the plan they had, the only plan. If she wanted to stay in the tournament, she would have to make it work. They could address the issue of strings later.
At least Odi had the good sense not to look smug. ‘We’ll cut down the trees,’ he said, moving back to the drawings at their feet. ‘And prepare the timber. We’ll also need a supple metal to weld into a frame of sorts. To make the body.’
The rage that had coursed through Roh’s body only moments before ebbed away, replaced by an urgent sense of purpose. She crossed her arms over her chest as Odi pointed to the sketches. ‘We’ll leave the metal to Orson,’ she heard herself say. ‘She’s far more likely to get results from the welders than my circlet-wearing scar-face.’
Odi glanced up, a tentative smile tugging at his mouth. ‘Come now, your face isn’t that bad.’
A laugh burst from Roh and she shook her head. ‘You’re unbelievable,’ she told him. ‘Enough messing about. We’ve got to get our hands on a saw.’
They spent the rest of the morning gathering tools and materials around Saddoriel, stopping by the workshop briefly to ask Orson for her assistance in obtaining the metal Odi needed. With all the other materials they could manage, Roh and Odi returned to the abandoned forest, bringing a supply of food and drink with them as well. If Roh knew anything about working long hours, it was how important sustenance was. They heaved the tools towards the far corner of the crop, where the trees still stood. Saws, clamps, sanding papers, hammers, nails, cans of glue … Roh was quietly impressed with what they’d achieved in such a short span of time, but now … Now the true work began.
Odi picked up one end of the felling saw. ‘Ready?’
Roh took up the other end. ‘Ready.’
The physicality of cutting down the birches was liberating. Each time they put the serrated edge to a pale trunk and began to saw, a new wave of relief rushed through Roh at the singularity of her focus. She thought only of the motion of the felling saw and the tally of trees. The sea birches groaned beneath the blade, its teeth digging into the fine grain, sending a shower of shavings floating to the ground. Roh pushed and heaved, the rhythm of each pass across the timber taking over, completely numbing her mind as she focused on sliding the saw back and forth across the cut. Her arms ached and her hands blistered beneath the rough handle. The fabric of her shirt became damp against her back, and sweat lined her circlet and stung her eyes, but she pressed
on, relishing the distraction. An ear-splitting crack sounded and the trunk they’d been sawing leaned dangerously to one side. Odi motioned for her to move as he put his boot to it and kicked. The birch fell, its leaves cushioning its fall.
Roh dabbed at the perspiration at her hairline. ‘How many do you think we need?’
Dabbing at his own sweat with the sleeve of his shirt, Odi looked around, mouthing the numbers as he counted. ‘We’ve done seven … Let’s do sixteen, maybe seventeen more?’
Roh nodded, digging deep into her rucksack for the water skein she’d brought. She handed it to him wordlessly.
‘Thanks,’ he said gratefully, drinking deeply before handing it back.
‘Can’t have you passing out mid-build,’ Roh said, taking a swig herself. She surveyed the materials and tools they’d piled nearby … There was much work yet to be done.
‘Guess not,’ Odi replied. He rummaged in their rucksack and took out a loaf of crusty bread. Tearing it in half, he handed the larger piece to Roh. With a murmur of thanks, she took it, aware of the newfound ease between them. The quiet they shared as they worked was comfortable. There was a rhythm to their movements that reminded Roh of working with Harlyn and Orson, where each party knew what needed to be done and performed their tasks without complaint.
When they had finished felling the trees, Odi showed her how to remove the bark from the tree’s body. Her back ached as she hunched over the fallen trunks, hooking an iron rod beneath the bark and levering off the tree’s skin. It was not too dissimilar from cleaning bones. Splinters bit into her palms as she tore the bark away, the ripping sound loud in her ears. She didn’t know how long they’d been working, but the bone cleaner in her was used to pushing through exhaustion and hard labour. They shed the trunks of their scratchy husks, finally dusting their hands on their pants when they were done. Roh’s skin itched as dirt settled into her sweat.
‘Now what?’ she asked, wiping her eyes with the hem of her shirt.
Odi lifted another saw and Roh sighed. With a grunt, she tore one of the sleeves from her shirt and tied it around the lower half of her face. She knew that inhaling shavings was no good and slowed her work immensely. She ripped off the second sleeve and handed it to Odi. ‘Tie this across your nose and mouth,’ she told him, another exchange of small kindnesses between them. She didn’t want to think about what those meant, not as their work crept towards the uneasy matter of the strings. Odi did as she bid and took up his place at one of the naked logs, saw in hand.
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