Prelude (The Rhapsody Quartet)

by A. M. Hodgson

  Glenn shrugged, “She’s… infallible?”

  I pursed my lips together, looking back at the picture. She was depicted with a strange cluster of flowers wreathed about her head. The blossoms were encircled by smaller flowers, shaped like stars. They looked like they grew together, as if they were the same plant.

  “Nobody’s infallible,” I said. Glenn stiffened up, but didn’t argue with me.

  I pointed at the blooms, “What kind of flower is that? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “It’s her namesake, the amaranthe. Cut down to near-extinction.”

  “Why?” The flowers were beautiful. The blossoms looked somewhat rose-shaped, but the edges of the petals were wrong, scalloped. Because the image was in black and white, it was difficult to tell what color they were supposed to be.

  “The amaranthe was a useful plant. It has properties that nullify almost any poison. For a long time, there was a black-market trade for them, and prices on the plant sky-rocketed. There’s only one bloom left in all the Overworld or Realm.”

  “Where is it now?”

  “With my Lady, of course,” he said. “This portrait was commissioned when she’d first taken her oath as the Lady of Flowers, our Queen of the Sacred Forests. Back then, amaranthe were more plentiful.”

  The likeness was true to memory. I flipped back to Dorian’s image, noting that it also appeared identical to the man I’d met. I wondered how old the merman was. It was hard to imagine that Amaranthe had looked the same for over a thousand years.

  Marin sauntered into the room. “How was your date? Was Will completely peeved about Saturday? Cody was under the impression I stood him up.”

  I smiled, shaking my head. “Will was fine. I smoothed things over,” I added with a laugh, implying I’d dazzled him with magic.

  Glenn sighed next to me. “I wish you’d break things off with him, Sarah,” he said again. “I mean, my Lady did have a point when she spoke to us.”

  My face grew hot. If things were different, if Score was human, I’d have agreed. As it was, though, I couldn’t stand the thought of abandoning him. Most days, when we were apart, it felt like I was just counting the minutes until our next rendezvous.

  Marin sat next to me, looking at the open book in my lap. She crinkled her nose. “What’s that old keeper got you reading now?”

  “I’m reading about the councilors,” I said, handing her the volume.

  She stared down at the picture of her father. Her gaze flickered to the notes below it. Her eyes seemed to hover near her own name.

  “I didn’t know you had sisters,” I said, gesturing to it.

  Marin let out a choking sort of laugh, snorting a little bit. “Hundreds. Maybe thousands. More every day, it seems.”

  I rapped my fingers on the cover, “What’s your father like?”

  She narrowed her eyes, “Noble. Kind. A great king.”

  It was the canned response, though, the one she’d given a million times in her life.

  I shrugged, flipping the pages forward. The man in the fire pit who’d worn the business suit was sketched on this page. His outfit was quite a bit different in the drawing, making his race obvious. Loose pants, a turban, jewels. Djinni.

  I leafed forward. Near the end of the book was a woman I didn’t recognize. She had deep ebony hair and dramatic cheekbones.

  “That’s the old siren bard,” Marin said, settling next to me.

  She didn’t look anything like me— not even close— but I could tell that the artist had attempted to capture her changing eyes by shading them erratically. She had high arches to her brows and a thin nose. Her lips angled into sharp points. Her neck was unnaturally long. She was beautiful but severe, wearing a robe-like toga and sitting on the opal throne.

  My eyes turned to her profile.

  Shiri Gaah’Mangeenah

  Bard of the Sirens

  *Rumored to have taken multiple potions to stave off aging, she is the product of a long-dead ideal beauty.

  No wonder her features looked so strange. I glanced below the headline, but nothing was offered aside from:

  All other information unknown.

  I tried to picture growing up in a world where my birth parents had raised me, where I’d have been hailing this woman as my leader. It was completely baffling, so strange I couldn’t even imagine it.

  I closed the book, rapping my fingers along the cover impatiently.

  My phone chirped next to me, and I slid it from my pocket. I smiled. Score had sent me a text message.

  Tomorrow? Our spot? Noon?

  I glanced at Glenn. “Will wants to go out tomorrow.”

  Marin tugged the book from me as Glenn mulled it over.

  “Sarah, you just saw him this evening. And last week—”

  “I’ve been only drinking sealed water since!” I said, laughing, holding up the bottle I’d set on my nightstand only moments before.

  He shook his head, “That’s not what I mean.” He narrowed his eyes, “Besides, you’ve never had the same type of attack twice. If the pattern continues, it’ll be something exceptionally outlandish next, and even more dangerous.” He rubbed his forehead, “But if you must, then… where?”

  I hugged him quickly. “Longbay Park again.”

  He frowned sharply, “Sarah… that’s…”

  I raised a brow.

  “Fine. The park again, I suppose.” He leaned forward, looking lost in thought.

  I tapped out my response, not able to keep the smile from my face. Marin squealed, sniggering.

  “Oh my gods, you guys, you have to look at this! Viceroy Stonefist…” She leaned back, laughing so hard, tears were practically rolling down her cheeks.

  I glanced at the image and laughed. The dwarf councilor’s portrait featured him wearing a ruffly outfit, his beard and hair braided in complex styles with bows intertwined. That was enough to make it completely ridiculous, of course. But there was more— “His expression!” I giggled.

  Glenn pried the book from my hands, eyeing it. His usual mask of neutrality broke into pieces. He laughed loudly from his belly.

  The dwarf, dressed in lace and frills, was glaring forward with his lacy-gloved hand gripping a battle axe. The expression was murderous and fierce, trying to be intimidating. It was a complete failure.

  All three of us were lying on my bed, laughing until our stomachs ached.

  “I wish—” sputtered Glenn. I pricked up my ears because he so rarely said anything personal— “I wish,” he gasped again, “that it was in color!”

  That sent us into a new set of belly-laughs. I swiped at tears running down my face, sure that my eyes were golden and happy for the moment.

  I realized, suddenly, that for the first time in my life I truly did have friends, and I wouldn’t trade them for the world.

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  Proposal

  Score was waiting at Longbay when I arrived, leaning against the picnic table with sunglasses over his eyes. He grinned when he saw me, gesturing in the direction of our private beach.

  I laced my fingers together. Score had his guitar with him today, slung over his back. He led me through the trees and foliage to our spot.

  He was buzzing with energy this afternoon, his hands twitching. He hummed his quick privacy spell, then looked into my eyes. Score’s were golden, pink, orange. He looked a little… nervous, I realized. The orange, that’s what it meant. Gold was happy, orange nervous, or maybe anxious or worried. But that rosy pink was still a mystery.

  I crossed my ankles together, looking at him expectantly.

  He smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his head, “I— I want to—”

  “Yes?”

  “Did you—” he said, inhaling suddenly, “did you have any more problems? No more attacks, right?”

  “Nothing but blue skies,” I said cheerfully.

  “Good,” he said, slumping down onto the other rock slab, looking into my eyes. “I keep thinking to m
yself, worrying that you’re going to run into something, that you’re going to—” his voice caught, and his eyes shifted to a blue-gray color before they settled back to the orange, pink, and gold combination again.

  “Score,” I said, laughing, “relax. Take some breaths.”

  He ran his hand through his hair. “You’re right. Sorry.” He took a few moments to collect himself, then he nodded. He swung his guitar case around, unsnapping it carefully. “Lyra, I want to sing for you.”

  My mouth opened, just a bit. He didn’t expect me to sing with him, did he?

  “Score, that’s nice, but I’m not ready—”

  He held a hand up, “I just want you to hear me out. That’s all. Don’t you trust me?”

  I sighed, closing my eyes. Did I trust him? There was a lot I didn’t know about Score. Everything I’d learned about him had come directly from his own mouth. For all I knew, he’d been lying to me from the start. Yet— I felt in my bones that he’d been mostly honest with me. I still had the feeling he was keeping a few things from me, but overall, I thought he was being truthful.

  If Glenn were here, he’d probably list off at least a dozen reasons why I shouldn’t trust Score. Maybe a hundred. I chewed my lip, considering it. I glanced up into his eyes. “I shouldn’t trust you,” I admitted, “I think… I think there are things you’re keeping from me.”

  His face fell, his eyes changing to pure orange for a moment. The color shift confirmed it: I was right. Score hadn’t been completely open with me.

  I stood, brushing the sand from my jeans. I tucked a few stray hairs back behind my ears. “I shouldn’t… but I do.”

  He laughed, shaking his head, “You had me a bit worried there, Lyra.”

  I closed the gap between us. “I hope that someday you’ll let me know what you’re holding back, but we haven’t known each other very long, so I get it, Score. I get it.”

  His eyes were all rose-colored now. He smiled softly at me, wrapping one arm around my shoulders. He leaned forward, breathing deeply. “Thank you, Lyra.”

  Score backed up, settling down on the stone. I sat across from him, watching him take a moment to compose himself. His hands carefully wrapped around the guitar’s neck and base. His eyes were closed, and he waited until his breaths were rhythmic before he began to play.

  I knew, at least somewhat, what to expect. But when he started, the music captivated me. It felt like I’d been anchored to him somewhere near my navel, a connection tethering us. It made me want to be nearer to him, to remove the space between us.

  I closed my eyes, enjoying the melody. It was catchy and infectious within a sea of complicated chords. Score began to sing in a smooth voice with the lightest hint of a rich huskiness. His words were English to accommodate for me— to let me know exactly what was on his mind.

  Tangled up in you…

  I’m just, tangled up in you

  A thousand little moments,

  Pieces of the whole,

  Weave us both together,

  Sharing hearts to make us full

  And I just wonder

  Where will we go from here?

  If I could fix every problem,

  Oh I would, I would…

  But every day there’s new drama

  Tangled up in you…

  So we can fly, we can fly

  Would a lifetime be too much?

  A moment’s not enough

  With you an instant stretches

  Into infinity’s touch

  And I just wonder

  Where will we go from here?

  Take my hand, don’t be shy,

  And the two of us can fly…

  We can fly…

  Hold on tight, meet our fate,

  There’s no time to hesitate

  So we can fly, we can fly…

  The song wasn’t long, perhaps two or three minutes. It didn’t need to be. Score just wanted to express himself in the simplest way he could manage. That’s what it was for sirens, I finally realized. At its core, our songs were more about our need for clarity, our own need to release emotion. Our words might get jumbled when we spoke, but the addition of the melody brought forth a deep understanding to what would otherwise be difficult to communicate.

  And what was Score trying to say?

  He still wanted to run with me, escape the other extras of this world. Those who might try to hunt me down, hunt us both down. We could carve out our own path.

  I felt dizzy, suddenly. I’d been holding my breath as I listened, so I exhaled slowly.

  He carefully placed his guitar back in its case. He clasped it shut. Score didn’t say anything. He just sat, waiting for my response.

  “That was beautiful,” I finally managed, “but you knew that already.”

  He smiled softly, his head tilted towards the sand at his feet. He looked up at me through his long, dark lashes. “You make me sick, you know.” He sighed, “I probably should’ve ignored Whitecrest all together. I’m not sure why I bothered to find you, honestly. But I’m glad I did.”

  “I make you sick?” I didn’t know what he meant, exactly what he was trying to say.

  “Yes… it’s like— when I’m with you, I can hardly breathe. I can’t think. But it’s worse when you’re away… it’s unbearable. I don’t want to be away from you anymore. The thought of something happening to you, of one of these attacks succeeding— I’m tortured by it every day. So let me take you away from it— come with me. Let me keep you safe and sound. We can search for information about the sirens together— and maybe we won’t ever find any real answers, but at least we’ll have each other.”

  I nodded, trying to control my emotions, knowing they were written all over my eyes if not my face. My heart was beating wildly in my chest. There it was. Stated again in plain English, no lyrics or melody to decorate it.

  The truth was, he made me feel the same way. When we were together, the world seemed easier, more natural, like all was well. Like he and I were the only people left. When we weren’t together, I often found myself counting down the hours until our next arranged meeting, or the minutes until our next shared class at school. Just being near him added some sense to this mad world.

  This time, because I knew him better now, or maybe because the song presented it so beautifully, it was much more tempting to run with him. Perhaps it was because I knew that he’d been right. He had been more protected by choosing to stay anonymous and blend in, by concealing himself.

  Was my search for answers futile? I wondered if I’d ever find a way to help my foster parents. Maybe my reliance on the council was stunting my opportunity to grow. I really did want to run with him… but I couldn’t leave Whitecrest in good conscience while my foster parents were comatose.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I also felt a deep sadness at the prospect of leaving Marin behind, of leaving Glenn. I’d miss my friends. I’d miss my life.

  I hesitated before responding. “I… don’t know.”

  He shook his head, frustration clouding his features. “I don’t understand how you don’t have an answer for me,” he said, staring into my eyes. “You know me, Lyra!”

  “It’s not that simple.” I did know Score, at least superficially. I felt a surprising bond with him, maybe even love. But could I leave everything and everyone behind me? That was a more complex question. Hovering under the surface, I knew, was an ultimatum. It may not rear its head today, but soon enough Score would be telling me that with or without me, he was leaving.

  His eyes grew a little cloudy, a dark purple. I wondered what it meant he was feeling. “Don’t you feel our connection?” he asked.

  “It’s not that,” I said, “I feel it— we do share a bond, it’s just—”

  He cut me off, “We’re meant to be together. You have to see it! I can feel in my bones that you’re my perfect match. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” he said, frustrated. “If you can’t see that, you need to help me out, because I’m literally t
he last guy on earth, here.”

  I jumped up, my face turning scarlet. I was too inexperienced for this conversation. His implications left me mortified. I’d never had a boyfriend before, never even been kissed— and here’s this guy I’d only known a few weeks, telling me he and I were destined to be together. If that wasn’t enough pressure, we were the last hope for our species’ survival. It felt like he was asking me for sex.

  I turned, face burning. I pulled my arms close, tugging on my jacket, trying to make myself small. How could I possibly respond to him?

  The ocean lapped, tide rolling in and out for a couple moments. I heard him move towards me. My body tensed. I could feel the heat from his skin. The breeze carried the lightest fragrance of cinnamon warmth to my nostrils.

  Score didn’t touch me. He just whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” His breath blew the hair around my neck. “It’s hard to feel this way about someone.” He sighed behind me, “I didn’t mean to upset you.” He moved away from me, taking two crunching steps.

  I slowly turned, facing him. “Can you give me a break?” I asked. “I do like you—” I paused, not sure if like was the right word, then added, “a lot.” I bit my lip. “But you’re asking me to give up everything for you.” I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “You’ve had a whole year to get comfortable with the idea of leaving what you love behind. I’ve had less than a month.”

  He sighed, looking conflicted, then nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He timidly took my hand, but seemed cheered when I didn’t snatch it away immediately. “Take some time,” he said, “but not too long, if you can help it.” His eyes were crystal clear, a pale blue, “The sooner we can leave Whitecrest, the sooner you’ll be safe.”