“You fixed the song, right? No one like him will awaken now?”
She nodded. “I did. They won’t.”
He embraced her, kissing the top of her head. “If anyone from before you made the change shows up, we’ll be right there to stop them. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“What if it happens again? What if I get lost again?”
Jovan took a deep breath. He was more worried about that same thing than he’d let on. “You won’t,” he reassured her, hoping he was right. Rhodoban had already said he didn’t think he’d be able to reach Melody if it happened again. “You’re just going to sing, and then you’ll stop, and then we’ll go to bed.”
“And in the morning everyone I can reach will just leave and come with us,” she sighed, pulling out of his arms. She sat on the side of the bed. “It feels wrong, Jovan. These people have homes, they have lives.”
He pulled the chair over, sitting so he could face her. “They won’t if Semaj isn’t stopped,” he reminded her. “Not everyone will go, right? You said some people don’t have magic?”
“Some people resist it,” she agreed. “More accept than refuse, though.”
“So the town won’t be empty. There will still be people and shops and stables for the others to come back to.”
She met his eyes, uncertain. “Will they, though? Will they come back?”
Jovan took her hands. “Some of them will. I can’t promise more, Melody, I don’t know what we’re heading towards. I know you can do this, though. I know you will keep them as safe as you can.”
She nodded, and took a deep breath. “I’m ready,” she said at last.
“Let’s get Senna,” Jovan said. “The others are already downstairs.”
The music was ethereal. Senna’s flute and Melody’s voice entwined and danced together, flowing off the small stage like mist, swirling through the surprisingly large crowd. Every chair at every table was full, and people lined every wall of the common room, but no one spoke, no one moved. Not so much as a clatter of spoon against bowl interrupted the light flow of Senna’s flute underscoring Melody’s wordless song.
Calder was outside, Jovan knew. The ranger and Attilus were keeping a close watch on everyone who came in - and more people continued to come in. Rhodoban was leaning comfortably near the kitchen door, watching the crowd from the rear.
Jovan was in the front of the room with the others, forming a physical barrier between the stage and the listeners. He didn’t want to think anyone would come after her, but experience was a hard teacher. He wouldn’t be unprepared again. He stood with Aggravain, Derek, Elias, Jonn, Tyren, Gage - even Edwin had insisted on being part of the line. Though Jovan’s back was to her, he could imagine Melody standing straight and calm - no taller, but seeming somehow more herself as she sang. Please, he prayed, let her stay herself.
Brody Douglas sat with his back to the wall on one side of the kitchen door. He was thoroughly, completely entranced. This was the shy, sweet girl he remembered from his dreams - her hair was dark again, gone was her brilliant red mane, and not even the noticeable swell of her abdomen under the fabric of her dress could ruin the magic of seeing her again.
The music pouring from her lips seemed to fill every corner of himself, it was entrancing and compelling and indefinably hopeful. He found himself smiling without knowing why— until a sharp pain shot through his temples. He saw a brief, clear vision of his knife slicing through Melody’s throat, driven by his own hand. Then it was gone. Brody reached for his ale, rattled. He had to hold the mug with both hands to bring it to his lips. What was wrong with him?
Douglas was grateful for the pain, in truth. He had become so lost in her song he had forgotten what – or rather, who - he was looking for. The man was right in front of her, though, standing with at least five other men. Jovan, Brody remembered. That was the name the bar girl in Gira had given him, when she said if Melody was betrothed to anyone, she would think it was him. He knew why she thought such foolishness, now. He could see it as clearly as he saw his own reflection.
Jovan was in love with Melody. It was obvious - where he chose to stand, the way he checked back over his shoulder … the way she occasionally looked at him. The thought filled him with an anger that threatened to overflow his ever more tenuous hold on it. They would need to talk, this Jovan and he, but … later. His head ached, it felt as if it was splitting apart and Melody’s music was the only thing holding the pieces together.
Rhodoban glanced over at the man seated on the other side of the kitchen door, concerned. He was harmless, certainly, but still strange— muttering to himself, alternately rubbing his forehead and looking around the crowded common room as if expecting someone. Perhaps he was … simple? Or perhaps Melody’s song was affecting him more deeply than the others? That was certainly possible.
Rhodoban made a mental note to seek out the man the next day, but it was difficult to focus on what might be causing the man’s strange behavior. It was a challenge to focus on anything, as powerful as the music was. Rhodoban had heard Melody sing that first night in Estfall, and his magic had responded - he would never had been able to reach her waking dream if it hadn’t. This, though. This time her song felt different. Bigger. More. This was a call that asked for - no, demanded - an immediate answer. The effect on his own gifts was damned distracting.
When the music finally came to an end, the room was silent for a long moment, and then it seemed as if the applause would shake the roof from its beams. Brody Douglas squeezed his eyes tight against the agonizing noise, and when he opened them again, Melody was gone. He stood, his eyes searching the room, but she and the flutist were nowhere in sight. There were too many people, he couldn’t get close to the stage where she had been, or see where she had gone.
Pain shot through his head again. In this vision his hands were on Melody’s throat, he could feel her struggling against him and by the Lich it was exciting— No! Brody limped back to his table and swallowed the last of his ale in a single gulp, rubbing his forehead in an effort to push back the pain.
He needed to sleep, that was all. Just sleep.
16
The bed was warm and Jovan’s arms were welcoming, but Melody remained awake. Relieved that she had been able to sing without losing herself, he had slipped into dreams almost the moment they lay down and she was tucked against his side. She looked at the beams of the ceiling for a long while, listening to him breathe, waiting for sleep that did not come.
When dawn arrived she would be beyond busy. Her fear of once again surrendering to the currents and flow of the magic led her to change her song even further, focusing this time on intensity rather than reach. Anyone within the sound of her voice would have awakened and felt the call to fight Semaj immediately, though they might mistake the feeling for simple restlessness. Better yet, the power would grow in them quickly - Melody was proud of that shift in the song. It was like singing plants into bloom out of season, only she was bringing the magic to life.
In just hours, each of them would know what gifts they were capable of - and be able to use them without fear. That was the important part, to her. Melody still remembered the girl in Estfall who had asked her to take the power away. The fear in her eyes when she asked if the magic made her evil had broken Melody’s heart. That was why every note of her song earlier had been wrapped in comfort and confidence, a reassurance that the magic was part of them, it had always been with them, that they were born to it. It wasn’t a lie, she reasoned, just an unfamiliar truth.
Melody sighed. These were people she was changing. However necessary, whatever benefit might come of their actions, she couldn’t feel good about ripping them from their homes and bringing them to a war she wasn’t even sure they could win. Her dream-self hadn’t said that victory was certain, just that Melody was the only one who had a chance to turn the tide. She hadn’t hinted at how difficult it would be.
She wasn’t alone, of course. Senna would be able to guide any
new Healers, and Rhodoban could carry some of the load, but the rest would fall to her. They would need more than sorting and assigning and training, Melody knew. They would need someone who understood them, someone who had been torn from their own home to use gifts they never asked for to save a world that was not always kind. They needed her. And after this group would come another, and another … her head spun with the magnitude of her task.
“Rest deeply,” she whispered, sending a trickle of magic into Jovan before she sat up, so he wouldn’t wake early, and worry. Attilus would be downstairs, Melody thought as she tiptoed from the room. There was always comfort to be found in his flopping ears and solid bulk.
The common room was dark, lit only by the coals of the fire, but she found her way to the hound with no difficulty. His tail thumped happily as she crouched by his side, and he sat up to lick her cheek in greeting. She scratched his ears, and buried her face in the dog’s neck with a contented sigh.
Good dog, she told Attilus. Good boy.
“Miss … Nia?”
Melody stood and whirled around, startled. That voice … Attilus pressed to her leg, steadying her, but gave no sign of aggression.
“Brody …?” She squinted her eyes against the dark and saw him as he stood. His faint blue aura and the way he pushed back the lock of hair that never stayed put was unmistakable. “Brody Douglas?” It was impossible, she thought. “I - I feared you were dead!”
He limped closer to her, and as her eyes adjusted she could see the light gleam of his teeth as his face broke out in the wide, easy smile she remembered.
“No, Miss Nia, I’ve a bit more strength in me yet—“ He broke off, wincing as though he was in terrible pain.
Melody took a step forward, concerned, and Attilus whined. “What is it?” she asked. “Are you hurt?”
Brody shook his head, but he had to lean heavily on the back of a chair to keep his feet. He breathed in great gulps of air, keeping his eyes closed until whatever it was had passed.
“Oh I’m fine, Miss Nia. Don’t you worry about Brody Douglas none.” The words were cheerful, but he forced them through tight jaw and clenched teeth.
She pushed her hair back behind her shoulder and stepped closer. “My name is Melody, not Nia,” she said, softly. “I can explain later. Please, let me help you.” She reached out a hand, but he slapped it away with such force that she gasped and Attilus growled low in his throat.
“No!” he hissed loudly, jerking away from her touch. Then his face crumpled, and his knees went weak. He covered his face with his hands. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what—“
Melody could practically feel the man’s agony, and she ached for him. He had helped her when she was sick, and she would do no less for him now. She had learned with Rhodoban that she no longer needed to touch someone to heal them, so she sent the energy to Brody— but there was nothing to heal. Whatever had caused his pain, it wasn’t physical.
“It’s going to be all right,” she promised, curious at how he could be uninjured, yet in such obvious distress. “Perhaps some fresh air would help you, my friend. Please, come with me.”
When he had found his feet again he followed her to the door, practically staggering with the crushing pain in his skull.
“There is a well outside,” she told him, holding the door but preventing Attilus from pushing through as well. No, she told the dog. Stay, he will not need you underfoot. “It’s in the square, but the walk and some water will do you good.”
“Thank you,” Brody whispered, pressing a hand to his forehead. “I don’t know what—“ Another vision assaulted him, brutal and violent, and he tried to breathe through it, bracing himself against the solid inn wall.
“It’s no more than you have done for me. What is it that pains you?” Melody hesitantly offered her hand, pointing across the wide courtyard to the stone well. “It’s that way, can you make it?”
“I think so.” Brody let her lead him this time, suddenly squeezing her hand and stopping in his tracks as another wave of pain struck him halfway across the courtyard. “It’s my head,” he grimaced, fighting off another of the visions that had been increasing in intensity and violence since he first heard her sing. He forced his feet forward, though they were slow to respond and he stumbled more than once. Despite her size, she managed to support him the rest of the distance. She had such a sweet nature, Brody thought, such a caring heart…
“Leave,” he said suddenly, his eyes widening. He backed away from her, panicked, but did not release his hold on her hand. “You have to go!” Pain wracked through him, and his whole body shook.
“I can help you,” Melody soothed. “Here, just sit, I’ll get you some water—”
Brody Douglas’ hand tightened around hers, and he pulled her towards him with more force than she could have guessed he possessed. She looked up, shocked, but the soft gray eyes of the simple man had hardened, and there was no trace of Brody’s gentleness in his chiseled features. His smile was anything but kind.
Her heart went cold, and her stomach dropped. She remembered that face, those eyes – the memory of him perched above her with a knife right before the beast attacked overlapped an earlier memory, and suddenly she saw again the mask and those icy gray eyes and the knife and the blood, and Gorlois …
She brought up her other hand, summoning the magic, but he was faster - his clenched fist drove into her throat with enough force to knock her to her knees, but he kept a tight grip on her hand.
“You should have listened to him,” Brody said, although it was not Brody’s voice that came from the man’s thin lips.
Melody couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream, couldn’t swallow. The crushing pain consumed her, bringing a flood of tears to her eyes.
“I should thank you,” Not-Brody said, producing a knife. “I wouldn’t have made it back if your song didn’t wake me up.”
She choked and gasped, trying to pull her hand free of his, her vision dim and sparkling. Through tear-blurred eyes, Melody watched as the blade moved towards her face. Her throat burned, and she couldn’t call forth even the smallest of magics.
“No!” Brody shouted, releasing her and wrenching himself back. He struck at his own wrist with his free hand, harder and harder until the blade fell beside him. “I won’t let you … you can’t do this …” He struggled to form the words even as he fought against picking up the knife again. “Run,” he begged her, desperation in his voice.
The moment he let go of her, Melody bolted. Two steps out, her feet tangled in the long skirt of her dress and she hit the ground again, knocking out what little breath she’d been able to gasp in. She heard Attilus barking somewhere in the distance as she dragged herself forward in the dirt with her elbows, crawling and choking while she tried to free her legs.
Lothaedus picked up the knife. “Oh no you don’t,” he said, easily pulling her back by the fabric of her dress. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Melody was red-faced and desperate, clutching at her throat, but he knew the blow wouldn’t kill her. It would just keep her quiet and too desperate for air to reach for her magic. He’d waited a very long time for this, he intended to enjoy it. Lothaedus flipped Melody onto her back and straddled her body, his knees pinning her elbows painfully to the ground. He drew the knife along her jawline with a grin, watching as bright red blood appeared to trace its path.
Her scream came out as a high-pitched whine, and Lothaedus winced as her pain and fear flooded through him.
“Quiet,” he hissed through clenched teeth. He grabbed her already bruised throat in one hand, squeezing, shifting forward to put his weight behind it. Melody’s eyes rolled back, and her hands clawed uselessly at his arm. He looked up suddenly, tipping his head to one side. The muffled barking of the distant dog had stopped, and he could hear growling breath as it approached. There was no time.
Attilus launched, all bared teeth and snarling momentum, but Lothaedus simply braced and turned so that his
knife met Attilus in mid-air. The dog’s jaws snapped inches from his face, but Lothaedus’ aim was true. Attilus let out a startled, pained yelp as he fell to the ground, his heart’s blood pumping onto the dirt, but still he fought. He forced himself up on unsteady legs, pushing forward, sinking his teeth into the meat of Lothaedus’ calf.
The assassin shoved the weakening hound away, driving the knife into its neck twice more in rapid succession with a hiss of pain. It was only a matter of moments before Attilus stopped writhing and went still with one last whimper.
“Your turn.” Lothaedus leered down at Melody, whose own choking struggles were beginning to slow. Blood trickled steadily from her jaw, and her eyes rolled weakly. However he may want to enjoy the moment, there was no time. He raised the knife, still slick with the dog’s blood.
“No!” Brody screamed, fighting to control the body with everything he had - which was precious little. It had to be enough - instead of her neck, the blade sliced down her cheek. The force of it grooved the bone beneath her eye, and drove the knife through her ear into the ground beside her head. Hot blood followed it in a surge.
Melody watched as if from a distance as Brody - not Brody - threw himself off of her. His face was twisted, his teeth were bared. There were shouts in the distance - someone was coming.
He pressed his fists into his temples, and without warning he slammed his forehead against the cold stone of the well. He shuddered once and then took off at a run, no trace of a limp hindering him.
17
“Where is Melody?” Calder, roused by the sound of Attilus’ barking, nearly collided with Jovan as the other man came out of his room, still sleep-drunk and rubbing at his eyes. Derek and Elias were already in the hall, and a shirtless Aggravain was close behind.
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