She leaned her arm on the windowsill and buried her face in it. He watched her helplessly, then reached out and stroked her hair.
“I wish it hadn’t happened,” he said. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“I know,” she sobbed. “And I expect too much. Who would touch me now?”
“I’m touching you,” he said. “Here, look at me.”
She raised her tear-streaked face.
“I think you were right,” he admitted, “about how I feel about you. But there’s something you need to understand. What they did to me in the dungeons—it changed me. I don’t just mean my body or my hands; it altered me inside. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. For so long, for so very long, I’ve been able to see no better end for all of this than revenge. It’s all I’ve really thought about. It’s all I’ve been planning. In the dungeon, I met a man; well, I heard his voice, anyway. We spoke. He told me that in Safnia, where he’s from, vengeance is considered an art, something to be done well and savored. It made sense to me, I have to say, to make Robert pay for the things he’s done. The other music I’ve been working on—that’s my revenge.”
“What do you mean?”
He closed his eyes, knowing he ought not to tell her but plunging on anyway.
“There are more than eight modes,” he said softly. “There are a few others so forbidden that they are spoken of only in whispers, even in the academies. You saw—you felt—the effect of music when it’s properly composed. We not only were able to create and control emotion, we made it literally impossible for anyone to stop us until we were done.
“That was using mostly the modes we know, but what made that piece so very powerful was my rediscovery—Mery’s rediscovery, really, come to that—of a very ancient forbidden mode. And now I’ve found another, one not used since the days of the Black Jester.”
“What does it do?”
“It can do many things. But a properly structured piece, when performed, might kill anyone who heard it.”
She frowned and searched his face with such a gaze that he knew she was looking for signs of madness.
“This is true?” she said finally.
“I haven’t tested it, of course, but yes, I believe it is.”
“If I hadn’t been there, if I hadn’t been part of the music in the Candlegrove, I don’t imagine I would believe you,” she said. “But as it is, I think you could do almost anything if you put your mind to it. So that’s what you’ve been working on?”
“Yes. To kill Prince Robert.”
“But that’s—” Her eyes narrowed. “But you can’t play.”
“I know. That’s been a problem all along. Robert can play, however. I had thought if I kept the mechanics of it simple enough, he might actually do it himself.”
“But more likely Mery would play it.”
“In which case I had thought to stuff her ears with wax,” Leoff said. “You understand, I agree with you—I always did. I think he plans to kill all three of us. I hoped to give the two of you a chance, but if I couldn’t…”
“You thought you’d take him with us.”
“Yes.”
“But what’s changed?”
“I’ve stopped working on it,” he said. “I shan’t finish it.”
“Why?”
“Because I have hope now,” he said. “And even if that fails…”
“Hope?”
“For something better than revenge.”
“What? Escape?”
“There is a possibility,” he said. “A chance we might survive this and live out our lives in better circumstances. But if we can’t—” He placed his ruined hand on her shoulder. “To make this music, this music of death, I have to surrender to the darkest parts of me. I can’t afford to feel joy, hope, or love, or I can’t write it.
“Yet today I realized I would prefer to die still capable of love than have my revenge. I would rather be able to tell Mery that I love her than slay all the evil princes in the world. And I would rather touch you as tenderly as I’m able, with these things that used to be hands, than bring such dread music into the world. Does that mean anything to you? Does it make sense?”
They were both crying now, quietly.
“It makes sense,” she said. “It makes more sense than anything I’ve heard or thought lately. It makes you the man I fell in love with.”
She took his hand and kissed it gently, once, twice, thrice.
“We’re both injured,” she said. “And I’m afraid. Very afraid. You say we might escape…”
“Yes,” he began, but she put a finger to his lips.
“No,” she said. “If it happens, it happens. I don’t want to know any more. If I’m tortured, I will confess. I know that about myself now. I’m no brave lady from a romance.”
“And I’m no knight,” Leoff said. “But there are many ways to be brave.”
She nodded, coming closer. “However much time we have,” she said, “I would like to help you heal. And I’d like you to help me.”
Leoff leaned down and touched his lips to hers, and they stood for a long moment, locked in that very simple kiss.
She reached for the stays on her bodice. He stopped her.
“Healing is done slowly,” he said gently. “A bit at a time.”
“We may not have very much time,” she pointed out.
“What’s been done to you shouldn’t happen to anyone,” he said. “And it may be harder to get over it than you believe. I would like to make love to you, Areana, but only if it were the first of many times, and of many more things that a man and a woman might do together, be together. If we try this now and fail, I fear the consequences. So for the moment, believe we will live and give this time.”
She pressed her head into his shoulder and put her arms around him, and together they watched the sunset.
“You have to go back to your room,” Leoff told her a few bells later. They were quietly lying on his bed, her head nestled on his chest.
“I’d like to stay here,” she said. “Couldn’t we just sleep, actually sleep? I want to wake up with you.”
He shook his head reluctantly. “Tonight is the night,” he said. “Someone will come to your room. I’m not sure what will happen if you aren’t there. Best we stick to the plan.”
“Are you serious? You really think we might escape tonight?”
“I didn’t want to believe it at first, either, but yes, I think the possibility is real.”
“Very well,” she said, untangling from him, standing, and smoothing her gown. Then she bent and gave him a long, lingering kiss. “Until I see you again,” she said.
“Yes,” he managed.
After she was gone, he didn’t sleep but lay awake until he reckoned the midnight bell was about to toll. Then he dressed in a dark doublet and hose and a warm robe. He bundled up his music and, just as the bell began to peal, padded out of his room and down the stairs.
Despite his caution, there were no guards to slip past. The halls were empty, silent, and dark save for the candle he carried.
When he entered the long corridor that led to the entrance hall, he saw a light ahead, as diminutive as his own. As he drew nearer, he made out a dark red gown and quickened his steps, his heart racing double time, like an ensemble that had quite escaped the measure of its leader.
At the doorway he paused, puzzled. Ambria sat in a chair, waiting for him. She wasn’t holding the candle; it flickered in a small sconce on a table near the chair. Her chin was on her chest, and he thought it odd that she had fallen asleep at such an anxious time.
But she wasn’t asleep, of course. Every angle of her body was somehow wrong, and when he came close enough to see her face, it looked bruised and swollen, and her eyes seemed far too large.
“Ambria!” he gasped, and went down on his knee. He took her hand and found it cold.
“Leovigild Ackenzal, I presume,” someone very near said.