Chapter Thirty-One
Alfie
Music is a fickle thing. To compose, it’s as though every force in the universe has to be in your favor. When everything comes together, it’s as though the heavens align and music flows from your fingertips. Unless that happens, all you get are chords and words, but they can’t be classified as music.
Luckily, all I need to do on tour is play music I’ve already composed, because no music is being bestowed on me by the heavens. Not since Stephanie walked out my door.
I take that back. Love songs are flowing out of me. One after another, schmaltzy romantic words, phrases, and melodies pour into my mind and out of my fingers. Too bad that’s not what our fans want to hear. They don’t come for trite corny crap. They want Labyrinth’s brand of Other/human fusion, which is as far from treacly pop music as you can get.
If my muse was working, I’d put it to good use at night when my insomnia plagues me. As it is, all I do is lie there, palms on the back of my head, and replay pictures of Alfie and Steph’s greatest hits. Though many of those are of a sexual nature, I haven’t touched myself since she left. It seems wrong somehow.
Interestingly, most of my thoughts aren’t of the lusty variety. Mostly, I recall all the fun we had. Even when we were talking about work or the tour, there was always a spark between us.
The elegant concert hall in their capital city is everything Potentate Velorian promised it would be. Our rehearsal this afternoon proved the acoustics to be state-of-the-art. Huge screens will provide a close-up view of the stage for the thousands attending, even those at the far back, three stories above ground level. There are box seats along the side walls where the prince and his special guests will have the perfect view. Magnificent… and intimidating.
The only good moments I’ve experienced since Steph walked out were the ones I spent speaking with Velorian at the banquet he threw for us. He was genuinely kind and interested in me.
He even said that if the persecution of the Others got worse in the States, he would find a way to house us in Ysaria. Speaking with him was a brief, but welcome reprieve from the unrelenting self-loathing I’ve felt about destroying the beautiful relationship I’d built with Stephanie.
The roar of the crowd vibrates through my body as I stride onto the stage in the enormous concert hall, my bandmates following close behind. My eyes sweep over the venue, taking in the thousands of expectant faces turned our way. Excitement thrums through my veins.
This is what I’ve worked for, what I was meant to do. All those years of creating music alone, from the moments in my bedroom during high school until the day before my identity became public not that long ago, I never dreamed I would play in front of live humans. But to be here, halfway across the world, playing to a crowd of thousands? Wow. And having a band to play with, all of whom are Others, Others who are becoming my friends? Well, it’s beyond anything I could have imagined.
For a brief moment, I allow myself to bask, to take it in, to allow the shouts of the throng to vibrate through my body and into my very soul. At first, I resist. It’s only after I remind myself that I worked hard for this, I earned it, that it lights my soul on fire.
In the wings, I spot Stephanie watching intently. Her hair is swept into a high ponytail, showing off the elegant line of her neck. She’s wearing the green Labyrinth t-shirt I gave her that matches her eyes. Our gazes meet for a fleeting second before her gaze runs from mine. My heart clenches, but I bury the pain. I have a show to do.
Grabbing my khu’rinn and holding it high, I step up to the microphone. “Good evening, Ysaria!” My voice booms out, amplified across the massive space. The answering cheers send a rush of adrenaline through me. “Let’s make some music!”
Attana, our naga drummer, kicks off a driving beat, the drums reverberating in my chest. Ragnor joins him on base, and on the next downbeat, we launch into our first song. My fingers fly over the strings of the khu’rinn, muscle memory taking over. The sinuous tones blend and build with the sound of the other instruments. We’re locked in, transported. This is what we were meant to do.
Everything fades into the background as I become one with the music. For the rest of the concert, all my worries are forgotten. I get a reprieve from guilt about Stephanie and worries about the future. I’m solidly in the here and now, being my best self. Playing my music my way and pleasing the crowd.
It seems like only a few minutes later that the last strands of the final song echo through the concert hall. Roars and whistles wash over us. I’m coasting on a performance high, every sense heightened. Searching the wings, I find Stephanie already walking away, ponytail swaying. My elation fades.
Really? She couldn’t let her anger and resentment go for one damn minute? Couldn’t join me in my joy, my triumph in the greatest moment of my career? Did what we shared mean so little to her that she can just pretend it never happened?
My chest tightens as my heart slams against my ribs. Refusing to succumb to grief in what should be the best moment of my life, I follow Kam’s urgings and lead the group back onstage for an encore. Watching the crowd, filled with people from all walks of life, giving me a standing ovation is something I’ll cherish forever.
Later, I sink onto the couch in my hotel suite, shoulders slumped. A knock at the door brings me to my feet. I open it to find Stephanie clutching a folder of paperwork.
“I thought you were room service,” I say stupidly.
She brushes past me. “We need to go over tomorrow’s schedule.”
Oh. So it’s all business then. We situate ourselves at opposite ends of the couch and discuss logistics. As she talks, I study her profile, aching to reach out and tuck that stray wisp of hair behind her ear. Clenching my fists, I fight the urge.
“So we’ll meet in the lobby at eight?” she finishes.
I force a smile. “Sounds good.”
Stephanie gathers the paperwork and makes for the door. She pauses and turns, with her hand on the knob.
“The show was amazing tonight,” she says softly, not meeting my eyes. “You were incredible up there.”
“Thank you.” My voice comes out hoarse.
With a brusque nod, she slips out, leaving me staring after her. Alone again, I rake my hands through my hair and curse under my breath. Six more days of this torture. I don’t know if my heart can take it.