Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
R onin and Mireille headed out to the gardens just before sunrise for the first performance—an aria from the opera Ignesh Tremani , which translated to Wings of Fire from the Aramaelish.
They’d spent the last few hours mingling with the other guests in the greenhouse, Ronin watching Mireille like a hawk after her brush with death. He’d tried to hold it together after he’d caught her, but High Gods, he’d been fucking terrified. And furious that she hadn’t taken even a second to talk through the decision with him before shoving out of that window. If he hadn’t thought to go outside and spot her, and if she’d hit the ground instead of him…
He tried to convince himself that the only reason he’d been so scared was because if Mireille had been injured, if they’d been caught, then this assignment would be a failure. No uncaged wolf.
But deep down, he knew that wasn’t true.
He’d pushed those thoughts aside as he watched Mireille chat with the other guests, yawning the entire time, her eyelids drooping.
Several times, Ronin had almost said fuck it and carried her back to their suite to force her to get some rest. But every time he tried, she refused. Said they needed to stay and observe, despite learning nothing useful.
Well, Ronin had learned something—Mireille worked herself way too hard. And was far too willing to risk her safety for a job. He was starting to realize that in addition to protecting her from Otto, he should also be protecting her from herself .
Outside in the gardens, an arrangement of chairs was set upon the flagstone patio. A flaming wooden arch carved into the shape of wings stood in front of them, surrounded by three ice sculptures—the ones Ronin had seen from their window yesterday.
In one sculpture, the High God Anaemos soared for the sky, wings outstretched.
In another, he brandished a lit spear, his arm cocked back moments before release.
In the final sculpture, he floated to the ground, wings aflame behind him.
It was a familiar story, one in which every young Fae had been indoctrinated since the Empire had come into power.
The myth claimed that though Anaemos’s wings had ignited, they hadn’t been destroyed. A gift from the grateful sun to the High God for blooming it into existence.
Ronin was pretty sure it was bullshit. Though he didn’t quite believe Selene’s tales about where the Fae had come from either, that they’d been created by Adelphinae along with the humans and all other life on Ethyrios eons ago.
As Ronin passed a sculpture, Mireille shivering beneath his arm, the air warmed. Otto must have erected some kind of shield around the performance space so the spectators wouldn’t freeze.
Good thing for Mireille, who still wore nothing but that sleeveless blue dress that would certainly be imprinted on Ronin’s brain for months. Years, maybe.
Excited, drowsy whispers rippled through the expectant guests as Ronin and Mireille settled into the back row.
Otto entered through the hedge maze wearing a vibrant suit covered in swirling flames with a regal Beastrunner female on his arm. The skirt of her elaborate gown fluttered in petals of lemon, apricot, and persimmon.
Gasps hissed through the guests as Otto positioned her before the flaming arch, and Mireille let out a joyous little squeak, gripping Ronin’s thigh. He may have edged in closer.
“Do you know who that is?” she whispered, nearly vibrating.
“Should I?”
“That’s Odelle Carmina, the most legendary mezzo-soprano to sing with the Imperial Opera. Though she hasn’t been seen publicly in years. I wonder how Otto persuaded her to come out of retirement.”
Ronin bit his cheek to suppress a laugh. Mireille got excited about so few things, but when she did, her silver eyes burned and her skin flushed.
He wouldn’t mind seeing that flush more often.
A teasing smirk graced his lips, though secretly, he delighted in her delight. “Like I said before. Nerd.”
Mireille scoffed. “I’m not a nerd just because I appreciate the arts , Matakos.”
“No,” Ronin cocked his head thoughtfully. “I guess that’s not the only reason you’re a nerd.”
She elbowed him in the ribs, and he threw an arm around her shoulder. His wolf chuffed affectionately as she relaxed against him.
Otto patted Diva Carmina’s hand, then addressed the crowd.
“Friends and fellow Fae,” he began, sweeping his viper’s eyes across the gathered partygoers, “welcome to the first of our stories. This morning’s performance of the famous aria Iae Tombilae, Iae Nost Thanatem Sompros from the thrilling opera Ignesh Tremani , will be performed by a female who we’re sure needs no introduction. Diva Odelle Carmina!”
Applause peppered the air, several Fae rising from their seats, and Ronin whispered into Mireille’s ear, “What does that mean?”
Her lips grazed his cheek as she answered him, and his wolf bounded across his heart. “ That Which Falls is Not Always Fallen. It’s the finale, occurs just after Anaemos has fallen from the sky with his wings aflame. On stage, the aria is sung by a maiden spirit, a being who occupied Ethyrios during the Gods’ Age. In the story, she heals his wings and he falls in love with her. The Erabis family claims their lineage traces back this coupling. They insist the color of their wings proves it—scorched black with the iridescence of solar fire.”
Otto continued, “The remaining two performances will be revealed as our time together marches along.” He preened, drinking in the attention as jubilant murmurs flitted through the crowd. “Now, sit back, relax and enjoy what is sure to be a stirring rendition of the aria by the most celebrated voice in the history of Ethyrios!” He bowed to Diva Carmina, then took his seat in the front row.
The diva returned a subtle nod, then fluffed out her skirt, settled her stance and placed her hands at her diaphragm.
She had the ethereal, graceful beauty that all Fae nearing the end of their centuries-long existence possessed. Fae aged much slower than humans, and it was only in their post-millennial years that they began to show signs of mortality: graying hair, wrinkled skin, a slow stiffness of movement.
Standing proud and tall, her chestnut eyes landed on Ronin, and an unexpected dread settled upon him. He had no idea where it had come from. The diva’s gaze revealed no hint of emotion beyond contentment.
He shifted in his seat, nerves prickling, and she stared at him for so long that he wondered if she’d forgotten the words.
Then the rising sun broke across the horizon, casting bands of salmon across the snow-covered fields, and Diva Odelle Carmina opened her mouth.
Mireille had heard this aria performed live a number of times, mostly by traveling companies visiting the Grand Ethyrian.
But nothing prepared her for the sound that wavered through Diva Carmina’s lips as the sun crested.
The first plaintive note, held for an impossibly long time, showcased the spirit maiden’s horror upon seeing her beloved High God plummet to the ground, wings aflame.
There were only a handful of performers capable of the notoriously difficult introduction. And even fewer who could manage it with perfect pitch.
The diva not only achieved it, but also imbued the opening with heart-wrenching shades of shock and longing.
It took Mireille’s breath away.
Her eyes stung and her throat burned as she tried to remember when she had last heard such beautiful music.
She swiped away embarrassing tears, then noticed Ronin, of all people, doing the same.
He shrugged through a watery smile, and some hard, ice-cold part of her melted.
So the beast did appreciate some culture.
She nestled closer, and he squeezed her shoulder in recognition of the soul-stirring performance.
Diva Carmina continued with the aria, a master technician who hit every note with otherworldly precision. But far more arresting than her technical skill was the diva’s ability to infuse each phrase with so much genuine emotion, one might assume she was the spirit maiden herself reborn.
She held the crowd within her enchanting spell for the full ten minutes of the aria.
As she built toward the climax, a gauntlet of octave jumps and glissando scales, she barely took a breath until she reached the final line.
“ Raetyndra meos, amaternum mei.” A cracked whisper borne on a puff of wind.
“What does that mean?” Ronin whispered in Mireille’s ear, as though he was desperate to learn the answer.
Mireille’s voice broke, and she could’ve sworn she heard him return a stifled sob at her answer. “Return to me, my eternal love.”
Diva Carmina held her anguished face for a moment longer, then her lips parted into a dazzling smile as the spectators surged to their feet, cheering and whistling.
Otto rose from his seat, clapping and shaking his head in awe.
“Bravo, bravo !” He clasped one of the diva’s hands. “Ethyrios is not worthy of such a spectacular treasure.”
Diva Carmina demurred, bobbing a curtsy to the eccentric old billionaire.
They smiled at each other, the nascent sunrise gilding them in a shimmering halo.
Otto slashed out with his other hand, the steel within catching the light.
The diva’s eyes widened as Otto plunged the dagger into her heart.
And the crowd devolved into terror.