The Melody and the Master
Siofra’s eyes glazed with her thoughts as Gisela brushed her thick curls. They sprung back in defiance, creating a fluffed golden mane that trailed down her back.
“I’ll just wear it up, like I did this morning,” Siofra said to Gisela in the mirror.
A grin cracked through Gisela’s determined expression. “Tonight is a night for wearing it down.”
Siofra angled forward to snag the goblet of wine off the dressing table. She fingered the base as the brush was raked through her snarled ends, then released it without taking a sip.
“Am I...” Siofra sighed, pressing her lips together. The question was safer unformed, but she’d been withholding her words her whole life. It was time she learned to start using them.
To use them so unreservedly, and with so many, was a freedom it would take time to embrace.
“Are you what?” Gisela asked.
Siofra’s heart skipped at even the idea of saying it aloud. “Nothing.”
“I don’t know much, Siofra,” Gisela said. Her head tilted in the mirror, eyes meeting Siofra’s. “But I know when a woman says, ‘It’s nothing,’ it’s very much something.”
Siofra pulled her gaze back to the untouched goblet of wine.
Years of silence had been oppressive, but speaking her insecurities was almost as bad as living them.
Accepting Desemir’s surreal offer wasn’t only a change in her and Fen’s circumstances; it was a chance to think better thoughts. To dream better dreams.
“You may find you feel better not keeping it in,” Gisela gently urged.
“It’s nothing, only...” Siofra fumbled the attempt, changing her words several times before continuing.
“I don’t know what he expects, Gisela. What...
he likes. That is...” She winced, reproaching herself for her inexperience—how her naivete held her back from even simple conversation.
If she could only put her thoughts on display, others would see there was so much more to her.
Gisela paused her brushing. Her shoulders rose and fell in a sigh. “You want to know about Desemir’s women.”
Siofra tilted her head toward Gisela. “His women?”
Gisela’s smile skipped. She laughed to cover it. “You’re asking if you’re what he usually enjoys and asks for. Whether you’re to his liking, according to his tastes.”
Siofra relaxed again. “I know he didn’t marry me for anything so frivolous, but I don’t want him to regret the offer if I’m not... well, pleasing.”
Gisela shook her head and resumed brushing.
“Siofra, you are one of the most pleasing creatures I’ve ever laid eyes upon.
I can’t pretend I know what Desemir Trevanion is thinking, or was thinking when he made you his offer.
But I can say, with reasonable confidence, that he gained in his arrangement, well beyond the business agreement.
” She winked at Siofra in the mirror, her mouth turning up at the corners. “And he knows it too.”
“How...” Siofra’s laugh ended before it began.
“How could he have gained anything with me? Any woman could bear his children. I understand why it cannot be someone here, in Darkwood Run, but he didn’t have to go all the way to Newcarrow for a bride either, especially not one with my troubles. He says he doesn’t want...”
“To use you?” Gisela reached past Siofra to set the brush on the dressing table.
“It’s not my place to speak on the complicated nature of Des’s dealings with Medvedev.
There’s guilt there, from what his father...
” Her eyes widened to clear her thoughts.
“If Des wanted to use you for your especial gifts, he would’ve been upfront in those intentions.
To do otherwise would create a rift between him and his brother, and there’s no one he loves more than Pesha. ”
Siofra cast her eyes to the side in frustration. “Pity, then?”
“Pity? No.” Gisela knelt at her side. “He saw an opportunity to help you and help himself. Where’s the harm in it, if everyone benefits?”
Why was Siofra doing this to herself? Driving a wedge between her own thoughts to convince herself that a bid for happiness was an invitation for more pain, more failure? She’d accepted his offer because a part of herself still believed in hope, but what if Fen was right?
Even if he is, it’s done. It’s done, and now I make the best of it.
Gisela rose again and took her place behind Siofra. She slipped her hands onto Siofra’s shoulders, over the delicate lace straps of the gown she’d given her for the night ahead.
Siofra allowed herself one indulgent assessment in the reflection. She saw herself as she always had, as the girl who must blend into the world, never be seen. The buoyant waves, spots of rouge on her cheeks and lips, and provocative nightgown changed nothing.
“I could tell you what happens next, but it would deny you the delight of discovering it for yourself. But I will give you this advice.” Gisela’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. Her cobalt eyes twinkled in the mirror. “If he offers you pleasure, Siofra, take it.”
Pesha escorted Siofra down the long hall with the tall windows. He seemed angry, harnessing words better left unsaid. His only communication was when he’d nodded once, to indicate her robe had slid down, revealing her bare shoulder.
He wasn’t happy with his brother’s choice, but at least he’d stood by Desemir. Fen refused to see her at all, even skipping supper to avoid her.
He just needs time. He’ll see what this can be for us.
Pesha took a left at the top of the stairs, toward the west wing, which Siofra recalled as being off-limits to her.
But he only moved halfway down the first long hall before he turned down another, presumably the south wing, and came to a halt outside ornate double doors as imposing as the ones leading into the Hall of Counting.
Wulfhelm and Euric stood sentry on either side.
When Siofra and Pesha approached, each guard leaned in to open a door.
Siofra charged forward, determined to leave her fear in the hall. She turned to thank Pesha for the escort, but he’d come in behind her and was already closing the doors behind them.
“You’re not... staying, are you?”
Pesha nodded, offering no explanation. He flashed a wave at the other side of the room before he disappeared into a corner.
And what a room it was. Siofra had been enchanted by her sumptuous apartments, but Desemir’s defied imagination.
The walls on three sides were carved into an intricate series of tableaus that seemed to tell a story, wrapping around and down.
Like all things in Shadowfen Hall, they were crafted of the precious ebony wood Desemir held so dear.
She tried to follow the story, illuminated by four hanging candelabras, but her eyes were instead drawn to the room’s centerpiece.
A bed, twice the width of hers, commanded attention from anyone who entered. It lorded over the entire chamber, with its satin netting and woven posts. The covers, turned down at the sides, provided a hint of the evening’s potential.
A broad balcony bisected the fourth wall. The delicate curtains caught the breeze, revealing the night sky beyond.
Siofra’s eyes were still inspecting the display when she spotted Desemir. He sat in a wide chair softened with crimson velvet, his shirt buttoned down to the middle of his chest, legs parted and to the sides.
An uncomfortable flutter traveled downward from her chest. Heat flooded her cheeks.
She waited for him to stand, to do something, but his eyes, glazed and dazzling emerald against the candles burning around him, were fixed on her, drinking her in and watching her take his measure.
The urge to cover herself was as strong as her desire was foreign.
When he at last pushed himself out of the chair and rose to his full height, she saw the bottle in his hand.
“You are...” Desemir set the bottle aside. His dark, mussed hair turned her already-untoward thoughts down an even more indecent path. “You’re here.”
“I’m here,” she answered. The cool night forced a chill through her, reminding her how thin her dress was, and why.
“Can I get you anything? A drink?”
Siofra shook her head. She didn’t dare meet his eyes. He couldn’t see her inconvenient desire, which was not part of their agreement.
We will be filling a need.
A duty.
“You’ve never done this before, have you?”
Siofra shook her head at the ground.
“Siofra...” Desemir’s face was hidden by a break in the light when he stepped ahead of the candles. “What can I do to ease your fear?”
“I’m not afraid of that,” Siofra assured him. “Or you.”
“Is it Pesha? You’ll forget he’s even here,” Desemir said. He seemed like he might come closer, but he stopped at the end of his bed. “It’s for both our safety.”
Siofra spun away, swallowing her shame. Not only had she brought inexperience to her husband on their wedding night but also mortal danger. She might dream of a different life, but there was nowhere she could go, no one she could be, to hide from who she was.
“Are you all right?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. She wrapped her arms tight around herself, a shield not for her but for everyone else.
She jumped at the sudden flourish of warmth at her back signaling Desemir’s arrival. He passed his smooth palms down her bare arms. “Come with me.”
Desemir untangled one of her hands and gently tugged. He led her across the plush fur rug toward the open balcony. She couldn’t help but search for Pesha, trying to locate his chosen shadow, but he was practiced at disappearing.
Desemir stepped out into the night. He removed his slippers, nodding for her to do the same.
The icy stab of cold from the exposed stone sent her flesh on alert and reignited the ache in her ankle.
The surface of her skin pebbled as he nudged her forward until she had both of her hands spread atop the thick ledge.
Desemir brushed his arms around the side of her, an embrace from behind, and rested them just outside hers on the carved stone.
“Look,” he whispered against her temple.