Chapter 35
Selene could not remember the last time she’d been on these steps or down this street.
The air was fresh and cold, another turning of the season.
The trees had shed their leaves and the leaves had been swept away by the last autumn wind.
This was a breath away from winter. It was a different world than the one she saw through the windowpane, different than the night bustle of the Unmasking Ball.
Carriages rolled by with little concern for what happened inside the opera house.
There was something deeply unsettling in that for Selene.
She’d made this place her whole life, rested her sense of self in what was achieved in these walls.
And yet the moment she stepped outside, it all seemed so inconsequential.
She didn’t like that. The sky was bright and clear and blue in a way that made Selene long for darkness.
A crowd had gathered at the base of the steps.
The tickets to L’Opéra du Magician had long since sold, and some desperate few would garner secondhand stubs at the front door for a high price.
The rest lined up now to save seats to watch arrivals for the evening, to catch a glimpse at the glamorous excess that would spill out of carriages and into the Opera Magique.
“Sing for us!” one of the men shouted.
Selene turned to the man, surprised he recognized her.
The crowd cheered in agreement. Her anonymity sloughed off so easily, replaced with the confidence of knowing she was close to achieving everything.
A sense of gratitude for this stranger overwhelmed her.
But Selene couldn’t sing now. She didn’t have the time or the will to entertain.
Victor made circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. “I’m afraid she must save her voice for this evening.”
The disappointment was palpable on the man’s face. A murmur spread through the crowd. Far more outrage than disappointment, and it unnerved Selene. Did they think she belonged to them? Did they think they could beg her voice and have her answer?
“Isn’t that the Mad Mage’s daughter?”
Selene went cold. Victor carefully pressed one of her dark curls behind her ear, leaning in with a whisper so soft Selene wondered if she’d dreamed it.
“Let’s give them something to talk about.”
He kissed her.
It was the barest brush of lips, barely a kiss at all.
No more than she’d given him below the opera house.
And somehow it was everything. It was a breath on a spark and a wind in sails and the magic in the music. The world, still new to her, fell away.
The crowd cheered and the reality of what he’d just done struck Selene.
“You’ve made a grave error of judgment,” Selene said.
“Have I? Tomorrow, the papers will write about what could have been mistaken for a kiss instead of you snubbing this ravenous crowd.”
“Was that not a kiss?”
Victor’s smile was fox-sly. “When I kiss you, you’ll know.”
Something trilled inside Selene, the cadence of her heart beat svegliato. She reminded herself that Victor was the means to an end. Convinced herself that the promise of when was just a casual turn of phrase. This was merely a distraction. A trick to quell the crowd.
Once they were down the street, on some quiet corner, Victor whistled.
A horse with a shining black coat trotted up to them. He was huge and ferocious. A creature born and bred for war. He stopped inches away from them. He snuffed at Victor and nosed his pockets.
“All right, all right. I promised there’d be sugar, didn’t I?”
Victor produced three shining cubes. The horse crunched them merrily.
“Tonnerre, this is my friend, the one I’ve been telling you about. Selene, this is the magnificent Tonnerre.”
“You’ve been talking to your horse about me?”
“No.” Victor reached into his other pocket and fished out a few more sugar cubes. He placed them in her hand. “You’ve got it all wrong. He’s not my horse. I’m his human.” He leaned in to whisper, “He’s very sensitive about it all.”
“Naturally.” Selene held the sugar on her palm. “Hello, Tonnerre. You are handsome.”
His ears pricked up and he gave her hand a tentative sniff. His lips feathered gingerly against her gloves. With a gentleness unbefitting his size, he plucked the sugar from her palm and tossed his head.
“He likes you.” Victor stroked Tonnerre’s mane. The blunt edge showed where it had been cropped and had since grown out into waves of silk.
“He’s stunning,” Selene said. “He looks more a king than you, any day.”
Tonnerre whickered in agreement.
“I don’t need the two of you ganging up on me.” Victor reached into the saddlebag and handed Selene a lidded mug. He cleared his throat. “Selene, there’s something we need to talk about.”
There was an edge to his tone, a heaviness to his gaze. Selene’s stomach tightened. Not today. Whatever it was, she didn’t want it today.
“Where are we going?” She opened the cup and breathed in the steam.
“Wherever you’d like.”
She wanted to go into the mirror and get her sheet music. But to go back, she needed the death of a dream. She needed tangible ruin.
Benson.
It seemed wrong, like a betrayal. But it was all she had.
“Can you take me to the Asylum?”
Victor’s mouth set with resolve. There was something in his eyes. “I think that’s a fine idea.”
The Asylum was on the other side of Songerie.
The farthest edge, where the hills rolled and the trees grew tall as buildings.
Selene had never been there. But she knew it was a quiet place, where magicians went and did not come back.
There were a thousand dreams all gone to rot in there. She only needed one.
“We’d better go if we’re going to make it back at a reasonable hour,” Victor said. He swung up onto Tonnerre’s back.
“I don’t know how to ride,” Selene said.
“Sure you do,” Victor said. “I taught you, remember?”
“I haven’t been on a horse since.”
“It’s like falling off a log.” Victor offered her his hand. “Trust me.”
She gripped his wrist. He pulled her up in front of him. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her back. The softness of his breath tickled the hairs on her neck. Oh, this handsome boy. What trouble would he get her into now? He held the reins loosely, letting Tonnerre lead.
“We’re going to gallop now,” Victor said softly into her ear. Selene tensed. “Don’t be afraid. Move as he moves.”
She took a deep breath and settled herself into his arms. Tonnerre tossed his proud mane and tore through the street.
His hooves clattered against the cobblestones.
The wind whipped Selene’s hair. She kept her hands firmly against Tonnerre’s neck at first. But then she fell into the rhythm of his movements.
It was like a dance. He set the tempo, and she would follow.
Loose in the hips. Steady back and straight neck.
The city blurred past them. The cramped buildings she’d seen from the roof of the opera house looked inviting, with their wide windows and flower boxes. The streets weren’t so meandering. The cobblestones not so dark.
Her life was contained inside the opera house. Music and magic and the rising fear that someone might try and stop her from having either. Before the ghost, she hadn’t even known that there was anything else besides ambition.
And yet there was a whole world out there. Endless and curious and promising. A world she did not have the time to indulge.
Tonnerre slowed to a trot. Selene bounced with him, no longer pressed against Victor’s back, but rolling into each step.
They rode through the front gates. There were no trees here, just rows of statues. Mausoleums stood lonely against the barren background. Everything was quiet, but not quite peaceful.
This was a cemetery. Selene could make out the plaques.
She recognized some of the names: famous mages and other tragic figures.
Was her father buried here? She couldn’t bring herself to ask.
Didn’t want to admit that she’d never had the courage to visit his grave, as if that would have been allowed.
“I need a minute,” she said, accepting Victor’s assistance off the horse.
She could sense that he was here, close and closer.
She wanted to press her hand to his name, to whisper to the ground that she loved him, and that she would do her best for him today.
She wanted him to know that everything she did was for him.
She supposed wherever souls went, he knew. She had to believe that was true.
She pricked her forearm and hurt and wanted.
Take me to him.
A gossamer thread of shadow so thin and spindly she could barely catch it formed. She let it pull her to the edge of the graveyard. Past the mausoleums and giant statues. Past any of the places she thought he would be.
The thread ended at a simple, worn stone. It was covered in moss, the name barely legible. The seven years since her father’s death had been unkind. She sang for water, doing her best to keep it from frosting in the chill. She cleared away the moss, the grime, the years.
The name on the headstone was not her father’s.
She traced the worn letters, trying to make sense of it. Who had the magic pulled her to?
Dante Dumas.
“That name.” Victor closed his eyes like he was searching for something. “I know that name.”
It was such a peculiar moment, like hearing an old song in a new place. She’d experienced this all before, watching someone unlock a memory that had been tucked away.
“Victor?”
“The whipping boy,” he said slowly. “Renard’s whipping boy. Dante Dumas.”
“You’re sure?”
“I found a book once, in Father’s study, and read the whole thing. That’s where I learned the story of Dante. Some of my best scars came from reading that book.” The darkness in his face was banished with a smile. “It seems I’ve been so much trouble that I can’t keep it all in my head.”
Selene’s heart almost stopped. Dante Dumas was not here. He was trapped, punished far beyond any crime. She’d found his name; the name had found her.
Just in time.