Chapter 2 #3
My gaze jerks away, but it’s too late. I’ve already given him the shock of recognition, and I know he’ll enjoy that.
Forcing my attention back to the music, I drag myself through the final phrase and let it carry until the sound finally falls away.
For one suspended second, the hall seems to hold its breath.
Then the applause breaks.
I rise with the Noctis still in my hand, a little too fast, my pulse kicking hard again as I set the bow down and reach for the next step before I lose it.
Halvern is already applauding. “Beautifully done, Mr. Ashford,” he says, loud enough for the room.
I glance toward Damaris first. He’s on his feet in the reserved section, clapping hard enough to embarrass me on purpose. My mouth almost twitches.
Then I drag my gaze back to the column.
It’s empty now. He’s gone.
That should make it easier to breathe. Instead, the whole hall feels off, like he left something behind just by standing in it.
“Rowan.” Catching me at the bottom of the steps, Damaris falls into stride beside me. “Okay, no, that was insane. Did you even look up? They loved it.”
“Dama.”
“I’m not joking. Even Halvern looked impressed—”
“Damaris.”
Stopping mid-sentence, he finally looks at me properly. “What?”
For a second, I remember looking up from the music and finding him already watching me. The heat that had rushed through me then stirs again, unwelcome and impossible to ignore.
Stop thinking about him.
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “Sorry. Go on.”
His eyes narrow, reading me the way he always does, but after a moment he lets it go. “I’m just saying. You had them.”
I step down beside him.
“Hey. You’re the one who just played?”
I turn to find one of the academy students waiting at the foot of the stage, one hand shoved into his pocket.
Damaris gives him a flat look. “Nice to meet you too. What do you want?”
The boy huffs, looking mildly offended by the interruption. “Whatever. I’m just here to deliver the invitation. Ciaran Virel wants you at his house tomorrow night. He’s throwing a party.”
Frowning, I glance between them. “Who?”
The student blinks, shifting his weight awkwardly. Then, letting out a short disbelieving laugh, he shoots Damaris a look that says I’ve just admitted I don’t know what planet I’m standing on. “You don’t know who Ciaran Virel is?”
Damaris snorts. “We got here last night.”
“Right.” Looking down at his multi-slate, he scrolls before glancing back at me. “Anyway. Tomorrow. Eight. Don’t be late.”
I stare at him. “What?”
“At his place. The mansion on the edge of campus. The one with the guards.”
It takes me a second to understand what he’s actually saying. “The one with the—”
“Ro.” Damaris is already on his feet. “Come on. Let’s go.”
But I can’t move. A strange feeling crawls up the back of my neck, and suddenly I can feel it again, that same unsettling certainty that somebody is watching me.
Turning my head, I look across the hall and find him.
He’s standing near the column where I spotted him earlier, one shoulder resting against the stone while somebody says something beside him. His collar hangs open at the throat, dark lines of tattoo disappearing beneath it.
He isn’t paying attention to the conversation. He’s watching me. One corner of his mouth lifts as our eyes meet, a smug sort of satisfaction settling over his face that makes something cold twist low in my stomach.
Could he be Ciaran Virel? If he is, then why—
“He wants you to play for him.” The student shrugs, and that’s apparently supposed to explain everything.
Play for him.
My gaze catches on him again, and the invitation suddenly feels less an invitation than something I don’t understand well enough to refuse.
“I think there’s been a mistake,” I say.
The student glances back toward where Ciaran is standing before returning his attention to me. He looks bored already. “No, there hasn’t. See you tomorrow, Rowan.”
Before I can answer, he turns and disappears into the crowd, leaving me standing there while the room slowly starts moving again around me.
I turn to Damaris. “I’m not—” My throat tightens around the words. “I’m not going there. I’m not.”
Damaris looks at me for a second, then glances toward the crowd where Ciaran disappeared. “The Virels,” he mutters, and something in the word says he’s just realized something he doesn’t particularly like.
I blink. “What?”
"Nothing." He shakes his head. "Just... I did a lot of reading before we came here, remember?"
"Why do you sound worried?"
He rubs the back of his neck. "Let’s just say the Virels rule this planet. And I think if Ciaran Virel wants something, most people don’t tell him no."
Every instinct tells me to stay away from him. And yet, the words follow me all the way out of the hall.
Most people don’t tell him no.
I should be able to ignore the invitation. Instead, I keep thinking about the way he looked at me across the hall. The certainty in it. The way he sent someone over as though my answer had never really been part of the conversation.
I don’t know whether that makes me angry or afraid.