Chapter 19
Nineteen
No days. No part.
Cadenza tapped her phone against her thigh, the clouds blowing oboe and bassoon above her in the back field.
Canon had left to talk to Thomas two hours ago but hadn’t checked in yet.
She and Reyna had filled the time practicing with the tuning fork, so Cadenza would feel it when Reyna had the “HVAC” door open.
Before that, she’d spent the morning with Drostan, practicing matching earthsong melodies.
When they stole the oracles, she’d have to find the safe’s song and match it—not pull it in, the way she did with the earthsong, but sing her own version of it, sending each note back to the box, to mirror the “combination lock.”
That hadn’t proven difficult on things like trees, or rocks, or even objects made from natural resources.
But none of those had resisted her efforts, and as Drostan had pointed out, the safe didn’t want to be opened.
A ripple of energy and an echo of strings swept over her, and she raised her arm high to signal Reyna that she’d felt it.
The smith jogged in from the far edge of the field. “I think you’ve got it. Anything from Canon?”
Cadenza checked her phone, stomach like lead. “Nothing.”
Canon rolled up his sleeves and marched into Thomas’s office with two purposes. First, to make sure Learmonth wasn’t the one behind the attempts on Cadenza’s life. Easy enough. When Thomas peered askance over his glasses at him, Canon asked a simple question.
“Did you know someone is trying to kill Cadenza?”
Learmonth exploded. Expletives and fury flew out of him like daggers, most of it directed at the Norroways and what Thomas considered their incompetence.
Canon searched his former employer’s desires on the subject.
The outrage was genuine. Learmonth knew that Canon could use his gift on him, but he detected no attempt on Thomas’s part to hide what he wanted.
Thomas wanted Cadenza safe, and he wanted her to choose to come back to him.
Which played into their plan to steal the oracles perfectly but also played into Canon’s second objective for the meeting.
“Give me more power,” Canon said before Learmonth could regain his composure.
Giving people an easy way to accomplish what they wanted while they were emotional was a basic technique, lacking finesse in Canon’s opinion, but at this point, perhaps the most effective.
“I know you can—I know you choose the next Crown. Make me Crown. I will keep her safe, bring her back here so you can teach her.”
Thomas cut off his tirade to shoot Canon a piercing look. “That is not a role you want.”
“What role could be better? I could help so many people as Crown. The sun—and by extension the Crown—affects the entire world. And I could take care of Cadenza.”
The anger trickled out of Learmonth, leaving him deflated. He sank heavily into his chair. “You are a worthy man, young Canon, and you have many talents. Put them to use elsewhere.”
The response stung like a scorpion. “What does that mean? Worthy, but not enough to be Crown? Talented, but not talented enough?” Canon dug his nails into his palms, aware he’d lost any advantage in the conversation but unable to stop the words that came next. “Please, Thomas.”
Thomas stared at a picture frame on the bookshelf. Face haggard, he shook his head. “Do not ask me for this, Canon. I will not open that path to you.”
Canon stormed from the room, all out of words.
A night breeze fluted through the dry grass in the back field. Cadenza ignored it, staring at the text Canon had finally sent that afternoon—the message that meant Thomas wasn’t the one trying to kill her. The message that meant maybe he really did want to help her.
All clear. He hadn’t elaborated and hadn’t responded to her messages other than to confirm he’d see her on Friday for his fundraiser. She and Reyna were still performing.
“That text isn’t likely to change, you know,” Taran said, setting up another picnic under the stars.
“Right. No more phone.” She shoved her cell in her pocket and peeked over his shoulder as he pulled a covered pie plate out of the basket. “Have you been baking again?”
He shrugged, tone light. “I have to pass the time somehow while you sleep. Close your eyes.”
She shut her eyes. A fork touched her lower lip, and she opened her mouth. Pastry, fruit, honey, and cream sang on her tongue. “Mmmm. We may need to appeal to Rome to make you the patron saint of dessert.”
“Glad to know you like eye of newt,” he said, voice light.
“You—?” She tickled his stomach in mock outrage.
Taran struggled to talk through his laughter. “I thought it best to try it one more time, just in case. If it worked, there’d be no need to go through with this heist.”
Cadenza refused to let up, digging between his ribs. “Do you give up?”
“Never!” he gasped, tears streaming down his cheeks. He caught her hands and rolled on the blanket, pinning her beneath his weight. “But I will admit that it’s blueberry.”
She laughed and buried her face in his shoulder, letting his heartbeat surround her.
“Come on, let me try what you brought.” He sat up and pulled the basket closer.
“My father’s recipe,” she said, scooping him a plateful. “Pasta alla salsiccia. He’d make it every Sunday in the slow cooker.” She put her fingers to her lips. “Don’t tell the pasta police.”
Cadenza took a forkful from her own plate, losing the mental battle to stay present.
“September 15th. My plane ticket deadline.” Giulia had said Ilaria was in trouble with a mafioso.
Where was she now? What happened to her when she didn’t produce the money?
She dropped her fork on the plate, appetite gone.
Taran set his plate down and held her from behind. “I’m sorry, love. You’ll still get there.”
She frowned. He didn’t include himself in that sentence.
“And Canon.” She vented another thought crowding her mind. “I can’t believe he was spying for Thomas.”
“I can.” Taran grunted.
She laid her cheek on his chest, letting the harp of the creek mix with his drums. “Your dad forgave him so quickly.”
She could hear the eye roll in his voice. “I can believe that too. Father is too forgiving. Take me, for example. He should have left my sorry arse behind years ago.”
She sat up and grabbed his face with both hands. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.” She held his gaze, refused to let him look away. Gold melted into his rhythm, half-formed words, and near-hopes struggling in his eyes.
“Cadenza,” he began, voice ragged. He dropped his chin, rested his forehead on her hair.
“Where would you go?” she interrupted before he could insist again that he had no future. “If you could go anywhere right now.”
Taran drew in a shuddering breath. “There used to be a wee cottage on the shore of the North Sea. My mother grew up there, and we’d visit sometimes. The sea birds would greet and cry, all lonely, and the grass at the edge of the beach was sharp enough to slice your feet.”
“Really? It cut your feet?” she teased.
“Well, it would have cut your feet,” he amended with a chuckle. “But the house always smelled of fresh bread and salt.” He picked at the dry grass. “It’ll be naught but rubble now.”
Cadenza traced her fingers along his cheekbones, his eyelids, his lower lip. She kissed the corner of his mouth, softly, not wanting to interrupt the play of memories over his face. “You will see these places again. We’ll get you there.”
He shook his head, the corners of his mouth tugging downward. “We’ll see.”
Finger imprints marred the frame around Harriet’s portrait. Grooves worn smooth over the centuries from Thomas holding on to what was left of his wife.
“What can I teach her, Harriet?” he whispered, rubbing his thumb across the frame once more. “I asked her to come back, but I’m not you.”
Cadenza’s phone call yesterday had surprised him.
And he wasn’t easy to surprise. At least he didn’t used to be easy to surprise.
His Second Sight, gifted to him by the Fates so long ago, had dimmed these last few years.
Thomas still saw more than the nameless masses of humans slogging through their lives ever saw, but there were gaps in his vision now.
Nora knocked on his office door and showed Cadenza in. His heart clenched. So young. She was so young.
Harriet and he had not had children before she died.
“Cadenza,” he tried to smile. “Thank you for coming. I understand this cannot be easy for you.”
“You mean working with someone who won’t release the man I’m in love with from a vindictive curse?” she responded, and he could hear her attempt at a joking tone.
“Aye, that. But you can’t live your life blowing up chandeliers.” He paused. “And I am glad to see you again.”
“No, I can’t.” Her eyes slid to Harriet’s portrait. “I’m glad to see you too, Thomas.” She shook her shoulders back. “Besides, I said I’d sing in Opera Night, and I don’t like going back on my word.”
“Come,” he beckoned her to the piano bench. “Let’s start with one of your pieces for that evening, to help you relax before we try Spinning.”
Cadenza sat but didn’t open her music and Thomas didn’t need any special sight to read the turmoil in her face.
Well. He had told her at the beginning she’d be better off without Taran.
There were other young men, even without a trip to Italy.
Take Canon, for instance. He had a few things to learn, to be sure, but he had so much potential.
Canon was inordinately fond of Cadenza, and they had much in common.
Even with gaps in his sight, Thomas’s gift of prophecy showed him the possibility of Cadenza and Canon doing great things together.
And if she chose Canon, Thomas could keep them both in his life.
Since Harriet’s murder, he’d not allowed himself to care.
He didn’t see the point. But working with Cadenza—and Canon, even when he vexed Thomas—he’d begun to understand why people brought children into their lives.
And the Norroways wanted to take that from him as well.
But perhaps the curse wasn’t the only thing troubling her. “Unless you have a question first?” he asked.
She nodded slowly. “Drostan doesn’t seem to want to talk about this, but even if I can learn to Spin, and if I used that for the Fates, the earth will still run out of song if we don’t find a new Crown to connect to the sun, right?”
“That’s the theory.” Thomas looked away. He knew where she was going with this.
“Isn’t it your job to find the Crown?”
Thomas laid his glasses aside and rubbed his eyes. Canon had broached the same subject that morning. But they were both too young to understand. Their lives, thus far, had been brief. Their loves brief. Their losses brief.
In his world, in this life, love rooted more deeply in the soul. Loss lasted.
Even if it meant neglecting his duty, he’d not actively seek out someone to subject to this life. Especially not someone he cared about.
He touched Harriet’s portrait, giving an easier excuse. “No point in doing my job if the Guardians don’t do theirs.”
“Funny,” Cadenza arched an eyebrow. “Drostan said something similar about you.”
Thomas raised an eyebrow in return. “I imagine he did. Shall we get to work?”