Chapter 20 #2
“No distractions I think.” He caught her hand when she reached for her phone.
Cadenza’s ears crackled. The faint chiming of the stars from the window above her stuttered out, and the world went silent.
The roses tumbled from her hand. She couldn’t feel the floor, like her feet were dangling over an abyss.
She stumbled and fell into a metal folding chair.
“Yes, please, sit, Ms. Cavalieri.” Vasilios stepped away to hand the phone over to the guards.
As soon as he released her, her ears reopened. The starsong returned.
Oh. She gripped the sides of the chair, the cold metal chilling her fingers.
Oh, no. The first time the earthsong had vanished, at Canon’s first fundraiser, Vasilios had been there, had touched her.
At the Opera House, when her ears felt underwater, he’d been there.
At the country club, when the music disappeared under her feet, nearly knocking her over, he’d touched her.
And just now, when he’d grabbed her, the earthsong had stopped.
Had gone silent.
Santo cielo. She drew in a shallow breath, trying not to hyperventilate. He’s Silence. Vasilios was still talking to the guards, one of whose voices rose enough for Cadenza to catch a few words.
“…keeping the Norroways in the other room…”
She scanned the room for anything useful, hoping Taran’s brothers were in better shape than she was right now.
She didn’t see how humans could be “keeping” Guardians anywhere, but Ruairi and Cyrus had been expecting to be picked up from the airport by people from Canon’s campaign.
If they’d asked them to wait in a room until she and Reyna were done singing, the brothers would have no reason to be suspicious.
And where were Reyna and Canon? Were they safe?
Or was Canon in on those plans? Her legs turned to mush. He’d been spying for Thomas—who knew what other secrets Canon was hiding?
No. She shook the thought away, deliberately recalling all the times he’d pushed his mask aside. No, Canon may be many things, but he’s not a murderer.
Vasilios locked the door, retrieved her bouquet from the floor and set it on a small dusty table. “We’ll save those, shall we?”
Legs still shaky, Cadenza pushed to her feet. There had to be something here she could use. A music stand, maybe?
In one smooth motion, Vasilios cut between her and the stand and gripped her wrist. The earthsong tumbled away and she fell into the chair again.
“We have matters to discuss. Better to sit down, yes?” Vasilios said, producing a pistol with a silencer from under his jacket.
“In case of interruptions,” he explained.
Metal scraped on concrete as he dragged over another folding chair.
He sat, one leg crossed over the other in a casual pose, as if they were having a friendly visit.
The pistol dangled lightly from one hand.
“Sei matto,” she spat, eyeing the gun.
He smiled indulgently. “On the contrary, as the High Priest of the God of Silence, I’m one of the few sane people in the world. Everyone else is mad with noise.” He twirled the pistol in a lazy circle. “But you can help me fix that.”
“What are you talking about?” She sat up straighter, the nausea from the back and forth of the music fading some.
He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Before I explain my request, I should tell you, Ms. Cavalieri, that the Fates are no benevolent masters. They care nothing for the pain and confusion their weavings cause humanity. Perhaps you yourself have felt their manipulations.”
Cadenza looked away, trying not to think about all the times she’d railed against the Fates’ apparent interference.
“I imagine the Guardians have told you how the Fates weave Thread into the tapestry of destiny for each person on Earth.” Vasilios wove his fingers together loosely, the pistol hanging from his thumb.
“But what they didn’t tell you is that the Fates, in their cruelty, leave gaps between the Threads.
They leave so much flexibility that humans are able to wiggle and squirm their way into their own paths, flailing like worms in the dirt, not knowing up from down. ”
She did look at him then. Gaps? What gaps? Taran said his choices didn’t matter, that their paths were already woven, so what did Vasilios mean by flexibility?
“Lost,” he continued, “they back themselves into corners, or run screaming in circles, sowing chaos and disharmony until the original song is lost, and the whole Earth is nothing but cacophony.” He grew agitated as he spoke, until spittle flew with his last word, and Cadenza flinched away.
“Forgive me.” He calmed, leaning back in his chair. “Fortunately, Harpocrates took pity on the clamoring world and sent me, his High Priest”—he made a small bow—“to end the noise and confusion.”
“Harpocrates,” she repeated slowly.
“Yes. Harpocrates, Vidar, Contemplation. He’s had many names, the God of Silence.
But to come round to my request.” He scooted his chair a few inches closer, holding her gaze.
“If I had to guess, I would say the music you hear has been more of a curse than a blessing to you. Perhaps people thought you mad. Maybe even those closest to you.”
Ilaria’s voice played in her head—Sei pazza—sending Cadenza’s pulse racing.
“Even in the short time we’ve known each other, it’s plagued you. It cost you the Sacramento Philharmonic the night we met, do you remember? They thought you were drunk!” He chuckled, like it was a funny story between close friends.
She swallowed, not answering.
“And the accidents you’ve encountered. The truck, your car engine. The sniper.” Vasilios leaned forward, face intense.
“That was you.” Cadenza narrowed her eyes. “They were pretty pathetic attempts,” she bluffed. “None of your oh-so-scary assassins bothered to stay and finish the job.”
He leaned back and shrugged. “They did as directed. But I hope you noticed, my dear, that each time came closer.”
Cadenza remembered the breath of the bullet on her cheek and shuddered despite herself.
“What if those unfortunate attempts on your life continue? Circling in tighter and tighter, until I tire of waiting for you to agree to help me? Or what if they continue to miss you but pick off the people you love, one by one?”
Cadenza hugged herself, her hands cold and clammy on her own arms. “What do you want?”
“What I want will help us both.” He grinned, the fluorescent lights turning his teeth too white. “All this trouble your gift causes you. What if you could be rid of it?”
She squeezed her arms tighter, fingernails pressing into her skin. “What do you mean? Be rid of it how?”
A smile peeled across his face. “Sing for me. Pull up the music of the world and then release it.” Vasilios rose and bent over her, face just inches away.
Static crackled in her ears. “Give it to me of your own free will, and I can eat your song, as a sacrifice to Silence, who will use it to fill in the gaps and quiet the noise. And you will never have to worry about it again.”
Cadenza recoiled. “Eat it?”
The tip of his tongue flicked over his lower lip. “I will consume your connection to the music, severing it forever, and you can live the rest of your life in peace and quiet.”
Her breathing quickened. No earthsong? A life where she sang music, instead of the music singing her. A life where she could relax into a song and not blow anything up. And no looking over her shoulder for the next attacker.
But a life without drumsong.
She couldn’t imagine that life to be worth living.
“I don’t want to be rid of it.”
“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.” Vasilios sighed. Plastic bit into Cadenza’s wrists as he ziptied her hands together.
“If you refuse to give me the music, I will simply kill you. Eating your song will kill you too—I’m afraid I lied earlier about it helping us both.
Although just killing you would be a shameful waste, since I can’t eat your song unless you give it to me freely, and it tastes so good.
And that would also mean I couldn’t give it to Silence.
” He waggled his head side to side like he was listing the pros and cons of a restaurant menu.
“Either way, you will Spin no Thread for the Fates, so we still win.” He aimed the gun at her forehead. “And either way, you’ll be dead.”