Chapter Forty-Six
CHAPTER
FORTY-SIX
It was a rare day that Severin found himself onstage.
When he’d first built the tavern, he’d imagined playing much more often.
He’d pictured evenings filled with the thrum of strings and the hush that came when a crowd leaned in, spellbound by his performance.
He’d wanted this to be a place where music reigned, where melody could wind through the beams and soak into the walls until it became a very part of the fixture. A cathedral of sound.
But that vision had slipped from him bit by bit, his time consumed with running the guild or swallowed by the experiments he carried out in the shadows of the cellar. His instruments sat collecting dust, and the stage remained a distant thing—something meant for others to enjoy, but never for him.
Still, he’d never stopped listening. Even while working in the cellar, Severin would sit beneath the floorboards and feel the rhythm bleed through the wood, wishing to be part of it even in some small capacity.
Tonight, however … tonight was the culmination of his efforts. The start of something he’d been dreaming of for a very long time.
And he intended to celebrate.
The tavern pulsed with the energy of bodies packed tight. Laughter rolled through the space in waves.
The demons of Veritas were not delicate creatures, nor did they feign civility in the way mortals did. They were boisterous when they wished to be, cruel when it suited them, and Severin loved them all because of it.
No matter what, he would not let them down.
Melisandre caught his eye, passing him on her way offstage while he led Aurelie up the steps.
The lustborn’s slender fingers brushed along his thigh as he passed, and Severin shivered.
A week ago, he would have seized this opportunity.
Now he found he held no desire for Melisandre and forced his focus ahead, hoping Aurelie didn’t notice.
His bonded was nervous. He could feel her tension as if it were his own, an electric pulse beneath his skin that set his heart racing. The wine had warmed her, softening her edges, but it couldn’t undo the tension in her shoulders or the way she folded inward as the crowd took her in.
Her hair had begun to curl from the heat of so many bodies pressed into one space, far more beautiful than she gave it credit for.
The golden light of the hearth caught her skin, her cheekbones, her throat, and all Severin could think was that this woman belonged here.
She was a dream given form, taking shape in the buttery glow of the stage light.
Something in him stilled as he watched her, his breath stolen, and he found that he could not look away.
“Are you ready?” she asked, and only when she spoke did the spell loosen its hold enough for Severin to nod, clearing his throat.
What had gotten into him?
He readied a lute for himself as Aurelie settled into position with a borrowed lyre. Soon enough, they were playing.
Aurelie’s notes were gossamer thin, like breath fogging a windowpane.
It took several winding moments for them to find their balance, testing each other like a pair of dueling swordsmen, each feeling out the other’s rhythm.
But it wasn’t long before the music swelled, weaving around them and filling the space between their bodies and the tavern walls.
It was easy to fall into rhythm with her.
The lute was a heartbeat beneath his melody, steady and certain, and for once Severin didn’t care for the audience’s attention.
He forgot the crowd. Forgot Yuri, and the stage. Forgot all the reasons why he should keep his distance from this woman.
He played only for her, teasing her with trills and delighting in the spark they earned from her fingers. He sidled closer, brushing her shoulder, and when she laughed—soft and real and unguarded—Severin nearly missed his next breath.
Aurelie played like she was spilling her secrets to the world. Music poured from her like it had been waiting, bottled behind her ribs, for someone to uncork it.
Severin mirrored her, letting his lute chase after her melodies, meeting her halfway and then pulling ahead, teasing her to follow.
She did, every time. The lyre quickened, the warm, wooden sound of it glorious.
They built something between them that grew with every note.
Something only the two of them could hear.
Aurelie smiled up at him, her hair spilling over her shoulders, eyes glittering.
And Severin, damn him, felt something sharp and unfamiliar press against his ribs. Something he had not felt in many, many years.
This woman before him was radiant. Music consumed her entire being, and yet she still was not satisfied. Hunger gnawed at her, craving more.
More, more, more.
Severin, too, felt that pull. He wanted her music to overtake him. Wanted her to overtake him.
He let his notes die, lowering his instrument.
Aurelie faltered, flashing him a questioning glance. Severin only pressed a hand to her back, shoving her toward the center of the stage.
“Don’t stop,” he demanded, voice breathy and rougher than he intended. “The stage is yours, Aurelie. Don’t you dare stop.”
It didn’t matter that the audience hated the Chantelunes. It didn’t matter that inside the tavern were a hundred beings who otherwise wanted her dead.
Because in this moment, all anyone wanted was to hear her play.
She hesitated, just for a moment, before her fingers found the strings again. But now, the lyre was not enough. That hunger still roared within her, and suddenly Aurelie began to sing.
There was no tentativeness. Perhaps the first few notes wavered, like a fledgling testing its wings before flight, but there was no hesitation in the sound itself. It was clear and rich, rising above the chords of her lyre like it’d been waiting there all along.
Severin forgot how to breathe.
Aurelie sang like a lark, more beautiful than anyone he’d ever heard. There was power in that voice; even without magic, it could consume people. Could get them to do whatever she desired.
Severin may have been the one to build this place, but tonight it belonged to her. Tonight, he belonged to her.
He stepped back slowly, mindful that any sudden movement might break the spell she’d cast over the room.
Every demon had their eyes fixed on her, and Severin burned with a strange mix of pride that she’d get to feel such a sensation, and intense jealousy for everyone this music was being shared with.
Across the stage, his eyes found Yuri, and he knew by a single look that the bastard felt the same. If the angel felt Severin’s stare burning into him, he paid it no mind. He only had eyes for their bonded.
Severin had suspected as much for a while now, but seeing the angel’s interest firsthand made his body seize with a deep wrath he didn’t want Aurelie feeling right then. There was little choice but to carefully ease himself away, stepping offstage just as a voice found him in the dark.
“She’s talented,” Lute purred.
Severin flinched, smoothing his features into a blank canvas. “Did you take care of the hybrid?”
“He won’t be a problem.” Lute was half-lit by the glow of the hearth and half-consumed by her own writhing shadows. Her crimson eyes looked him over, and try as he might, Severin knew she could peel back his skin and examine everything that festered beneath.
She’d always been able to do that, from the very day he’d met her.
The wrathborn turned his attention back to the stage, jaw tight as Aurelie’s voice poured over the crowd, as warm and clear as a summer day. She was playing for Yuri now. Grinning down at him.
It made Severin’s blood boil.
“She’s got them all wrapped around her finger, doesn’t she?” Lute asked, but there was something else beneath her question. A blade pressed flat against his ribs, waiting for the moment to cut. “I see the way you look at her. Are you wrapped around it, too?”
“The girl means nothing to me,” he said automatically. “I just can’t stomach the idea of that damned pigeon getting her.”
Surely the words were true. Surely he hadn’t done something so foolish as to fall for her.
It was but a blip. The music getting to his head.
And yet, as his gaze pulled up to watch her …
Light, he’d never seen someone more beautiful.
“If I can no longer count on you, I need you to tell me now.”
Lute’s words shouldn’t have sent a chill up his spine, but they did. His hands fisted at his sides.
“We continue as planned,” he said. “Nothing has changed.”
“Good. Do not make me a fool, Severin.” Lute reached out, fingers curling around his sleeve. The touch was as light as silk, but he could feel the weight behind it. The warning. “I’ve trusted you this long. We all have.”
Severin forced himself to exhale. To look at Lute instead of the human who was taking up far too much space in his mind.
Because Lute was right. He’d worked much too hard to give up now.
“Nothing has changed,” he repeated, though this time the words were for himself.
Because the music was rising like a tide, and the truth was that no matter what he wanted, Severin had already let it pull him too far down to turn back now.