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“Oh, my lady,” she cried, clapping fiercely, “that waswonderful. I’ve not heard you play myself, my lady, not until just now, though ofcourse I’ve heard the stories, and…oh, I’ve never heard such music, not once, not ever in my life!”

She stumbled toward me, gibbering about how glorious my music was, how divine, and I could only stare at her, fuming, not really understandingwhyI was fuming but knowing nevertheless that I hated the sight of her. It was as if she’d been reunited with a lost love; her sobs were joyous, giddy.

When she was close enough to touch me, she fell to her knees and touched the hem of my skirt. “Blessed Kerezen, that she should grant to us here in Edyn a gift such as the one you possess, my lady. Suchmusic—”

“It was terrible,” I said flatly. “I played terribly.”

But on she went, praising me.Food of the gods,drink for the soul,beautiful woman,perfect creature, and so forth. It was the sort of nonsense I’d heard screamed at me every time I’d performed in front of a crowd.

My mouth turned sour with disgust, with fear. I wanted to run; I wantedherto run.

“Get away from me,” I told her. I could hear the vitriol in my voice and didn’t care; in fact, it brought me a perverse comfort. Through the haze of my anger, I heard a faint noise that I immediately dismissed. Perhaps the house, sighing in aggrieved solidarity.

Emry blinked up at me, sniffling. “My lady?”

“You saw me come in, you saw me sit down at the piano, and you said nothing. You should have made your presence known.”

The girl paled. “I’m so sorry, my lady, I didn’t know… That is, you startled me when you came in, and then you started to play, and I just couldn’t stop you, Icouldn’t—”

“I do not perform my music in front of others, not without strict specifications put in place well in advance.”

“Yes, my lady, it’s only that—”

“This is my private space,” I said sharply. She shrank back fromme. A slight pity jolted me; she was new, she was young, I could have looked around the room myself to ensure no one was there. But I couldn’t seem to stop talking. “If, when you are in here working, I enter the room, you are to leave at once, as quickly and quietly as possible. And you are to tell no one what you heard here today, or what you saw. Is that understood?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Good. Now, get out.”

She froze, gaping at me. She glanced at my hands, then back at the piano. I could see it on her face, a question she was desperate to ask.Can you keep playing, Farrin? Keep playing, and never stop.

Every last measure of control I’d been holding on to shattered into pieces.

“Get out!” I cried, scaring the life out of the both of us. She scrambled to her feet and ran, tripping twice over her own shoes. With a sob, she bolted out the doors—right past the spot where Gareth stood, watching me, wearing a dusty travel coat, an undone tie of gold, blue, and black hanging loosely around his neck, and a sad, grave expression.

My dearest friend, Gareth Fontaine, and he’d been standing there for how long? How much had he seen?

I found the piano bench and sank down upon it.

“Gareth,” I said weakly.

He closed the doors and came to me. The afternoon light glazed his spectacles and messy blond hair with gold. Normally, the sight of him would have lifted my spirits to the sun, but now I could only stare at my feet and blink back tears. Every part of me felt thick and miserable, weighed down by some tacky phantom substance that made it hard to breathe.

Gareth knelt at my feet and turned up my chin with one finger. “Farrin,” he said when my eyes met his. “What in the name of the godswas that all about?”

Something about the tone of his voice made me bristle. “I’m not a child, Gareth. Don’t talk to me like one.”

“I don’t know. You yelled at that poor girl like a child might have. A child with an exceptionally bad temper.”

Grasping for any weapon I could find, I landed onchange of subject. “What are you even doing here?”

“I’ve come to stay until the ball, conduct some research in your family’s archives.” He cocked one blond eyebrow at me. “About theytheliadcurse. Don’t you remember?”

I did, at last, thinking of the scrawled reminder in my notebook from weeks ago, buried beneath pages upon pages of reminders, accounts, lists, needs, demands.

“Oh.” I sat back against the piano. Thinking of Gareth’s work and how I must look to him in that moment made me feel small and raw, utterly ashamed. “Right. I’d forgotten.”

And then something reared its head in me, a nasty little monster with thorns on its tongue and a mind of its own.