The Kiss of Deception (The Remnant Chronicles #1) - Mary E. Pearson Page 0,80
song to greetings, the remembrances melting into the now.
The smithy, the cooper, the fishermen, this craftsperson, that dressmaker, the clerks of the mercantile, the soap maker who reminded Berdi she had some new scents she must try, they all offered their greetings. Soon Berdi was pulled away.
Pauline and I watched the musicians setting up, placing three chairs in a half circle. They set their instruments—a zitarae, fiola, and goblet drum—on the chairs and went to find some food and drink before their music began. While Pauline wandered off to sample the pickled eggs, I walked closer to examine the zitarae. It was made of deep-red cherrywood inlaid with thin seams of white oak and had worn marks where hands had rested through hundreds of songs.
I reached down and plucked one string. A dull pang rang through me. On rare occasions, my mother and her sisters would play their zitaraes, the three of them creating haunting music, my mother’s voice wrenching and wordless like an angel watching creation. When they played, a chill ran through the citadelle and everything stopped. Even my father. He’d watch and listen from a distance, hidden away on the upper gallery. It was the music of her homeland, and it always made me wonder what sacrifices she had made to come to Morrighan to be its queen. Her sisters had followed two years later to be with her, but who else had she left behind? Maybe as he listened and watched, that was what my father was wondering too.
More people arrived for the evening festivities, and the chatter and laughter grew to a soothing buzz. The celebration had begun, and the musicians took their seats, filling the air with welcoming tunes, but something was still missing.
I tracked down Pauline. “Have you seen him?” I asked.
“Don’t worry. He’ll be here.” She tried to pull me away to watch the lighting of the floating candles in the plaza fountain, but I told her I’d catch up with her later.
I stood in the shadows outside the apothecary and watched the hands of the zitarae player press and pluck, a mesmerizing dance in itself. I wished my mother had taught me how to use the instrument. I was about to walk closer when I felt a hand on my waist. He was here. Heat rushed through me, but when I turned, it wasn’t Rafe.
I sucked in a surprised breath. “Kaden.”
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” His eyes traveled over me. “You look radiant tonight.”
I glanced down, embarrassed, guilt pinching me for being too generous with my attentions last night. “Thank you.”
He motioned toward the street where people were dancing. “The music’s playing,” he said.
“Yes. It just started.”
His damp blond locks were combed back, and the scent of soap was still fresh on his skin. He nodded again toward the music, awkwardly boyish, though there was nothing else boyish about him. “Can we dance?” he asked.
I hesitated, wishing they were playing a faster jig. I didn’t want to lead him on, but I couldn’t refuse a simple dance either. “Yes, of course,” I answered.
He took my hand and guided me to the space set aside in front of the musicians for dancing. One of his arms slid behind my back, and the other held my hand out to the side. I made sure our conversation was full, recounting the day’s games so we could maintain some distance, but when talk lulled only briefly, he tugged me closer. His touch was gentle but firm, his skin warm against mine.
“You’ve been kind to me, Lia,” he said. “I—” He paused for a long while, his lips slightly parted. He cleared his throat. “I’ve enjoyed my time here with you.”
His tone had turned strangely solemn, and I saw the same gravity in his eyes. I looked at him, confused at this sudden change in his demeanor.
“I’ve done little enough for you, Kaden, but you saved my life.”
He shook his head. “You managed to break free. I’m sure you’d have been just as capable with your knife.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But maybe not.”
“We’ll never know what might have been.” His fingers tightened on mine. “But we can’t dwell on the maybes.”
“No … I suppose we can’t.”
“We have to move on.”
Every word from him was weighted, as if he was thinking one thing but saying another. The unrest that had always lurked in his eyes doubled.