swayed to the music. It was odd seeing him like this—so unreserved, so open, so … soft. Gone was the usual bitter expression he usually wore. It almost appeared as if he was sleeping as he played. He was so relaxed, his fingers easing along the bow and neck of the instrument.
It was mesmerizing to watch.
Glints of silver moonlight touched the violin every so often as his bow drew across the strings and his fingers danced on the neck of the instrument. It didn't hold a candle to the beauty of his face though. As he worked towards the crescendo the earlier relaxation of his features turned pinched. The sharp planes began to contort with emotion and his pale skin and icy hair glowed in the moonlight as though that was where this ethereal being belonged.
Each sweep of the bow seemed to pull at my heart, the melancholy sounds only reaching further into my soul now that I was closer. The sorrow and pain that was being expressed through his music was unlike anything I'd heard before and it made me ache for him. It made me want to march forward into the garden, stop him, and pull him close. I wanted to hug him, hold him, to promise him that whatever made him play this heartbreaking music … would be okay. That he would be okay.
It was too much. I shouldn't be here! My mind finally screamed at me. I'd known it, but it had been too exhilarating watching him as long as I had. Now, it was time to go.
When I turned to leave, my foot caught on the edge of one of the larger statue platforms—only instead of a statue sitting upon it, a potted plant was. A grunt flew out of my lips as I fell forward. My hands smacked outward, grabbing onto the platform. I tried to wrap my fingers around the pot, but the thing slipped away from me at the last moment—crashing to the ground and bringing the haunting music to a sudden halt.
I froze. My heartbeat froze. The breath in my lungs froze. Then, slowly, I lifted my head to meet Sorrell's gaze.
His eyes were sharp fragments of ice, shining wickedly without emotion. Though he was far slimmer than many men I’d come into contact with, there was still a strength in his gait. There was a calm, cool confidence in his usual demeanor that was gone now—no, not truly gone, just less prevalent. It was because he was open. His expression, usually so guarded, was vulnerable.
His gaze clashed with my own, and that vulnerability faded. "What are you doing here, Cressida?" he demanded.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sorrell
There were very few things in life that had surprised me as much as one little Changeling woman. Cressida was becoming far more than surprising though. She was a mystery. And the one question we should have been asking continuously until we'd gotten a satisfying answer repeated itself over and over in my mind:
Where had she come from?
Not the convent, obviously, but before she’d been dropped there. Who was she? Who were her parents? What Court would practice the Changeling tradition amid the beginning of a war with the very creatures they would be giving their child to? Were they still alive?
When we had first come upon the Changeling—Cressida—Groffet had devised the test. He was the one who had told us that she was of the Court of Crimson, but now I wasn't so sure. Could it be? I wondered absently as I strode through the empty and quiet corridors of the castle. Was she … from that Court?
I almost dreaded the concept. The Court in question had been eradicated on what I suspected were my own mother's orders—hers and the Crimson Queen's. I had been too young to know much about the fourth Court of our lineage. The Brightling Court.
It was a sad story—the Brightling Court. I hoped I was wrong. The only way to know would be to ask Groffet. Something I would have to do later when the others had returned. An insidious feeling rose at the reminder that they were out there—Roan and Orion—doing what I, too, should be doing. Fighting alongside our soldiers. Infiltrating the castle of the King's ally. Destroying supplies. Weakening him. Wounding him as he had wounded us when he had taken Cressida and nearly killed her.
Anger rose up, fast and furious, inside me. My fists clenched at my side. The hard thumps of my booted feet sounded against stone