The darkness brought fatigue and bleary eyes. The Kishion watched her from the shadows. She could sense his presence as well as see him. Did he never tire? What sort of man was this? What sort of protection did the Arch-Rike’s service give him?
She recalled the ring on his finger. She had seen it when he handed her the honeycomb. It was a black ring, probably made of iron. Was that ring the source of his power? Was that why he wore gloves, to conceal it? Her eyelids drooped. She pinched herself, struggling to stay awake. He stared at her. She could sense his eyes but could not see them in the shadows.
She stared back, wishing there was light, wishing there was a way she could steal his memory of her. A look and a blink. That was all it would take. Somehow he had missed seeing her at the Dryad tree. Was that his vulnerability? The beginnings of a plan began to form in her mind. She could not quite make out the edges, but she felt it brushing against her thoughts. It would have to be during the day. She would have to be very near him, to be sure their gazes met. She wished she had the power to force him to look at her.
The thought caused a tingling feeling inside her. She did not understand the feeling, but she sensed it. Something was missing. Some part of her was missing. Weariness stole quietly over her and she felt her chin bobbing down. Unable to fight it any longer, she stretched out on the tile floor and drifted asleep.
Phae awoke in the dark of night to the sound of a hauntingly beautiful melody.
“It is amazing the trinkets that are devised by the Paracelsus order. Some glimmer with iridescent light. Others can create dazzling smells. Some offer glimpses of hidden treasures to torment the mind. I do not pretend to understand how these devices work or by what principles they operate. Some of the most popular, I have learned, are those that weave melodies out of nothingness.”
—Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
The melody was low and plaintive, and the sound invoked a hundred feelings of sadness. It was not made by a voice or any instrument she had ever heard. The sound curled into her ears, lilting and thick with sorrow. It was the sound of a breaking heart.
Phae opened her eyes to blackness, save for thin veils of moonlight seeping in from the shattered windows. The sound was very near and she thought she saw a glint of metal. She blinked rapidly, trying to understand what was happening. What was making such mournful music? Why did its presence threaten her with tears? The Kishion was cloaked and bent over something, but she saw his gloves on the floor, his fingers holding a delicately small locket. The locket was open and she perceived the music coming from it.
She studied him silently, not daring to move. He was fascinated by it. His fingers turned the locket over, examining the edges around the seam and then trailing the thread of a broken gold chain. He wrapped one end of the chain around his finger, twirling it in loops absently. Then he brought it up to his ear, as if straining to hear something deeper than the music. She expected him to jiggle it next, but he did not. He unwound the chain and set the charm in the palm of his hand, studying it more. She saw his head cock to one side, then he turned and gazed at her.
The sudden look startled her. She could almost see his eyes, but the shadow of his cowl prevented it. He did not look chagrined at being found out by her. He seemed not to care the least about her feelings. He studied it again.
“What is that?” Phae asked, almost afraid to ruin the spell the music was casting.
“A trinket,” he replied softly, holding it between two fingers and examining it again. “They sell these in Kenatos.”
Phae was amazed. “How does it work? The song is…haunting.”
He nodded. “These have been around for centuries. Only a Paracelsus knows how they are made. The music stops after a while. It intrigues me.”
He was talking to her. That was something.
“What is the melody? Do you know it?”
The Kishion shook his head. “I don’t. But I should. It is…familiar to me somehow.”
She waited several long moments before speaking. “You’ve heard it before then?” she asked, keeping her voice low and timid. She did not want to push him back into silence.
“I can’t remember. I believe I have.”
She licked her lips and carefully pushed herself up. “It sounds like autumn. Like the first rain after the death of a friend. It is powerful music.”
She saw him nod in agreement. “It is the sound of mourning. I have heard it before.”
Phae slowly stroked her arm, listening to the melody—drawing it into her heart. It made her think of her plight, of never seeing the Winemiller vineyard or Trasen again. It made her heart quail with sadness and longing. It made her want to cry. What creature had created such a thing? The sound of it would haunt her forever, yet its suffering was somehow soothing.