Heartfelt Sounds (22 page)
I shake my head. I stand. I clench my fists and whirl around as she stops.
“How
dare
you!” I screech as color drains from Nyx's face. “How
dare
you present me like a
prostitute!
Like an animal for
sale!”
Calanthe's glare is murderous as she stares. As her frown morphs into a capricious grin that's all teeth. Sharp teeth. She snaps her gaze to Nyx.
“Go.”
And the girl all but disappears as she sprints down the stairs. Gone in a heartbeat.
“
You.”
she points, a single talon aimed for my chest. “You are a useless—
cowardly
thing!”
“And you are a monster! You
and
Lore!”
“Me?”
she laughs—a sound that is sharp and clipped. Like steel clambering to the floor. She brings a hand to her chest. “It is
you
who keeps your friend's soul from leaving this world. It is
you
who keeps her here. Stuck in a broken body that has become her cage. It is you who carelessly throws life away—like a coward. Like a woman who fears her own power—her own body.” she laughs. Crosses her arms and smirks. Lowers her voice to a whisper. “
You
are a monster. A fearful little thing that only cares for herself.
You.”
Calanthe spits, but she waves her hand away as if her words do not matter. As if her insults do not hurt as I tremble—my vision blurred as I watch her roll her eyes. She breathes, “Nevertheless,
my
actions have secured you a place at this fortress. While,
your
actions have cost you a life—the life of a
dear
friend.” my blood runs cold when she grins. When she approaches me silently and strikes out to grab my hand. Her fingers snake around my wrist and hold tight—I freeze. “If you want blood to fuel this endeavor, girl—then
so be it.”
Calanthe forces me down into the dark bowels of the fortress. Into a place absent life. Stones crawl with slime that glints in the flickering light of dying torches as she shoves me along. A hand clasped strongly around both my wrists, forcing my hands behind my back.
“I cannot trust you.” she tells me, her voice a breathy hiss as wooden doors embedded in dark stones pass. As something drips overhead and fills this chasm with grimy echoes of sound. “I planned to keep you free. I planned to let you enjoy the little sliver of life you have left—but that tiny bit of power you've been granted has gone to your head, hasn't it?” At the end of the stony corridor is a single door. Blackened by wood rot. Melded with steel and wood that glistens in the shambling light of the torches lining the corridor. Calanthe lurches to a stop—tugs me backwards. Her lips are right at my ear. I hear her breathe:
“I
was supposed to be her gateway—
the bridge between life and death.
It was supposed to be
me!”
and she shoves me forward. Tightens her grip upon my wrists and makes me walk. “The nightingale will be informed of this.” she hisses. Keys jingle as she grabs them from a hook near the door. She stops again, digs her talons into my wrist as she freezes in the light. Calanthe shoves me away, moves to stand in front of me as she hunches over and forces the key into the door's lock.
I watch—I think. My arms are free and she's
right there.
Calanthe turns, then. Snaps her gaze to me as she narrows her eyes. The door before her opens. “You'll stay here until your time comes.”
I could sing—I could use my voice.
Calanthe's hand reaches—strikes me on my shoulder. Her fingers bite down as she grabs me, as she pulls me towards the gaping mouth of the door.
It's a cell on the inside. A tiny window floats high—sitting upon a wall. There's blackened hay in the corner and a tin pail.
I freeze. I stop as she tries to pull me in further. I look at her. “Why?” I plead. “There are other ways I can help—
better
ways—,”
“You weren't brought here to think. Only to be used as the catalyst.” she hisses—spits and harsh eyes glare into mine.
I return her glare—I look—I stare. For the first time—I truly look at her. Truly. And my eyes rove over a sharp face—pinched and narrow. Rouge blankets her face, attempts to bring color to skin that's ashen and gray. Opal eyes wither. They flash in their sockets as the whites of her eyes dim to a soft yellow. A putrid color.
“You're one of them, aren't you?” I find myself saying as her hand falls to her sides. Limp.
“Aren't you?”
Calanthe's eyes widen, her eyelids all but winding back as her brows raise upon her ashen forehead. “
You
will be everything…and
nothing.”
“You're just like Akane—you're
dead—,”
Her hands slap to my shoulders—she tugs me. Throws me into the cell before she slams the door in my face. I press my hands to the splintered wood of the door—I press and I throw my shoulder up against it—but it's too late. The lock clicks. The door moans beneath my weight as the light of the torches outside is slowly snuffed out—one by one. Darkness creeps beneath the lip of the door as moonlight streams through the small window behind me.
She leaves me. Heels clicking lightly on the flagstones outside. She leaves me, with my hands flattened against the door—my body leaning. Listening for her as the clack of her heels disappears up the corridor and vanishes. Giving way to silence. Giving way to the blood rushing in my ears and the panic clogging my throat.
She leaves me with this.
And I turn. My back is to the door when I slide down to the floor. I bring my knees into my chest and listen. I bring my knees into my chest and curse.
You could have done something—but now.
I shake my head.
Look at yourself—what you've done.
How have I ended up here? What have I done?
Hana's life will be forfeit. The nightingale will hear Calanthe's call and punish Tsubame for what I've failed to do.
I can't be her tool—I don't
want
to be her tool!
Then you are selfish. Selfish and cowardly.
Take what you are
owed.
The voice. It's booming in my mind again and my head snaps up. I look around. Black stones stare back at me. It is accompanied by darkness. Loneliness.
I have never slept alone before. Never.
I swallow. I remember Hana—Akane.
I dig into the deep pocket of my ragged drop sleeve and pull out Hana's emblem—the symbol of castle Tsubame. I move towards the tiny window and the light—beneath the moonlight, the eyes of the dragon glow red. They are ferocious. Feverish.
Could this emblem prove to be more?
Could it…mean something?
I look down, my eyes moving towards the mark upon my forearm. It mirrors the emblem exactly, a symbol of bravery curling within a circular cage. My eyes come back to the emblem as it sparkles—I look towards the window and I notice grass. It lays there peacefully, embellished by moonlight. Reaching for a bright night that's full of stars.
I look to the light above and close my eyes.
But shadows in the silence steal away my sleep.
I wait and I watch as night turns to day, and the sun sets as it makes way for the moon. The moon ascends, only to cover its single eye with a veil of black as it descends. Lowering to give way to the light of the sun. There's movement out there, during the day. Soldiers training in the heart of the fortress, upon a field of glittering green. I watch feet run. I hear carefully worded commands strung together by a hoarse voice. By a voice that burns itself out when the noontime sun blazes by my window. When the darker colors of the evening set in, everything is quiet once more save for the wind. For a breeze I cannot feel—but can listen to. A breeze I can hum along with—or sing quietly to.
Warmth does not exist here. My senses are dulled by the lack of scents and light. Down here, I am dead to a world that moves on without me.
I wonder if Hana has died.
I wonder if Calanthe went along with her threat to tell the nightingale about my failure.
By the third day of my entrapment in the underbelly of this fortress, I wonder if I have been forgotten.
The loneliness dulls me. Makes me ache for the past—for home. For Tsubame or Akane's shelter. For the Orthella—even though I know it's gone. It makes me pine for home—wish for it. It makes me wish I had never woke in the night and followed Lore's voice to that skyway. It makes me wish I had simply hung my head and pretended I didn't exist when Lord Hinata came to the castle. It makes me wish I wasn't who I am—or what Calanthe and Lore and so many others have claimed that I am; special. A creature with purpose—a tool.
I am not a tool.
I wonder if Hana is alive.
I wonder if castle Tsubame has burned to the ground.
I wonder if Lore even cares—if she cares about me.
By the third day of my incarceration in this stench—in this world I've only brought upon myself, I am sure I have been forgotten when the day vanishes.
And the loneliness swallows me, devours me whole as night comes.
As I stare at Hana's emblem and wonder—wonder if I could encompass this bravery.
Could I be a dragon?
I sigh. I open my mouth and do the only thing I've never failed at—never messed up or lost to others. I do the only thing that I could truly call my own.
I sing.
…
Singing brings me back. Back to the Orthella. Back to the days when Hana was simply Hana, and Lore was my teacher—my guide and leader. To when both of them were simply my friends—songstresses who performed to the gentle song of my zither and the call of my voice. I remember how my instrument broke. How I slammed it against that man to save Akane from the silver steel of his knife. I remember Akane taking his life and trembling because of it.
She took his life—for me.
And now she's barred from heaven—because of
my
actions. She is
cursed.
And my song continues—my voice rising. The notes filling up this dark underbelly of slime and stones with a simple longing. A longing for home—for my place in the world. For freedom from this cage—from this purpose Lore has latched onto me. From this curse—the absence of my heart. And the immortality Calanthe spoke of. For freedom from this voice in my head that tells me things. That demands that I
take.
I clutch the emblem—and I sing—
As tentative footsteps echo in the darkness. A high voice hums. Hands slap to the stones of the walls and I freeze.
“Naia? Naia—I
know
it's you—,” Nyx's voice. Her whisper slithers through the cracks upon the door and I stand. I rush towards her voice and press my ear against the door.
“Yes.” I tell her. “I've been alone for quite some time.” I bite my lip. “Nyx—can you help me get out?”
I hear her gasp. I hear her struggle. “Y-you don't know what she'd do to me—what she'd do to
anyone
who defies her, Naia! You think
this
is bad?!” she hisses, her voice dying as she whimpers. Outside, I hear her feet shuffle. “
I can't sleep, Naia.
Not anymore. No one goes in that room—Lord Emyr's room—without coming out
changed.
She—she
experiments
on people, Naia! I can't—I can't help you.”
I hear her turn—I her whimper as she moves away. As she slowly backs away from the door.
I want to scream—to ram my body against the door and demand that she help me—command her.
You could sing.
Use the power of your voice against her—it called her here, didn't it?
My eyes widen.
“Nyx!”
She freezes. Hisses a low cry and stops.
I take the emblem from my drop sleeve. I kiss it. I sigh and slide it under the door. It skids across the flagstones, stopping slowly.
I hear her pick it up. “This is the…”
I take a chance. “Do you know what it represents?”
Silence. For a moment, I think she's simply left with it until I hear her exhale. Until I hear her breathe. “No, but—,” she stops. Pauses. I know she's looking at it and I press my palms onto the wood with all my might. Trying to hear. Trying to listen. “—I know someone who might.”
I'm sorry, Naia.
The emblem rests in my hand like a heavy stone. It's a damned burden to my wrist, and I shove it into the pocket of my apron as I race up steps that spiral around and around and around.
The witch put her in the tower—the old creepy dungeons that once held her experiments.
That once held me.
And I trip as I'm going up the stone steps. I catch myself, gasping as the sharp edge of the stair rips across the skin of my hands. I mutter a curse as I stand. As I dust myself off and continue up the stairs—running until the steps peter out and I'm standing in the main hall. Nighttime shadows are creeping everywhere as I stalk past bronze doors, the rubber soles of my boots tapping away in the chilly quiet of the night.
I count two doors on either side of me. I move up a row and count two more before finding the fifth door. I swallow a couple of times when I approach this door as my right hand inches up, my fingers curving into a fist as I press my opposite hand to the cool metal of the copper colored door. Harsh indents force my palm to curve inwards as I use my other hand to tap lightly—three times. Three more and then I stop.
It opens with a whine and a wheeze. Cracks open somewhat and musk makes me wrinkle my nose.
“I've got somethin'.” I tell the crack as it widens. “Gold.
Real
gold. Gems too.” The emblem presses on my thigh and I snatch it from the pocket of my apron. I look into it's red eyes. “Rubies.” I tell the door as it opens further. “The same symbol was on her arm, sir. I saw it.”
“Then these birds have spread far.”
I let myself in, closing the door behind me. “Will this be enough? After all she's done—after everything we've gathered on her—
will this be enough?”
The weathered Csillian sits with his body hunched over an old and splintered desk. A single piece of crinkled parchment rolls itself out before him as he holds his scarred face in his hands, shaking his head as he sighs quietly. The room's just as he likes it, quiet. Dark and humid. A hovel held up by speckled stones and decorated with scattered papers and open books.
