LITMIR.BIZ

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worry,” she says, trying to comfort me. “I have been kissed, and it’s overrated.”

      I stop rubbing my forehead. “Really?”

      “Really. Two people, smushing their mouths together, tasting each other’s spit, possibly with food bits mixed into it. It’s not at all appealing, when you really think about it.”

      I let out a short laugh. “You’re a dyed in the wool romantic, aren’t you?”

      “I am not the least bit romantic,” she affirms, somewhat proudly. “Romance just complicates life, sets up unrealistic expectations.”

      She sits there so neatly, her discreet dress perfectly pressed, her long black hair carefully brushed and pulled back off her face with two silver barrettes.

      “Maybe you just haven’t met the right young man yet,” I offer.

      “No, I’ve met him,” she says, matter-of-factly. “We’ll be wandfasted by the end of the year. He’s over there.” She gestures with her chin toward the entrance to the large ballroom. “The one just to the right of the door.”

      He’s much like all the other young men who are milling about. Square jaw, black hair, green eyes.

      I turn back to her. “So you’ve kissed him.”

      “Yes, it’s expected.” She sighs with resignation. “They wait so long for...other things, our men. We’re supposed to throw them a bone every now and then, I guess.”

      “But you don’t like it.”

      “It’s not awful, don’t get me wrong. I mean, it’s tolerable.”

      Her lack of enthusiasm makes me laugh. “You make it sound like doing chores!”

      “Well, it kind of is.” She’s smiling at me good-humoredly.

      “You feel this way, and you’re okay with fasting to him? With marrying him?”

      She shrugs. “Oh, Randall’s all right. He’ll make a good fastmate, I suppose. My parents picked him out for me, and I trust them.”

      “You mean you had no say in the matter?”

      “I don’t need to have a say. I trust them. I knew they wouldn’t pick someone mean. They chose fastmates for my two older sisters, as well.”

      I’m fascinated by her complete acceptance of this. “Don’t you want to choose your own fastmate?” Uncle Edwin would never just pick someone for me. Maybe he’d introduce me to someone nice, but he’d certainly leave the decision solely with me.

      She shrugs. “It doesn’t really matter who chooses. Most of them are pretty interchangeable anyway. I mean, look at them.” She gestures toward a group of young men dismissively. “It’s hard to even tell them apart.”

      She has a point. Looking around the room, I have to admit I’d be hard-pressed to find a memorable face, one that stands out in true contrast.

      “What are you reading?” I ask, noticing her book again.

      She flushes. “Oh, it’s just a book for University,” she explains, a little too innocently. “I’m getting a head start on my reading.”

      The cover confirms what she’s told me: An Annotated History of Gardneria. On second thought, though, the paper cover doesn’t fit the book exactly, hanging a bit over on the sides.

      “What are you really reading?” I probe.

      At first, her eyes widen in surprise, and then she slumps back in her chair, sighs and hands the book over in mock defeat. “You can’t tell anyone,” she whispers conspiratorially.

      I peek under the cover and flip through it. “Love poems!” I whisper back, chuckling. I hand the book back to her and smile. “I thought you weren’t romantic.”

      “Not in real life,” she clarifies. “I guess I like the idea of it, though. But I realize it’s pure, unadulterated fantasy.”

      “You’re funny,” I say, smiling at her.

      She cocks her head to one side, considering me. “And you’re completely different than how I expected you’d be. I’m Aislinn Greer, by the way. My father sits on the Mage Council with your aunt. We’ll be fellow scholars at University.”

      “Elloren, I see you’ve made a new friend.”

      I turn to find my aunt gliding up to us.

      “Good evening, Mage Damon.” Aislinn greets my aunt respectfully as she covers the book with both hands.

      “Good evening, Aislinn,” Aunt Vyvian beams. “I was just speaking with your father. So nice to see you here.” She turns to me. “Elloren, I’d like you to go fetch your violin. Priest Vogel would like to hear you perform for us this evening.”

      My stomach drops straight through the floor. “Perform? Now? For everyone?”

      “Your uncle has told me time and again how extraordinarily talented you are.”

      “I’m sorry, Aunt Vyvian... I... I can’t...” I’ve never once performed for a crowd, and just the thought of it makes me feel sick with apprehension.

      “Nonsense, child,” Aunt Vyvian says dismissively. “Run along and fetch your instrument. No one keeps the next High Mage waiting.”

       CHAPTER TWELVE

      Lukas Grey

      It’s a relief when I finally leave the crowded ballroom for the private hallway that leads to my room, my feet cramped in my pinching shoes. I briefly ponder escape.

      I enter the deserted room and my breath immediately catches tight in my throat.

      There, lying open on my bed, is a violin case. Within, nestled comfortably in green velvet, is a Maelorian violin—the highest-quality violin in the Western Realm, made by Elves in the northern Maelorian Mountains from rare Alfsigr spruce. There’s a note card carefully slid under the strings, a message written in my aunt’s flowing script.

      Make the family proud.

      I sit down beside the violin and stare at it. How Aunt Vyvian obtained the use of such an instrument, I can’t begin to imagine. When I finally take it in my hands, I feel as if I’m lifting a holy object. A picture of a tapering Alfsigr spruce tree set on a sloping mountainside caresses my mind as I gently pluck at the strings.

      Perfectly in tune.

      A tingling excitement bubbles up within me as I tighten the bow, lift the instrument into position and slide the bow across the A string.

      A perfect note sounds on the air, pure as a still blue lake.

      A rush of joy quickens my heart. Overwhelmed, I set the instrument down, go to my travel bag and fish excitedly through the music folder for my favorite piece, Winter’s Dark, quickly locating the stiff parchment. I stare at the crisp lines of notes, the music already dancing in my head.

      I glance over at the door and my euphoria rapidly implodes, my unwelcome task waiting to press down on me like a miller’s stone.

      Steeling myself, I make a decision. If I’m going to go down in flames in front of half of Valgard, I might as well go down in flames to the tune of the most beautiful piece of music ever composed for the violin.

      I carefully secure the violin, tuck my music under one arm, force myself to my feet and purposefully walk out to meet my doom—well, as purposefully as one can possibly walk in the most uncomfortable shoes ever invented.

      * * *

      I reenter the crowded ballroom and immediately begin to fall apart at the seams, my mouth becoming dry, my gut clenching and worst of all—my hands start to tremble.

      My

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