Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
It takes an incredible amount of strength to peel his eyes off the ground, worrying whether her suggestion is in some way a test of his obedience. When he finally does, his eyes are first met with her legs, enclosed in black stockings, then to the hem of a black lace skirt. When he meets her eyes, he is surprised to find her inspecting her own fingernails, as if they’ve become the most interesting thing in the universe, the bow lying across her lap, forgotten. After a brief pause, he sits on the bed next to her, leaving enough space between them for a whole person.
She peers at him sideways. “Can we play a little game?”
Kaleb clears his throat. “Ma’am?”
“I want to pretend not to be me, and I want you to pretend not to be you.” He finds the request so unexpected, he parts his lips as if to laugh, but no sound comes out. “Can we do that?” she asks, returns her attention to her nails with a shrug. “I think it could be … maybe a healthy exercise for us both, perhaps.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I am not from here. I have no power nor title. Have no freedoms you believe I do, nor privilege. I am rather quite low as far as ranking goes.” She looks partway toward him. “That is who I will be. Who will you be? Tell me about him. And do not say ‘I am your blood’ or I’ll vomit. Be true.”
Kaleb may not have the confidence that most other Bloods have, but he has an imagination. It’s the only thing, he’s certain, that has kept his spirit alive for so long.
But the words that come out of his mouth betray him. “I’m … I’m a dedicated student … with two strict … but loving parents … and an older brother who teaches me how to live once in a while.” He grows more confident as he describes his life. “I am not from here, either. I am … not a Blood. I have no power, but I believe that in the future, I may have lots of power, if I keep studying, if I keep … being a good student … and a good son. As long as I keep both of my parents smiling, I will live a … a long and happy life.”
A moment passes between them.
Kaleb suddenly worries he said something wrong. He dares a glance at Raya. She is peering back at him thoughtfully.
Then she softly asks: “You’re not happy now?”
Kaleb tenses up. “Is this question for me, ma’am? Or for not-me?”
“Doesn’t matter, I already know the answer.” She takes the violin and bow, extends the instrument to him. “Will you play me a song? I hope you aren’t bothered that that was my ulterior motive. Yes, I had one, this is it, I need a song in my ears, yours and no one else’s.” She closes her eyes, bracing herself for it. “I want to know sadness again.”
Kaleb, violin and bow in hand, watches her for a moment. He finds her mesmerizing. Exotic. Unusual and surprising in all the best ways. She makes his heart leap and flutter. It is a drug. He has been blessed with seeing her twice. The first time, she was accompanied by the one called Tristan, called “the strange one” by so many in the cells, though Kaleb doesn’t find him as strange as he does reserved and careful, both qualities of which Kaleb finds respectable. Raya is as carefree as they come. She is a physical embodiment of freedom and power. She didn’t scare him at all the first time they met. She doesn’t scare him now, in this moment when they pretend to be other people—almost.
The first stroke of the violin surprises them both, as Kaleb didn’t even notice he lifted the instrument to his chin. Then, as the note weaves together its melody, floating in the air between them, he watches Raya’s face soften. He watches her lips curl with delight. He watches her head sway from side to side, as she picks up the rhythm of his emotional ballad.
When Kaleb is with the music, he feels invincible.
The violin is his weapon. With it, he captures even the ears and hearts of gods and goddesses.
This one sits on his bed and relishes in his every note. Where his mother might have criticized a note that came a hair too early, the goddess delights in the existence of that note at all. Where his father might have scribbled into a notebook for Kaleb to work on keeping tempo better, the goddess sways her immortally black-and-white braid of hair like a pendulum, and with every change of the melody, she basks with wonder.
At the end of the song, Raya’s eyes remain closed, and with barely a breath, she only says: “Another.”