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)
Kaleb smiles—a genuine smile. He plays her another song.
Two songs turn into four. Then eight. A full concert with Kaleb as the lead violinist, playing one song after the next. He even improvises for a number of them, playing whatever comes to his heart, allowing the melodies to lead him. The creaking of his hallmates’ beds indicate that Raya is not his only audience, though in Kaleb’s perspective, she is the only one that matters.
In all the years he’s been here, he’s never been intimate with anyone. There were a few girls who found him cute, whispered things to their friends. One flirted with him, cornered him in the library, only to decide he was too strange to pursue, then suddenly all the girls kept their distance. Kaleb didn’t mind. He liked his solitude. Romance was too confusing, not worth the effort.
But with Raya, it feels so different.
It feels possible.
It’s upon beginning the ninth song that Raya turns to him and says, “In truth, that person I pretended to make up, the one that isn’t supposed to be me …” She sighs. “I was describing myself exactly. All of you humans down here revere me like some kind of higher power, but no, I am not, far from. I am quite low in the ranks of the House.”
Kaleb continues to play, his eyes upon her. “I am low, too.”
She lifts her eyebrows. “But you are Blood 1025. That is a high number.”
“And higher numbers are forgotten. We don’t even donate our blood. I wonder sometimes if I … even have a purpose.”
“Of course you do. It is to enrich my ears.”
She smiles.
He smiles back.
Her eyes descend to his chest, her eyebrows tugging together. “Your heart is beating so quickly, I can hear it through the—”
Kaleb’s bow slips, the note sharply cut off.
Their eyes meet each other’s. “—song,” she finishes.
Kaleb isn’t sure how to respond. So he apologizes in so tiny a voice, he’s not even sure it’s audible.
Raya seems to hear him perfectly. She crosses her legs the other way, peers down as she draws little circles in the air with her toe. “You could enrich so many others’ ears, too. There are so many people in the world who play violin, countless, but it’s with talent like yours that I wonder if any of them truly play. I hear such longing in your music. Like your melody touches a dark, ancient part of me … a part I’ve neglected to appreciate, a part I don’t fully remember.”
Kaleb’s eyes grow. “There are countless other violinists?”
She seems to find that funny, glancing back at him. “You are so cute. You behave like a sweet boy, yet you are … what? … thirty-seven years in age? Thirty-eight? Oh.” She notices the look in his eye. “Perhaps you’re not sure. That is okay. Age is just an arbitrary number that loses all context when you don’t have the sun or a rotating planet to count it by. I hardly can be bothered to give a thought to my own.”
Kaleb lowers the instrument, peers down at the strings, lost in his thoughts.
A pale hand appears on his thigh. Kaleb’s eyes lift and find hers. She sits next to him now, though he didn’t see her move.
“The world out there is competitive and terrible,” she says, “fighting each other for the first chair, for recognition and fame and ghastly acknowledgement. It is better in here, where you’ve already a number one fan. Me.” Kaleb is dazzled by her eyes. “I thought you might be nothing but a boy with a violin. There is so much more than sadness behind your eyes, I am learning.”
“I … I was describing myself, too.”
Raya’s eyes flash. “The person you made up?”
“I think it was … me. What remains of me, deep down, deep in the … the prison of my … m-my soul. A dream I keep there. A dream that I …” His voice begins to close up. “… that I have not told anyone before.” And it’s gone.
Raya gently brings a hand to his cheek.
Her skin is smooth and cold, but not unpleasant.
Kaleb reacts electrically, feeling as if the room has toppled over, delight raging and frothing inside of him. He turns to her.
“Perhaps we are both unable to imagine someone outside of ourselves,” she wonders aloud. “We are both trapped in … in a prison of our souls. I hope I still have a soul. I wonder at times if it left me, if I’d even notice. ‘A prison of our souls’ … I’m not sure whether you’re a musician or a poet. Perhaps both.”
“We should practice dreaming beyond what we are,” says Kaleb—then finds himself terrified at what he just dared utter.
But there is no outrage on Raya’s face. In fact, the words have inspired her. “Yes. We should practice such dreaming. Even if I’ll never be director of a domain or Lordess of a region.”