Back Ariah
Chapters (40)
  1. Chapter 1
  2. Chapter 2
  3. Chapter 3
  4. Chapter 4
  5. Chapter 5
  6. Chapter 6
  7. Chapter 7
  8. Chapter 8
  9. Chapter 9
  10. Chapter 10
  11. Chapter 11
  12. Chapter 12
  13. Chapter 13
  14. Chapter 14
  15. Chapter 15
  16. Chapter 16
  17. Chapter 17
  18. Chapter 18
  19. Chapter 19
  20. Chapter 20
  21. Chapter 21
  22. Chapter 22
  23. Chapter 23
  24. Chapter 24
  25. Chapter 25
  26. Chapter 26
  27. Chapter 27
  28. Chapter 28
  29. Chapter 29
  30. Chapter 30
  31. Chapter 31
  32. Chapter 32
  33. Chapter 33
  34. Chapter 34
  35. Chapter 35
  36. Chapter 36
  37. Chapter 37
  38. Epilogue
  39. Dedication
  40. Credits

Sorcha shouldered his violin case and took off. It turned out he was a runner. He ran for pleasure most days, just for the hell of it. I have never been prone to such a masochistic thing. He had said it wasn’t far, but that was a lie. I could only barely keep up with him. I was drenched in sweat, bleary-eyed and lightheaded by the time we got to where we were going. It was an apartment building a few blocks away from an already-bustling opera house called the Barlan. A pair of men sat at the foot of the building’s steps. One was an old red elf, a man with a face more weathered than lined. He had heavy steely eyebrows that furrowed over a pair of bottomless black eyes, eyes so black they seemed not to have irises at all. Next to him, sitting with a matronly, protective hand on the old man’s back, was a middle-aged man with elvish ears and short, black hair. The old man looked up as we approached. “You’re late, Sorcha.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

The old elf pointed at me with a violin bow. “Who’s that? You got a shadow.”

Sorcha grabbed my hand and pulled me forward. I was a disheveled mess, the sweat seeping through my borrowed clothes, my hair going every which way. I’d cut myself shaving, and a trickle of blood wound its way down my neck. I had hoped Sorcha would let me slink behind him, tuck myself out of sight, but I had no luck with it. “This is Ariah. He’s with me.”

“Aye, a blind man could see that. I’ve a set, boy. Music’s a discipline, right, you can’t pop in and out with your conquests. It’s work.”

Sorcha laughed. “No, he’s not…Prynn, it’s a long story. C’mon. Let’s go play.”

The man with the black hair stood up and offered a hand to the old man, Prynn. Prynn refused it. “If he’s not a conquest, why’s he in your clothes, Sorcha?” the black-haired man called.

Sorcha laughed again. He glanced down at his boots. There was an odd tension in him, one threaded with gentleness. When he looked back up, there was a curious half-smile on his face. “I’ll tell you later, Tayvi. I promise I’ll tell you everything after we play, yeah?”