Her first notes are tentative, soft, almost asking a whispered permission before reaching our ears. A tiny breeze twirls her dress as the notes pick up, as if she’s no longer worried about whether we want them or not. With each one, a tiny blade of grass grows around the stage. Her fingers begin to fly and the notes skip and giggle together like girls in a field. Poppies and daisies spring to life beneath her, swaying gently in the breeze that brushes my hair against my cheeks.

I can smell them. The sweetness sinks into me, making my eyelids droop like it’s a warm spring day and I’m in a hammock and the tune plays only in my head. The ultimate illusion. Magic for all the senses. As she plays, vines crawl up the legs of the piano, covering the lid and the music rack. One ambitious vine punches through her sheet music, lifting it above her head as it spirals upward. She doesn’t notice. Her eyes are closed, her head rocking faintly back and forth as her fingers crawl across the keys.

As the music crescendos, the vines hit a high point five feet above the piano lid. The crescendo is brief, just like spring itself, and as it leaves, deep purple flowers erupt on the vines.

The piece ends with soft notes again, a whispered apology for the frenzy they caused.

Stunning.

It makes me giddy and sick at the same time, and I bring my hands up in one solid clap before a hand circles my right wrist and drags it down to my side so I cannot clap again.

I jerk, startled, and find Roman beside me. I twist, looking for Xander, but he’s gone.

Roman leans toward my ear, as subtle as he can be when he’s at least a foot taller than me. His hand still clasps my wrist. “Do not clap.”

I flinch, and he lets go of me immediately. His mouth so close to my neck only makes me think of what he’s hiding.

He brings his hands together, eyes focused on the stage, where Willow graciously performs bow after bow.

I open my mouth to protest his hypocrisy. Only he’s not really clapping. His hands come together again and again in a slow and lazy tease where they never actually touch.

Everyone else around us claps. Nadine yells Willow’s name beside me.

Puzzled, I twist back to Roman’s fake clapping with a frown.

“Look up,” he says.

A glass orb glows above our heads. The light floating within its center pulses a little stronger as it consumes the applause.

Measuring the applause.

And Roman’s giving Willow nothing.

It makes no sense—not if he wants his apprentice to win.

Roman slips away from me and out of the room as the applause dwindles.