Any doubts she had about this man the throngs had come to adore fell to the side when he turned and looked at her. His eyes were a bright blue, a complete contrast to his dark skin and black, tangled hair. He studied her with interest, simultaneously intense and innocent. But more than all of this, his face, the pouting shape of his lips, the small nose, the baby-smooth skin. Apart from his blue eyes, Tony Montana reminded her very much of Johnis.

Karas took Silvie’s arm. “You see it too?”

“He looks . . .” Silvie paused, not sure she should make the comparison.

“Like Johnis,” Karas said. “If I ever allow myself to fall in love, it will be with this man.” She stepped up to the rock star. “Hello, Tony. I would like you to meet the two most important people in the world to me.”

He kissed her cheek. “And here I thought I occupied one of those places.” To Silvie, dipping his head, “A pleasure.”

Tony Montana made polite conversation, but as Johnis gained confidence, they began prying with questions that seemed to genuinely engage each other. Soon they were in a deep discussion about poetry and beauty and love and all things creative.

An attendant with an earpiece approached them from a side door. “Sixty seconds, Kara.”

Karas nodded. “You ready, Tony?”

“Always, my dear.”

She nodded to the attendant. “Take my friends to the press box. I’ll join you in a few . . .”

She stopped, slipped a thin black card from her jeans, and stared at a red light that blinked on one end.

“Kara?” Tony touched her elbow. “Everything okay?”

She blinked. Slid the card back into her pocket. “Fine.” But her face had paled. “I’ll meet you in the box.”

They watched from the press box as Karas took the stage to the sound of cheering cries that suggested she was the star they’d come to see, Silvie thought. It was hard to imagine that this frail-looking woman had been a little girl trapped in Witch’s dungeon only a week earlier, at least from her perspective. Yet here she was, acknowledging the roaring approval of a hundred thousand fans in the Histories.

Then Karas introduced Tony Montana, and the stadium trembled with pounding hands and feet. The lights went out, smoke rose on the stage, a single drum began to thump, and Silvie held her breath.

She wasn’t ready for the thunder that followed. Lightening stuttered on the stage, blinding them. The drums pounded. Silvie grabbed Johnis’s arm.

Tony leaped higher than seemed natural, his legs twisted to one side, and when his feet landed, the guitars roared. Music, the screaming variety she’d heard earlier, shook the stadium.

“Fantastic!”

She turned to see Johnis grinning from ear to ear. His delight was infectious. She had to agree: the sound of music from the Histories was, indeed, fantastic.

“Like it?”

Karas had come up behind them.

“Yes.”