Pushing open a door, I trotted down a set of steps, then froze, realizing I stood at the entrance to the glass gardens. The sound of Cécile’s voice was thick in my ears, a fiercely defiant song of a warrior woman in some distant civilization. Apparently my meandering through the halls had had more purpose than I thought.

It was almost habit now for me to seek her out whenever I heard her singing – her voice was my only respite. The one moment in the day when I allowed myself to forget the growing pressures of my life. The one moment when I allowed myself to forget who I was.

Extinguishing my light, I started into the garden towards her voice, but not before pausing to break a single rose from the glass bushes lining the gates.

Chapter 18

Cécile

There was only one way to lure Tristan into my company, and that was to sing. As often as I could, I would go out into the glass gardens and do battle with the thunder of the waterfall, my voice echoing through the cavernous hall of Trollus, knowing that no matter where Tristan was in the city or what he was doing, he would come to listen.

He never said anything to me in those moments, always keeping his distance. Sometimes he stood on the edge of the gardens or sat on one of the many benches, staring at his feet. If I walked while I sang, he’d trail after me, careful to keep a glass hedgerow between us. I always pretended not to see him, even though I was keenly aware of his presence. And even more keenly aware of the gap between us that he would not breach.

Today was no different. I sang. He listened. And when my voice grew too tired to carry on, he hesitated in the silence for only a heartbeat before departing. But today, I decided I could not leave it at that. Holding up skirts stained with Lessa’s blood, I strode through the winding pathways, taking the steps into the palace two at a time. Servants bowed and curtseyed as I passed, but I hardly noticed, my attention all for tracking Tristan’s progress through the palace. He was heading towards our rooms, but I knew he wouldn’t linger. He never did. It took every ounce of control I had not to run – running garnered attention, and I needed some time alone to speak with him.

Our rooms were dark and empty when I finally reached them. But I sensed he was here. Holding up my light, I walked from room to room, searching. Then I noticed one of the doors to the courtyard was slightly ajar. Pushing it open, I stepped outside and shone my light down the stairs. In the center of the space stood a black piano, my light gleaming off its shiny surface.

Closing the door behind me, I made my way down the stairs and over to the instrument. The wood felt strangely warm to my touch, but perhaps that was only because I spent my days surrounded by glass and stone. I pressed a finger against one key, and then another, listening to notes ring out. Then my eyes caught sight of a single glass rose resting against the music rack. Tentatively, I reached out to pick it up. At my touch, it blossomed with a warm pink glow.