Chapter Thirty One Last Song

CHAPTER THIRTY

One Last Song

THE EDGES OF my mind blur as I make my way to the stage. It's as if I'm passing through a tunnel whose walls block the noise and nerves, leaving a place only for what's right ahead.

The lead oboist plays the official tuning note, announcing the start of the concert and hushing the audience. A cascading effect of strings follows him, playing a floaty and open A string, then the D and E strings. Soon the rest of the orchestra joins, the different instruments fusing together to create perfect harmonies. I take a deep breath as they quiet, giving way to a wave of applause that announces the appearance of Maestro Mette at the podium.

For a moment there is nothing but silence—the world perfectly still in anticipation.

Then the massive red curtains rise, the overture taking over as dancers flood onto the stage.

The familiar harmonies wash over me. My heart beats fast against my rib cage as my ruby sends a wave of magic through my blood. From the stage wings, I can see the crowd in the darkened hall. It's a full house—each pair of glinting eyes mesmerized by the gliding ballerinas who echo the haunting melody with every move.

The footlights cast menacing shadows over the small slopes the dancers twirl around, making the battlefield come alive. Goosebumps rise on my skin. I just want to stand and stare at the beauty unfolding before me, to merge with the crowd and enjoy this wonder.

But I can't. My entrance is almost here.

The magic surges inside me, wilder than ever before.

This is the ruby's true purpose. It pulls with invisible strings, as if the magic is an entity of its own, yearning for the music, for the adoration of the crowd. The power of it is frightening, undeniable.

I need to give in to it. I need to let the magic take over and sing.

And yet I'm frozen.

After tonight, I will never let the notes fly out of my mouth again. Each precious melody will be my last. And though I know I've made the right choice, my throat clenches.

José's singing spirals around me, calling me to the stage.

My body moves of its own accord, reacting to the cues I've rehearsed for weeks. A collective gasp echoes through the hall as I emerge—the crowd, taking me in for the first time. My eyes wander over the ballerinas lying on the ground as I move up toward the horizon, The Enchantress searching for her Lover in the face of each member of the audience.

That's when I see him.

Vicomte Lenoir is sitting in the Emperor's Box to my right, his captivating eyes locked on me. Elbows resting on the railing, he leans his chin on his intertwined fingers. And when he shifts, the light dances off his diamond ring.

The music moves into a touching minor key. This is it.

I must sing.

My lips part, but my throat is still clenched. Then Nuriel smiles, and warmth spreads through me, determination and magic mixing together in one final flood of elated inspiration.

The next thing I know, I'm singing.

My feet tremble as I walk, my long skirt swaying with the movement. Against the darkened set of flames and blood, the cream gown transforms me into a ghost roaming the battlefield .

Each lovely note leaves me with a bittersweet taste, a strange mix of melancholy and the promise of freedom. Just like The Enchantress, my own emotions echo the hunger for life, for meaning, for belonging. And the music is the perfect outlet.

My voice takes on a life of its own, soaring and filling the entire house. I let my feelings infuse the phrases, drawing them out of the depths of my soul and presenting them to the audience. The crowd in return gives me strength, replenishing my energy with their adoration. I drink their intoxicating love as if it were rain pouring from the heavens on a scorched land, while they, in turn, feast on my song, only growing hungrier as the music intensifies.

There is something electric in the connection. Something intimate.

I have never experienced anything like this before . . . But I have seen it—in those final fittings Father used to have with his clients. Whenever a lady would try on her custom-made gown, created especially to let her true self shine. In those moments, when a woman would look at her reflection, the reaction was always the same: a smile, followed by a look into Father's eyes in the mirror. A silent thank-you, an appreciation of his art.

There was something magical about it. But as I sing, I realize it was never the Talent that created these moments. It was the heart Father poured into his work. And it is the heart I've poured into my gown and the vulnerability I allow now into my singing—that is what is creating this moment.

The woodwinds take over as the scene changes, matching the temperament of the urging percussion. Around me, the dancers spring back to their feet, flowing silk sleeves fluttering behind them in ghostly wisps. They circle the stage in a spiraling tornado, swallowing me inside their wave of movement.

The music grows in a fantastic crescendo, my body tingling with its intensity. Then we are no longer on the battlefield. The stage shifts beneath my feet, spinning to reveal a hut in a quiet forest .

José's strong arms lift me from the ground, placing me on a soft bed, as a detailed painting of a forest is lowered from above, followed by an array of sculpted tree trunks. I catch a glimpse of the vivid foliage before closing my eyes, imagining myself walking into the background scenery.

The orchestra drops to a dreamy pianissimo, moving the plot between visions of the past and present as the story unfolds for the audience. With each scene The Enchantress delves deeper into her memories, forced to face the decisions that led her to The Lover, and filling her with guilt—for The Lover is no longer just a stranger to her, and stealing his life to prolong her own is no longer just a matter of calculated business.

The stage shifts from a forest to a magical library, to a darkened cellar, to a sun-kissed meadow with ballerinas throwing flower petals in graceful arches.

José stands before me—at long last The Lover and The Enchantress face each other without the shadows of their past. The final duet ripples softly, our united voices allowing the truth to finally be revealed. And as I sing those last words, their power echoes in my heart stronger than ever before—the sacrifice is not worth it. The dagger falls from my hand, my ruby shining as the warmth of the magic travels through me, as if saying goodbye.

And just like The Enchantress, I feel wholeheartedly that I have made the right choice. I can only hope that my story won't also end with a tragic death.

I watch with wide eyes as The Lover falls to the ground, mortally wounded by his own hand. The stage lights brighten, signaling the surge of power that heals The Enchantress with the breaking of a new day. The orchestra builds up to the conclusion and I turn toward the crowd, allowing the light to wash over me, reflecting off every single bead on my gown—the sparkle every bit as magical as the enchanting harmonies .

Then the music ends.

For a moment, the world stays still as the curtains fall with a whoosh of air. I hold in a tight breath, the dramatic tension pressing on my chest.

It's really over.

Riotous applause follows, exploding like fireworks in a roaring wave of clapping and enthusiastic cries of "Bravi!" The ecstatic energies seep into my bones all the way from beyond the curtains, melting the tension in my body.

"Fantastique!" José kisses both my cheeks as the entire cast springs into action, clearing the stage for the bows with wide grins. "Come!" He takes me by the hand, leading me to the stage wings just in time before the curtains rise again.

The crowd is wild, cheering in a standing ovation, waiting for us to execute our final cue for the night. The dancers are first, sinking slowly to the stage with one leg extended in a gesture of reverence. They glide backwards as the stage manager shouts from the wing for the chorus to take their spot. One by one, the singers step to the front, allowing themselves to show thanks to the audience.

Véronique comes forward, her perfect grin shining as she takes in the crowd. Even after performing she hasn't broken a sweat; not a silver-blond hair is out of place. Tomorrow night she'll be in the lead role, allowing her understudy to take her place. I can only imagine the victory she'll celebrate with me finally gone.

Then it's José's turn, and the crowd goes even wilder, whistles echoing through the hall in appreciation of the male lead. He takes them in as he blows kisses to the audience and claps for the orchestra and Maestro Mette.

"Lady Adley! Go!" the stage manager shouts.

I leave the shadows of the wings, the stage lights bright in my eyes. My heart beats so loudly in my ears it almost manages to drown out the crowd. Almost. I don't think anything can fully overpower the thunderous applause.

It's a sound of true adoration, everything I ever dreamed of .

With both hands on my heart, I go into a deep curtsy, taking in their love. I have shared all of myself with them tonight, every nook in my soul exposed and offered through song. They toss flowers to the stage, red roses landing by my feet, their deep color as vibrant as my ruby.

It's the perfect way to say goodbye.

The curtain calls stretch on until my cheeks hurt from smiling, the crowd refusing to relax and let the magical night come to an end. Finally, the clapping dies and the red curtains hide us from the hall, but on the stage the celebration is just beginning. The crew is cheering, hugs and kisses following lively chatter and laughter. Even the police lingering at the stage wings are smiling—the evening has passed without any incident.

So far.

I follow along, faces blurring as people congratulate me, tapping me on my shoulders.

Patrons soon find their way to the stage and I'm surrounded as each of them wants to personally compliment me, kiss my ring, and admire my gown.

"Lady Adley!" Maestro Mette's face is the image of pride. "Brava! You've outdone yourself tonight."

"Thank you, Maestro." I bow my head.

"No, no!" He laughs. "I should be the one bowing to you. This season will be our best yet!"

I smile and nod, but inside, my body tightens. I will not be a part of the season, and I can't stay here much longer.

My sister is waiting, and I cannot let her down.

I don't belong here anymore.

Luckily, I know the celebration is going to move outside soon enough. But not before I complete the next phases of the plan.

"If you'll excuse me." I flash another smile at our conductor.

I bump into the person behind me as I turn.

"Leaving so soon?" Nuriel asks, straightening the ends of his sleeves with a harsh tug. His movements are sharp, precise; somehow, they make me nervous, even though I know his appearance is not as coincidental as he's pretending.

"It was a long night," I say.

"Oh, but it has only begun."

The hidden meaning behind his words is written in every line of his face, from the way his jaw clenches to the slight tension in his brow. He knows what's at stake.

I nod, plastering on a polite smile as he starts walking toward the back of the stage, making me follow him. "Did you enjoy the performance?"

Nuriel lifts one eyebrow. "Do you need my approval?"

"That's not what I—" I bite down on my words.

What was I expecting? Praise? Affection? Or . . . a sign that he still cares? All futile. The only reason the vicomte is still talking to me is so we can take down Dahlia's operation. He wants to shut off the illicit market, to retrieve the stolen Talents. He cares for justice, not for me.

Nuriel nods his head toward one of the watching policemen, stopping right under some of the large set pieces still hovering above. Hanging by massive ropes, the tree trunks of the set are like a floating forest. I gaze up and notice that one of the hollow wooden pieces is swaying—it's almost time.

When I look back at Nuriel, he's staring at me. "It does seem that you were being truthful about your love of fashion. That dress is art."

"I . . . Thank you."

"I'm merely stating a fact," he says, but my heart still races as he takes a step closer to me.

His voice drops to a whisper. "Are you ready?"

"I'm not sure . . ."

Nuriel touches my chin, gently angling my head to face him. "No time for self-doubt."

My eyes meet his, and for a second, the world freezes as I sink into his emerald gaze. There is a hint of softness in it, a glimmer of warmth, of passion. Or perhaps I'm imagining it .

This is all a part of the plan, after all.

But does he need to lean in so close? The warmth of his breath makes me shudder as our lips almost touch.

Above, the wooden piece starts shaking.

His body stiffens, his eyes hardening. At once I'm pulled away from the fantasy.

"Don't let it hit me," he whispers, just as a massive crack reverberates overhead.

A scream.

A shove.

A crash.

I heave as we hit the ground, my body pressing against Nuriel's as he crumples under me. The massive tree trunk that swayed above us is now cracked in its middle, lying right where we stood. I pushed us out of the way just in time. A few seconds later and we both would have been hit. But I have no time to catch my breath. I have only moments to act.

"Are you okay?" I ask, running my hands over Nuriel as if to check that nothing is broken. But I don't wait for his response. My fingers finally make their way over his palm, sensing the warmth of his diamond.

"My lord! Lady Adley! Are you hurt?" The calls come from all around.

Nuriel shifts his focus to the crowd, trying to stand.

This is it.

My hand closes around his as I help pull him up; the ring slips off his finger smoothly and lands in my palm. My hand shakes as I hurry to close my fist around it.

It actually worked.

"I'm fine!" Nuriel says. "Just grateful for Lady Adley and her quick reflexes. But somebody here needs to be fired!"

"Everyone, please take a few steps back!" a policeman yells. "We'll get to the bottom of this! "

"Let's all move away while we make sure the rest of the set is secure," Maestro Mette calls, and the muttering crowd follows, shooting glares at the dangling tree trunks above.

But no other pieces are going to fall tonight.

My grip tightens around the diamond as I spot Madame near the stage ropes, a proud smile on her face. She provided the perfect distraction—allowing my "theft" to take place and giving me a perfect reason to retreat from the crowd.

Nuriel is now surrounded by worried ladies, all fussing around "the poor vicomte." He maintains the troubled facade so well I might have fallen for it myself if I didn't know better.

"Lady Adley, you're so brave," a woman to my right says, and others mutter their agreement.

I smile, but I have no time for their praises. Phase two of the plan is still ahead, and Véronique is already by the door.

"If you'll excuse me, ladies," I say. "I need to go refresh myself. I'm a bit shaken."

Understanding nods follow me as I head backstage, making sure to nudge Véronique with my elbow as I pass her—a gentle reminder of our deal. Then I break away from the stream of people, turning the other way toward my dressing room.

My fist is clenched so tightly over the vicomte's ring that its sharp edges prick my skin. I still don't quite understand why Nuriel agreed to risk his Talent for this. It's one thing to want to help, and another to put your most precious possession in the line of fire. Perhaps the fact that he himself was a target made it all personal for him. In truth, the entire incident was his idea. So were half of the fake rumors circulating in the city, and the offer to collaborate with his private contacts in the police.

I can only hope it was enough to fool Dahlia's men.

Leaning against the door of my dressing room, I let out a pent-up breath. I open my hand slowly and stare at the diamond. It's as beautiful as I remembered, its surface polished and glowing under the dim lights. Just from touching it I can sense the magic pulsing, confirming the greatness of the Mathematical Talent it hosts—one of the oldest Talents on the entire continent.

This is not how I imagined myself holding it, but the purity of my intentions this time only makes it sweeter.

Still, the fact that everything has gone so smoothly so far only heightens my nerves. Too many things can still go wrong tonight. The most immediate one depends on Véronique.

Will she keep her word and come to take my dress? Her jealousy is just deep enough that I think she might. She wouldn't want to miss her chance to get rid of me. Would she?

I'm biting the inside of my cheek when the door opens, making me close my hand again around the diamond.

"Let's get this over with." Véronique strides into the room. "Why are you still dressed?"

I sigh in relief. "Couldn't really get the dress off on my own. Can you help me?"

Véronique pouts but reaches for the lacing on my back without a word.

I press my lips together tightly as she works, holding up the bodice with closed fists. "You sang beautifully tonight," I offer, trying to break the tense silence.

"Thank you," she says, pulling at the strings with force.

"Careful of the dress," I say just as the gown loosens, kept up only by my tight grip. I'm careful not to open my hand and expose the ring as she helps me out of the dress, leaving me in just my crinoline and linens.

"Now help me," she orders, already turning her back to me.

But the diamond is still in my fist, and I can't undo her dress with only one hand.

"Well?" she snaps.

Without thinking, I stuff the ring into my mouth before she can turn to look at me.

She huffs as I tug at the red velvet string of her bodice. "Can you hurry? A child moves faster than you." Véronique taps her leg as I work, each second stretching. "I don't understand you," she finally says. "You came here out of nowhere, rose to stardom, got everything anyone could ever ask for—Talent, money, romance, adoration. They call you ‘Lutèce's Nightingale,' for heaven's sake. And now you're just giving it all up? I don't buy it."

She turns to face me just as her own dress releases. But I cannot reply, the ring still sitting on my tongue.

"You have nothing to say?" She lifts her brow. "Typical." Véronique pushes away from me, managing to slip out of her dress on her own. Still standing inside her crinoline, she reaches for my gown and pulls it over her head. The creamy petals rattle softly as she fans the fabric. "Where did you even get this dress from?"

I shake my head ever so slightly, wishing desperately I could speak as I help her with the beaded bodice.

"Fine, don't tell me anything. But I know you're hiding something. The House of Finley closed down long ago."

I almost swallow the ring from shock. A fit of coughing overtakes me as I cover my mouth with my hand, spitting the diamond right into my fist. "What do you know about that?" I manage.

She narrows her eyes. "Only that that fashion house hasn't made anything worthy since my mother graced this stage."

"Your mother?"

"Mirella Battu, the great soprano. Seriously, have you been living under a rock all this time?"

The memory grabs me. The image of Father holding my hand as we cross the river, carrying a beautiful sky-blue dress. "This garment will be worn at the masquerade ball by the great soprano Mirella," Father said. "In a few years, it will be you who sews her dresses."

The words echo in my mind as Véronique adjusts the corseted-bodice. "Your chest is so small to fit in this," she complains, pulling to loosen the laces in the back .

But I can only smile. Because Father's promise came true. The great Mirella might have retired, but a dress I made is now being worn by her daughter. And even though she won't admit it, admiration is written on her face.

"Do you have a cape?" she asks.

"Umm . . ."

"A cape!" She flips her hair in annoyance. "So I can cover my head when I step outside. You do want them to think I'm you, right?"

"Yes. Of course!" I rush to get my cape from its place on the armchair. "Here you go."

Véronique puts it on, pulling the hood over her head. "I ought to call those policemen downstairs to interrogate you with how sketchy you're acting."

"Why don't you?"

She raises a single perfect eyebrow. "And risk my chance of getting rid of you? Trust me, if my mother could have got rid of your cousin years ago, she'd have done it. The Adleys and Battus have been rehashing the same old pattern for too many years. It's time for the better name to win. I must say, though, achieving it this way isn't as fulfilling as I thought it would be. But at least I don't have to dirty my hands anymore."

The reference to the coachman sends a chill down my spine. But what happened to him wasn't her fault. It was mine. Véronique had no idea what she was getting involved in. All she wanted was to reclaim her rightful place at the opera—a place that her mother raised her to assume. She deserves it more than I do.

"I'd say I'll miss you, but that would be a lie," Véronique says, turning away from me toward the door.

"Thank you," I call after her.

She pauses for just a second before striding out of the room.

I have no time to waste, but somehow all I can do is stare at the closed door, the diamond still hidden in my palm. The minutes tick by. Véronique must already be outside. Will she and José pull it off and get into a carriage without her being recognized? Will the street be empty when I sneak out?

Forcing my legs to move, I turn my back to the door. I'm still in my undergarments, and Véronique's costume is on the floor. Picking it up, I carefully place it on the pink couch before swiftly stepping out of my crinoline. I have already selected my escape dress beforehand, the dark navy gown and petticoat waiting for me on the rack. Even though it's not the most inconspicuous of choices the busk at the front of the bodice was the deciding factor—allowing me to put it on with ease.

Soon I'm dressed, wearing my own hooded cloak and clutching my purse as I hurry down the corridor toward the exit. I promised myself this would be the last time Father's book would be away from its rightful place at home. After everything I've gone through with its weight in my hands, facing tonight without it felt wrong. I draw strength from its presence—a reminder of what I'm fighting for.

There are barely any people around, but I keep my head low as I skip down the stairs two at a time. The door stands open, revealing an empty street and cool night air.

It worked!

It really worked.

Except now the riskiest phase of the plan still lies ahead.

I only manage to place one foot on the pavement before a shadow looms over me.

"What took you so long? Lady Sibille is tired of waiting."