Chapter Four Moon Serenade

CHAPTER FOUR

Moon Serenade

THE WOMAN SITS by a white grand piano in the middle of the room. She wears an elegant black dress with a turndown lacy collar. Her dark auburn hair is gathered up into a fluffy bouffant, accentuating her strong jaw. She doesn't stand to greet me, or bow her head; instead, she scans me shamelessly with her beetle-like eyes.

"A bit skinny, but at least your posture isn't horrendous," she says. "Acquire plenty of salmon for her, and make sure it's fresh. She should eat vegetables and fruits. And I want her weight to be tracked weekly."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I was talking to your maid." She dismisses me with a wave of her hand. "Judging from the timbre of your speaking voice and that beautiful swan neck, you must be a dramatic coloratura. Am I correct?"

"A what?"

"A high soprano. A voice perfect for agile runs and gorgeous high notes, and yet suited for a more dramatic repertoire due to a full middle range."

I have never heard any of that terminology, and I have certainly never sung high notes or runs. What does running have to do with music anyway?

"What repertoire do you know?"

"I'm sorry . . . I don't. "

She blinks before letting out a huff. "Oh, don't make me laugh. Old Lady Adley would never have bestowed her Talent on a girl with no musical training."

I press my lips tightly, crossing my arms. This is exactly what I feared. If I can't convince this woman that I'm Adley's heir, how can I hope to fool the entire city? Dahlia should have prepared me more, given me guidance. Instead, I've barely been a lady for a couple of hours and I'm already flailing. My legs start shaking under my long skirts.

Madame stands up as the silence lingers. "You can't be serious."

"I'm sure the lady will pick everything up quickly, Madame," Pauline interjects, immediately dropping her gaze to the floor. She's so quiet I'd almost forgotten she was in the room.

"Well . . ." The woman puts on a stretched smile. "We have more work ahead of us than I thought. Luckily, your maid is right. Your Talent is powerful, and under my guidance you should be able to access it fully within the week. We need to make sure you are prepared for your audition."

My throat tightens. Air has stopped reaching my lungs. "My audition?"

"For the opera house, of course. And if you have hopes of taking over your cousin's role as the leading soprano you'd better be impressive. They are waiting for the scheduling confirmation." Stepping away from the piano, she takes a crystal decanter from an engraved cabinet to her left and sniffs it before pouring herself a glass of the deep amber liquid. "My name is Lady Hélène Corbin, but you can simply call me Madame. I will be your ma?tresse de chant—we will work together on your musicality, diction, style, and performance."

"Pleasure to meet you," I manage as she takes a sip, then lets out a loud sigh.

"I don't work with an audience." She shoots a glare at Pauline, who jumps at once, giving me a tiny, encouraging smile before shuffling out of the room .

Madame empties the rest of her drink in one gulp. "Stand over here." She points to the middle of the room, right next to the piano.

I follow her instructions, fighting my still trembling legs, as she sits at the piano, her hands hovering over the ivory keys.

"What do you know about your Talent?" she asks.

Nothing . The answer sits on the edge of my tongue, but I cannot utter it. I'm supposed to be Lady Adley's cousin, a member of her family. I'm supposed to know everything about my Talent.

I stare at the ruby on my finger, gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the window. Dahlia told me Adley used to be nothing but a street rat, yet with her gift she became a lady, a member of high society. Her Talent, like all the Talents of the aristocracy, does not involve menial labor—those all came later, when tradesmen were finally allowed to acquire gems. No, her Singing Talent is one of art, of beauty. Which means this ruby has to be one of the oldest Talents in all of Lutèce.

"It has been in my family for many generations," I lie. "I'm incredibly honored to keep up its legacy."

"I didn't ask for the obvious answer." Madame rolls her eyes. "I meant of singing . What do you know about singing?"

"Not much, I'm afraid," I admit.

"Your Talent was honed for the first time over three hundred years ago by the legendary soprano Marguerite Duval—her natural singing was so rare that the Crown gifted her with the ruby. She imbued it with her gift, tying it to her with her blood so it would forever be preserved, even after her lifetime. With each generation that followed, that gift only became more profound, the gem absorbing, growing, learning, adapting. All that knowledge runs in your blood now."

I had never heard of that soprano, but I nod along as though the history is all too familiar to me.

"Singing does not only involve your voice," Madame continues. "Your entire body must support the sound and make sure it carries over the orchestra. Your Talent has been trained to control and release every muscle, to give the exact amount of pressure and air needed to produce the perfect sound. But you must not interrupt it. Take this." Madame gestures toward a book resting on the piano. "Page thirty-nine."

"Interrupt it?" I ask as I flip open the heavy score, resting it on a music stand engraved with images of chirping birds.

"The magic runs through your blood like a river, with no beginning or end. When you let it flow, you can feel its pulse with every pump of your heart. But if you let your mind get in the way, you put a dam in that stream. You need to learn to give up control." She eyes me sharply before repeating, "Page thirty-nine."

I stare at the top of the page, reading the title: Sérénade au Clair de Lune by Annette Devon. Below it, neat symmetrical lines filled with musical notations narrate what must be a dream-like melody. But to my eyes, they are nothing more than black markings on a white page.

"I can't read this," I mumble.

"Unfortunate indeed. Luckily, your Talent holds the skill."

I twist the ring around my finger, but the ruby's energy is quiet. "What should I do?"

Madame smiles, and for once the expression is not unkind. "Look at the notes, but don't attempt to analyze them. Start at the top left corner and follow the line slowly, letting the shapes occupy your mind."

With a deep breath, I focus on the black dots and swirling lines. The first bar is short: only a few notes, marked together under a bow. I close my eyes, imagining the round shape of the first note—an elliptical mark floating in the middle of the five lines. At once my gem is humming, or, more accurately, I'm humming. The wave of energy from the ring resonates through my body, and I know that the pitch is perfect, even before Madame plays the note on the keyboard.

"You see, it's already inside you," she says. "Now open your eyes, look at the notes, and let them guide you."

She glides her hand over the keyboard and a note ripples through the room, like a raindrop on a clear lake. It is pure and bright, filled with possibilities. I'm still basking in its beauty when another one follows—sharper, demanding. Madame's hands travel over the keys, weaving notes together into an enchanting melody. I breathe in the music and my body sways with the rhythm, wanting to merge with it.

And before I can comprehend it, I'm singing.

The depth of my voice is captivating, round and soft, yet with a brilliant brightness. But more than the sound, the physical sensation is exhilarating—my blood is warm, the ring on my finger pulsing with each lovely note. The music is my heartbeat, my purpose. And for the first time in my life, I'm not lost.

Perhaps I can do this after all. Perhaps . . . this is my true calling.

I'm floating as my eyes follow the notes, my mind translating them instantly, combining them with the words without any effort.

Tonight, the hawk halts its hunt, while the snake slumbers on lilies' down.

Tonight, the moon shimmers and mercy drops to earth in pale celestial light.

Cradle his hand, dear moon, place it tenderly in my own.

Hold us until dawn's soft light, and let him wake with me in his heart.

My voice soars high, filling the air with a soft timbre. I'm the moonbeam dancing across the water, my song the whispers of lovers.

As I turn the page, the tempo picks up in a whirlwind of bewitching harmonies. The notes get closer together, crowding the page. There are too many. The music is moving too quickly. Panic clutches my throat, the fear of shattering the dream-like melody penetrating my mind. My voice falters—I no longer float under ebony skies. The pitch drops, and the notes on the page are again nothing more than random marks.

The trance is ruined .

Madame's eyes flash as she bangs her hands on the keyboard. The cluster of notes makes me jump.

"What happened?" Her voice is sharp.

"I'm sorry . . . We were going so fast, and the page . . . It all looked like a messy cloud of notes."

Madame shakes her head. "The fast notes are called coloratura, and they are nothing to fear, your Talent is trained for them. In fact, Lady Adley was famous for her coloratura, and so too will you be. If you trust your Talent."

Trust my Talent . . . I have a Talent now. A trained skill I can count on. I have nothing to fear. "Yes, Madame," I say. "It won't happen again."

"I hope not!"

I press my lips together. "Madame? If I may ask? That song felt so familiar, yet I'm certain I never heard it before. How—"

"It was one of Lady Adley's best arias. Your Talent has experienced it many times before. The stone remembers. This music is in your blood now." Madame cocks her head to the side. "It's good to see that beautiful ruby again. A Talent like this should be celebrated."

"All Talents should be," I say.

She raises her brow, staring at my ring for a moment. "Wasn't it a necklace?"

"The ring was a gift from my father."

"Oh?"

"He died before he could pass his Talent to me. I believe that's why my cousin bestowed her gift on me." I polish the lie with the truth.

"Well, Lady Adley had a wonderful ear, and she wasn't wrong in her faith in you. With her gift, your voice will be like a slice of heaven." Madame's eyes drift back to her own music score. "Start from the beginning, and don't let anything hold you back this time."

By the time Madame leaves, the skies are already darkening.

My stomach growls, but I'm too tired to even think about eating. The high of singing began to wane somewhere into the fourth hour. When I was allowed to rest my voice, Madame searched for the perfect audition piece. She contemplated different arias, while I absorbed the music, training myself to let my Talent take over, to hear the notes in my head without uttering a sound.

"I presume you had a good first day. Madame is rarely so elated when she leaves," Pauline says as we walk down the corridor.

"Yes, thank you. I'm just exhausted. I never knew singing was so physically taxing."

"We have prepared your dinner: fresh salmon, as Madame instructed. But perhaps you'd prefer taking it in your room?"

"That would be lovely."

"Can you find your way back from here?"

"It's just down and to the left?"

"Yes, my lady. I'll bring it to you immediately." She bows her head, then hurries down the steps to the first floor.

Candles flicker along the walls as I make my way to my room. The house is quiet, the garden outside the window draped in starlight. If only Anaella could see me now. Walking these great halls, draped in finery, a Talent adorning my hand. I can hardly believe it myself; it's a sculpted dream I hope never to awaken from.

But a dull ache settles in my chest as I sneak into the large washing room. The absence of my sister by my side carves a hole in the perfect image of my new home. My hand trembles as I reach for the bottom drawer and dig under the fresh towels.

The touch of worn leather calms my nerves. I pull Father's book out of its hiding place and head back to my bedchambers. It was silly of me to take it. Unlike Anaella, I haven't dared to browse these pages since Father died. Every design Mother drew, every note Father left, they are all physical proof of what I've lost .

Yet now the urge to look through them and read every word is overwhelming. What would Father say if he could see me now? Would he be proud of me? Or disappointed by my choices? I trace the cracks in the leather binding with the tip of my finger.

I've been failing as head of the family. Anaella's health is proof of that.

I imagine her flushed, fever-stricken face, a rough blanket wrapped around her frail body as she lies on a hard mattress. A lone tear trickles down my cheek as I sink into the canopy-covered bed, the impossible soft-ness of the mattress mocking me.

I want to visit my sister this evening, but there's no way I can leave the house, not without raising suspicion. I'll have to settle for tomorrow. Nurse Dupont will be taking good care of her. At least that thought eases my guilt.

With tired arms, I take the pins from my hair. Soft curls fall on my shoulders, leaving my scalp aching. The moonlight shines through the window, draping shadows across the lush carpet. For a second, one of them moves sharply. I freeze.

One blink and the shadow is gone. But whatever cast it must still be outside.

Legs trembling, I push myself out of the bed, holding Father's book close to my chest as I inch toward the window. Could anyone climb this high to reach my balcony? The window is slightly open, allowing in a fresh breeze, but the small balcony is empty. Nothing but white marble and geraniums under starry skies.

I force myself to swallow as I quickly stuff the book into one of the drawers of a nearby oak desk. I haven't been acting carefully enough. Allowing myself to mope and cry over a life that's already been lost isn't going to help.

But my body still tingles with unease. With another glance toward the garden, I lean closer to the cold glass window when the door swings open behind me and I startle with a cry .

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to scare you, my lady." Pauline rushes to rest the silver tray with a domed plate on a side table. "Forgive me. I should have knocked."

"Don't worry about it," I say, forcing my breathing to slow.

For a second, I'm thankful for the mysterious shadow. Without it, Pauline would have probably found me with Father's book in my lap. Lying my way out of that is not a task I'm ready to take on.

"You are too kind, my lady." Pauline lowers her head, busying herself with setting the cutlery. "I hope the meal is to your liking."

"I'm sure it will be." After a week of eating stale bread and preserved meat, any fresh food would be divine, not to mention one that comes on a silver plate. "I noticed there are no locks on my windows."

"Yes, the former Lady Adley instructed against them."

"I see . . ." I bite my lip. The lack of security does not match the image of the great Adley I had built in my head. Why would a famous diva leave herself exposed? "Would it be possible to have locks installed?"

She nods. "Certainly. I'll make sure Mr. Vernier, the butler, takes care of it in the morning."

"Thank you," I say. Whatever the reason might be, this house now belongs to me, and I need to start accepting my new role. My new life.

I am the new diva.

"Your food is getting cold," Pauline says.

I force a smile, taking one last look through the window. Down in the garden, by the far line of trees, I swear a dark shadow moves.