The Ardoon King Page 43
Chapter 41: Duos
“This is beautiful,” said Celeste, staring in awe at the violin Lilian had gently handed her.
“It should be,” Lilian said. “It is very nearly the rarest violin in the world, save mine.”
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll break it?”
Lilian gave the girl a sour smile. “Once, I would have been. Such things don’t matter to me anymore.” She nodded at the sheet on the music stand. “Do you know this one?”
Celeste scanned the notes. “Mmm-hmm.”
“Is that the same as ‘yes?’”
“Yes. Everyone knows this. It’s Bach’s Concerto for Two Violins. I played it with a girl from Japan once. She was nice.”
“Splendid,” said Lilian, her own violin still cradled in her arms. “Show me.”
Celeste shrugged, put her instrument to her shoulder, and ran the bow experimentally across the strings. “Wow,” she said, unable to contain her smile. “Nice.”
“Go ahead, then,” said Lilian, watching her.
The girl began.
After thirty seconds, Lilian said, “Stop!”
“What?”
The queen looked at the girl. “Were you trained?”
“No.”
“Truly?”
“What does that mean?”
Lilian sighed. “Really?”
“Really. We couldn’t afford it.”
Lilian gave the girl a doubtful look, but nodded. “Very well,” she said, lifting her own violin. “Shall we?”
The two played.
Lilian was stupefied. She was one of the greatest violinists the Nisirtu had ever produced. She had played for kings and queens as a girl, before her father was usurped. She was a prodigy. Yet the little slave child with the borrowed violin had matched her note for note before effortlessly shooting past her. The queen was rarely surprised by anything. This was more than surprise. It was awe.
Celeste alone was a frumpy, emaciated child with scared eyes. With a violin, she was transformed into a different person else entirely. She was confident and powerful and bewitching. She ruled her universe completely. She was unassailable.
When at last the two lowered their bows, Celeste said, “Wow, you’re good.”
Lilian was embarrassed. The girl was assessing her performance, and she had every right to. The queen swallowed her pride and with great force of will and said, “Thank you.”
“I wish we had a cello. Does anyone else here play anything?”
Lilian found herself oddly flattered to be included as a member of ‘we.’ She said, “There are a few others.”
“Can you ask them to play with us?”
“I wish that were possible,” said the queen.
“They don’t want to?”
“A good question,” Lilian said. “I don’t know.”
Celeste made a funny face. “Just ask them. I bet they will. Please?” She brought the violin to her cheek and closed her eyes. She held the instrument as if it were a loved one who had just returned from a long voyage. She seemed utterly serene. “I miss playing.” Suddenly there were tears on her cheeks. She slowly moved the violin away, sniffling. “I’m sorry,” she croaked. “I’m getting it wet. I know its valuable.”
Lilian moved to the girl and carefully took the instrument. “Not really,” she said, placing it on a nearby cushion. “Without violinists, it is worth nothing at all.”
She began to wipe the tears off the instrument with a cloth, hesitated. No, she decided. She wouldn’t remove them. If the violin wanted them so damn much, it could have them.
She reached out and hesitantly brushed a loose hair from Celeste’s forehead. “Please dear, don’t cry. The music is not going anywhere, is it? You just lost it for a little while. It shan’t leave you again.”
The girl wiped at her eyes with an arm and nodded. “Sorry.”
“Not at all. Look,” she said, pointing at a nearby settee and table. “We have tea and lemon cake. Do you like cake? Let’s sit for a while.”
They did.
As Lilian watched the girl eat her third piece of cake, she said, “Celeste, if you like, I can have Persy introduce you to other musicians here. The quality ones, that is. Not that we have very many.”
“What does Persy play?”
“Games, mostly,” Lilian chuckled. Then, “Nothing, dear. She’s not a musician.”
“Then why don’t you introduce me to the others?”
“Because I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not allowed to talk to anyone other than Persy.”
“I thought you were a queen. You can do whatever you want.”
Lilian sighed. “Not at the moment, I’m afraid.” She shrugged and managed a weak smile. “Politics, Celeste. Even queens must deal with politics.”
Celeste began her fourth piece of cake. “You’re talking to me, though.”
“Well, you’re…special.”
“Oh,” replied the girl, mercifully willing to accept the lame explanation. “This is really good,” she said, her mouth half full. “I love cake.” She swallowed. Her eyes fluttered, as if she’d just glanced heaven.
“I can see that,” said Lilian, bemused.
“We got really hungry before. I thought we were going to starve. Grandpa always found food, though. He’s good at finding things.”
“He is,” agreed Lilian. “He found us.”
Celeste nodded and gave Lilian a guilty look. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For thinking you were a bad person.”
Lilian took a sip of her tea, averting the girl’s gaze. “Who is to say what is ‘bad’? Perhaps you’re right.”
“No, you’re not bad. You’re just rude sometimes.”
Lilian shot the girl a look. “Look who’s talking.”
The girl shrugged apologetically before saying, “If you want, I can come here again. We can play something else. Since you’re alone for a little while. I don’t really have any friends here.”
Nor do I, mused Lilian. “That’s very kind of you Celeste.” She cleared her throat. “I’m very busy, of course. I work through Persy at the moment but I have many responsibilities. I am still a queen, after all.” It was a pathetic lie and she burned with shame for being reduced to telling it to a child.
“Oh,” said the girl, her disappointment evident.
“Yes,” said Lilian, a bit too hurriedly, “but I am sure I could make time for you. How about lunch tomorrow?”
“That’s good,” said Celeste.
Lilian nodded. “Good,” she said as stoically as possible. If tomorrow was to be her last day alive, she would not spend it alone. She clasped the girl’s hands in hers and nodded again. “Good.”
Part 4 –
He will stand among his brothers,
the gods,
and hear the secret,
and he will be given the divine powers of the gods,
like his brothers.
- The Epic of Anzu, First Millennium BC