Page 146 of The South Wind
“Because we’re not.”
Head bent, she pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers. “Well, when you figure out where we are, come find me.” And she stomped off.
Notus watched her vanish down a side street. That was fine. At the very least, it allowed him to read the map in peace. Which was exactly what he did.
The luthier should be somewhere nearby—maybe. His shop was located at the end of a road just east of the main square. Unfortunately, multiple roads cut through the town, whereas the map only designated one. His only hope was to wander until he stumbled upon it by happenstance.
Notus selected a street at random and began to walk. Upon reaching a dead end, he retraced his steps, chose another chaotic road, which eventually led to a small, open-aired stall marked by a wooden sign. It boasted no wares but for a single bow resting lengthwise atop the table.
The luthier hunched forward in his chair, slowly carving into a piece of wood. From the curved ridges, it appeared to be the scroll of a violin. The man himself possessed frazzled, storm-cloud colored hair. The channels of a thousand smiles creased his bronze skin.
What were the odds of multiple luthiers in a town so small? “Are you Hassan Odeh?” Notus asked.
The man set down his carving. “I am.”
Notus passed over a message bearing the king’s seal. He had carried it all these months, hidden in the front of his robes. The luthier would be expecting him—the message was to simply confirm his identity.
Wordlessly, the gray-haired man drew out a leather case from behind the stall and placed it on the table. “The violin hails from the realm of Marles,” he said. “I acquired it from a traveling salesman last year. It possesses a fine sound, bright and full, perfect for the solo performer.” He hesitated, then said, “Any luthier would be honored to have their instrument played by Sarai Al-Khatib.”
“Notus?”
He turned. Sarai was now wending toward him through the crowd. She appeared uncertain, gaze leaping between Notus and the luthier in silent inquiry. Upon catching sight of the case, she froze. “What is this?”
It had taken months of correspondence. Notus had first approached Amir prior to their departure from Ishmah six months before. He wished to gift Sarai music, as she had gifted him her heart. An instrument she could carry on their travels. A means to heal this wound she now bore.
Sarai had known nothing. A feat, to get anything past her. But Notus had been so, so careful, all to witness this moment, of the luthier opening the case to reveal the contents inside. Nestled in soft velvet there sat a full-size violin.
His wife lifted a hand to her throat, and tears streamed down her face. Notus’ lungs ached, for he remembered, in the way of painful things, their departure from Ishmah. As they’d packed their bags, Sarai had removed her case from the back of the wardrobe, knelt with it on her bedroom floor. There, she’d touched her violin, and wept. As steadfast as she was in her decision to save his life, it hurt her, to live without music.
“I know it’s not the same as your violin back home,” he said, suddenly fearful of having overstepped. “But this is the best money can buy.”
Mutely, she brushed the strings. Pulled the lowest one, a hard pluck.
Fifteen months had passed since Sarai had lost her gift of music. He recognized the hole in her heart, even if she herself denied it. Maybe she no longer possessed the aptitude of a prodigy, but there was today, this fresh, radiant morning. She could begin anew.
“You don’t have to accept it,” he said, “but Amir and I covered the cost. It’s yours, if you want it.”
Again, she plucked the strings, lowest to highest. Her hand trembled. “It’s in tune.” Sarai glanced at the luthier. “Do you have a shoulder rest? Rosin?”
As the man gathered the requested materials, Sarai threw herself into her husband’s arms. “I love you,” she choked out, teary-eyed. “That you went through all this trouble… you didn’t have to do this for me.”
On the contrary, he absolutely did. “I will do everything in my power to bring you happiness,” he murmured into her hair. “This I promise you, for all the days of our lives.”
Sarai trembled with a soft cry of pain. “Thank you,” she whispered, “for sharing this life with me. I just… love you.”
He pressed a kiss against her ear. It was no hardship. Indeed, loving Sarai was the easiest thing he’d ever done. “I love you, too.”
By the time they pulled apart, a small crowd had gathered. Even now, he caught a few excited whispers, their eagerness to hear her perform sparking the dry air like static. Sarai Al-Khatib, Princess of Ammara. The realm had known her. Theworldhad known her. Of course people would remember.
After sliding the shoulder rest onto the body of the violin, Sarai tucked the instrument beneath her chin, curved her fingers around the frog of the freshly rosined bow. Yet she hesitated. “It feels… strange.” She searched his gaze, her indecision plain. “What if I sound terrible?”
How could anything born of the heart be terrible? “You won’t.” Notus smiled at his wife in reassurance, his heart near bursting. “Play,” he urged.
Sarai Al-Khatib placed the bow upon the strings, and played.
