Lena Corazon

Flights of Fancy

Month: February 2011

Tales from the Archive: “The Scepter and the Sword”

Title: “The Scepter and the Sword”

Rating: T

Word Count: ~3100

Background notes: I wrote “Scepter and the Sword” for a class assignment my senior year of high school.  We were asked to write a myth based on Joseph Campbell’s monomyth, which he discusses in his book, The Hero with a Thousand Faces. In addition to the story, I wrote a poetic introduction as a sort of added bonus. This was the result, and six years later, I’m still pretty proud of it.

-poetic introduction-

Behemoth
Beast of ambiguity
Monster of negativity
who attempted to destroy
my soul
Chipped away
again and again
at my resolve, my strength, my dreams
Leeched off of my fears and anxieties
Turned me inside out,
Threw me to the vultures —
a ravaged corpse.

But a spark of resilient fire remained
a smoldering ember, struggling to resist
Broke through the lies,
awakening the Seraph within me
As a phoenix rises
from the ashes

Seraph strives to reclaim her throne from the usurper
gathers her will within herself
searching for a means to defeat the creature
Thunder booms, lightening crackles
as the Seraph regains her strength
She calls upon winds and rains,
galaxies and supernovas
to renew her strength
refresh her memories of her goals and dreams
Brandishing her blazing scepter of stars,
she ruthlessly attacks the behemoth
Strikes him once, twice,
again and again
to dispel the monster demon
from her realm
annihilate him so he may
never return
Passionately, she strikes home
vanquishing her foe with a reborn strength

Triumphantly,
the Seraph stands at once in her ultimate glory
stars of crystal ice adorn her midnight tresses
Bathed in a soft violet light, emanating from within
she clothes herself with the robes of her scattered dreams and wishes,
Repairs them with love and tender care.
She restores her realm and resumes her throne
with the knowledge that she will never again flounder in turbulent waters
With her hand raised high to the heavens
She invokes the name of her Creator
So that all will know that she finally is
ME

-the myth-


The smell of death hung in the air, suffocating and oppressive. Another volley was launched into the stone parapets; with its strong impact, the floors shook violently, threatening cracks forming in the walls and ceilings of the once-regal chambers. The siege had already lasted for two months, much longer than anyone anticipated. The rebel forces, once believed to be nothing more than a band of miscreants, were displaying a finesse and strength that hinted that there might be more than met the eye to the enemy. Some evil had lent its dark energy to the rebels, power too strong for the Seraph’s people to contain. Mother of the Realm, the All-Seeing Eye, High Sorceress, the Seraph – by all these names her people called her. The ruler of the Crystal Realm, she had continued the reign of peace that had existed since the days of the First Seraph, the beloved of the god Eilon, her ascendant and ancestor, over a thousand years before. With her illness, one that began with the Realm’s invasion and worsened with the subsequent death of her husband, her consort and regent, it was clear that all would be lost to the invaders. She lay on the cushioned divan, her long, lean frame frail and weak from the power she had expended trying in vain to rid her land of the encroaching enemy. In her final hours, she had sent all but her only daughter away that she might impart the last of her wisdom, memories, and love to her sole heir.

“Vanora.” Her mother’s voice, weak but still commanding, called her away from the window and back to her side. “How goes the battle?”

Vanora turned towards her mother, her heart wrenching with sorrow as she took in the Seraph’s haggard, emaciated appearance. Her dark skin was stretched across her face, thin as parchment, streaked with paper-thin lines of worry and sorrow, covered with dust and tears. Once the most beautiful of the Realm, it was painful to see her beloved mother reduced to such a state. “Not well,” the girl replied grimly. “The rebels continue to advance with their weaponry.”

“Remain with me, Vanora. We haven’t much time,” she said, urgency in her voice. She gazed up into her daughter’s deep violet eyes, the mark of the Seraph, and gave a gentle smile. “My daughter… I have protected you for as long as I can. One day soon, you will be grown. You will have to find your own way.”

The day that her mother spoke of seemed far, far in the future. “I’ve not yet lived my thirteenth winter, Mother,” the girl protested.

“So tall, so strong, so beautiful,” the Seraph continued as though she had not heard her daughter’s protestations. “You are but a child now, but one day you will reach womanhood. Then, it will be for you to avenge the death of those who loved you.”

The true meaning of her mother’s words slowly sunk in. “Mother, please,” Vanora cried out, tears streaming down her face. “Where will I go? How will I live without you to guide me?”

“Travel to the North, into the mountains of Chardaell; Everett of Verseillon is a fair man and will shelter you.” It seemed as though each word and each breath took another ounce of her strength and energy; regardless, she continued on. “Vanek will accompany you, to serve as guide and sage, and I give you Shadowstar, the sacred sword bequeathed to the first Seraph by the gods, to protect you from harm.” At her words, a brightly burning sword appeared at Vanora’s side. “Do not weep,” she said, managing a smile as she brushed the tears from her daughter’s cheek. “I will see you again, my daughter, on the day when the dead are raised to life and the gods walk among us once more. Remember – my spirit will always be with you.” With those words, the old queen released her final breath, shuddered, and fell back, her face peaceful as if bathed in an eternal rest.

Angry tears rolled down Vanora’s face as she shook with the grief of one who has lost her entire world – first her father, a fortnight before, and now her mother. How would she survive? Her sorrow and agony was interrupted by another volley launched at the faltering battlements.

“Princess,” Vanek appeared at her side suddenly and silently, the cowl of his cloak pulled over his head. An eminent scholar, sorcerer, and warrior, he was like an older brother to Vanora. He had been found by the Seraph when he was no more than a tiny scrap of a child, the victim of a tragic fire that killed his entire family and left him maimed, with only one hand to call his own. In the years that passed, he became renowned as a fearsome fighter, as deadly with his one hand and hooked, wickedly curved claw; despite his youth, he possessed wisdom beyond his years, allowing him to study the sacred books with the Wise Men of the Cove, men of magic and books far surpassing him by scores of years. He was like a son to the Seraph and her husband, and somewhere within, Vanora knew that his grief must have been as strong as her own.

“We must flee at once – the enemy will break through the fortification before the rising of the moon, and then all will be lost.” His voice echoed through the stone chamber, but Vanora, caught deep in the net of mourning, paid him no heed. She continued to kneel by her mother’s side, anguished sobs racking her slight frame. “Do you understand?” he demanded, pulling her up from the floor and thrusting the sword into her hands. “Escape into the wilderness is the only way your parents’ deaths will be avenged!” As if to underscore his words, an explosion ripped through the castle, filling the chamber with smoke and dust, and plunging Vanora’s world into the darkness.

“My Lady? My Lady?” Vanora woke with a start to the insistent tugging of Madeleine, her maid. The young girl averted her eyes as soon as she was met with Vanora’s violet gaze, one of such unique intensity that it unnerved her. “My Lady, the Earl of Trellham has bid me to remind you that you were to ride together.”

“We were not to ride until after luncheon,” Vanora said in confusion, rising to rest against the large, overstuffed pillows on the heavily cushioned bed.

“‘Tis nearly two hours after luncheon,” Madeleine informed her meekly, gesturing out the large window where the sun hung high in the sky. “His Majesty gave word that you were not to be disturbed till this late hour; he knows your sleep has been troubled of late.”

Vanora’s face clouded at the mention of her nightmares. “It’s a wonder that the entire Court doesn’t know!” she snapped peevishly. “Tell Trellham I’ll be down momentarily.”

With the room emptied, Vanora sagged against the pillows and covered her eyes with one hand. Dreams of her mother’s death and her exile from the Crystal Realm – a full ten years before – had been assaulting her like never before.

A native of the Summer Country, the southern tip of the continent where the Crystal Realm was located, Vanora bore the almond-shaped, slanted eyes; bronzed skin; long black hair; and gently rounded body that were typical of Southlanders, but a world apart from the blond, freckled, fair-skinned complexion of the Northern realms. Rather than feel isolated from her different appearance, she reveled in them and used them to her advantage. The beloved “Exotic Blossom” of Verseillon’s court, she enjoyed the attention and affection of the young gentlemen who visited Court; her lively, amiable disposition endeared her to the young women. It was a peaceful, blissful existence, free of the pain that had tormented her long after her exile. She was happy, she told herself firmly in attempt to quell the voices that had been nagging at her over the past weeks. She enjoyed her life, and had no wish for it to change in any way. Unbidden, an image of her mother’s face rose before her, silent, benevolent, radiant with love and trust. Shaking her head to clear her mind of the vision, she rolled out of bed, nibbled at the breakfast Madeleine had left for her, and dressed herself in her riding habit. She was on her way to the stables when she was stopped.

“Going riding, are you, my Lady?” The voice, emanating from the shadows, startled Vanora; she relaxed when a tall, cloaked figure with a long serpent draped over one shoulder emerged, a mocking smile on his face as he looked down on her. It was Vanek, the scholar and sorcerer who had borne her from the Realm to safety. He had been a pillar of strength and wisdom in her life, the provider of guidance and direction. Though hardly more than eight-and-twenty, he cut an imposing figure, frightening many of the Court’s youth from his corridors with the power that emanated from his mere presence. For ten years, he had been instructing her in the old ways, the magic and power that were her birthright. With her focus diverted by matters of the heart, however, the two had grown increasingly distant.

“Vanek, you almost scared the life out of me!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing hiding in the dark?”

“Another meeting with the foppish Earl of Trellham?” he asked, ignoring her question. “You shouldn’t lead him on, Vanora; it’s not fair to toy with his emotions.”

She bristled at his words. “He’s not foppish and I happen to like him better than the others,” she shot back, knowing quite well that she sounded like a young girl rather than a woman of two-and-twenty.

“And what is it about your young beloved that endears him so to you?”

“He plays the lute rather well,” she said in an off-hand fashion. “Now, if I may take my leave, my ‘young beloved’ and I are to go riding – ”

“Vanora, wait,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I worry for you. It’s been weeks since you’ve come for your lessons – ”

“I’ve been busy,” she faltered.

“And the King tells me you’ve been sleeping ill of late. Something about dreams…?” He trailed off and glanced at her expectantly.

“They’re nothing,” she dismissed.

“They’re disturbing you,” he countered. Stubbornly, she glanced down, refusing to answer or to meet his gaze. Undaunted, he continued. “Thoughts of your task are arising,” he stated calmly, noting the shock on her face. “You are restless, disturbed. To the rest of the world, you bask in the attention of your admirers; within, you are searching and eager to wander. You want more than they have to offer.” He leaned closer towards her. “Take up the task, Vanora. Avenge your parents.”

“The task is not mine,” she said brusquely, breaking away from him. “I am no warrior.”

“It is your destiny to wield the Scepter and the Sword,” he continued implacably. “I have trained you to the best of my ability; you have long been ready.” Sensing her hesitation, he added, “You are the Seraph, the rightful ruler; you must take up the crown in your mother’s stead.”

“That right was taken from me ten years ago,” she snapped, undisguised bitterness in her voice. Before he could continue, a young man came hurrying down the corridor.

“Vanora, where have you been? I’ve searched the entire castle for you!”

She faced the Earl, a forced smile on her face. At the moment, he was the last person she wanted to see. “I’m sorry, my Lord. I was… detained.” She curtsied to Vanek. “If I may take my leave…?” He assented with a nod of his head, and the two swept from the corridor together, laughing and chatting amiably as they left. With a tired sigh, Vanek returned to his studies.

The day’s ride was uninteresting and uneventful, save for the Earl’s insipid, banal recitation of his mediocre poetry. Vanora retired to her chambers discontented, the feeling of emptiness growing within her as she thought back to her conversation with Vanek. She had treated her mentor poorly, disregarding his advice and counsel as she grew in what she had thought was wisdom, but now recognized to be the folly of womanhood. If she could only find the answer…

Suddenly, an idea occurred to her. Quickly, she pulled back the paneling of one wall to reveal a secret hiding place. Pulling a long, skinny wooden box from the hollow place, she sat back on the floor and stared at it in silent contemplation. With a deep breath, she opened the dusty cover, revealing her most prized possession within: Shadowstar, her mother’s final gift. With slight trepidation, she took the sword in one hand; it responded immediately to her touch, flaring to life with a fiery brilliance that made her shield her eyes for a moment. She shut the box’s lid resolutely, the answer firmly planted in her mind. She knew what she must do.

Vanora and Vanek left the castle under the cover of night. She had left a note for the king, her protector, making reference to her quest and asking him not to worry or distress for her safety. The two traveled for a month through wind and rain, sleet and snow, emerging finally in the Summer Country, the realm that had been Vanora’s birthplace. But the realm, it soon became clear, had been sorely changed. No longer the prosperous, peaceful country of her youth, it had been transformed into a barren wasteland of sadness and evil. It was with a heavy heart that the Princess and her Mentor rode forth, witnessing the harsh toil of the starving, ragged people in the fallow fields, cruel taskmasters prodding and beating them to continue on their fruitless paths.
“We have to stop this,” she murmured to Vanek, her face bleak as she cast her gaze upon the scene. “Someone has to restore this land.”

“I have no doubts that you will,” he told his protégé, a note of pride in his voice. He had waited and hoped for the day that this would pass; he was confident in her abilities, her courage, and her strength.

The two made their way to the castle that had once been the Seat of the Seraph and Vanora’s home. Now the home to the Dragon King, the usurper who fashioned himself the ruler of the land, it blended well with the harsh, desolate landscape. Surprisingly, they were admitted without trouble or question into the throne room.

It took all of Vanora’s willpower not to scream in anger at the scene around her. Swathed in darkness, stinking of evil, it was the nest of the foul creatures that had taken over the land. Despite this, the two approached the throne calmly and assuredly. A dark figure with a forbidding iron mask sat upon the throne, fingers glittering with large diamonds and stones. He sat up in interest as the two made their way towards him.

“Bow down and prostrate yourselves, strangers!” the herald at the foot of the throne commanded imperiously. “You stand before the dread king, the Dragon Lord of the land!”
“We bow to no one,” she returned in a loud voice. Her refusal silenced the entire room. “I am the Seraph, the true ruler of this realm; I have returned to take back my rightful throne from the scum – ” She broke off to spit on the ground in contempt ” – who stole it ten winters ago.”

The robed, masked figure on the throne laughed scornfully, a sound that echoed throughout the stone walls of the room. “What can a man and a girl do to me? If you are who you claim to be, not even your mother, the Seraph,” he said in disdain, “could stop me. There is no hope for you.”

Vanora lifted her chin resolutely and pulled her sword from its sheath. As she held it in the air, it blazed as if in defiance of the Dragon King. “I do not intend to fail,” she told him tenaciously. “I will avenge her death.”

“You should provide pleasant sport,” the Dragon King laughed again as he rose from the throne and took a heavily spiked mace from one of the servants. Before she had a chance to collect her thoughts, he came at her with the full force of his weapon, slamming and beating at her in an attempt to find her weak point. Vanek had been taken by the guards; he would be unable to help her now. Deep within her heart, she despaired. Although she had been an apt pupil and had bested most of the men at Court in riding, archery, fencing, and magic, she seemed to be no match for the Dragon King.

With every step, every blow to her magical shield and defenses, she felt her resolve crumbling. Her power was draining from her, leaving her weak and light-headed; she understood suddenly how her mother’s final moments must have felt.

Her mother…

Suddenly, she felt a soft breeze caress her cheek, and heard her mother’s voice in her mind: “Remember – my spirit will always be with you.” As if her mother had lent her strength to her daughter, Vanora attacked with renewed vigor, her sword burning brighter than ever as she dodged her enemies’ blows until she found his weak point. As she drove her point home, the earth shuddered and heaved, and the Dragon King exploded from within. Stunned by the force of the blast, Vanora’s sight dimmed, and she collapsed to the ground.

The sun shone brightly in the Summer Country for the first time in ten years on the day of Vanora, the Seraph of the Crystal Realm, assumed the throne for the first time. Rulers from the neighboring lands had come to witness the momentous event, for it marked the beginning of a return to peace and prosperity. With the thrust of her sword, Vanora had vanquished the agent of the Darkness, and sent his minions into the wastelands of the East where they came from. Through undertaking her quest and responding to the call of her task and destiny, she uncovered her true identity, the self she had run from for so long. With this reconciliation of psyche and consciousness, she was poised to lead her people into the future, wielding the tools that were her heritage: the Scepter and the Sword.

Tales from the Archives: “Switch”

Title: “Switch”
Rating: T
Word Count: 2925
Genre: Chick-Lit/Romance
Background Info:

“Switch” is a rewrite of a scene that I wrote for a creative writing class that I took in 2007.  I wanted to return to it as a way to revisit my old chick-lit/romance roots  I hadn’t planned to do much revising to the 2007 version of this scene, but once I started to tweak, I couldn’t manage to stop.  I managed to cut over 300 words in this revision (mostly dialogue tags and some awkward phrases), and add in a few things that I thought were missing.  All in all, I’m pretty pleased with the final product, and would actually consider going back to the chick-lit/romance genre one day in the future.


“Brilliant!” Jade proclaimed in a loud voice as the curtain fell upon the stage, signaling the beginning of intermission. She clapped her hands together in glee and faced her friends as the house lights came on. “Absolutely brilliant and awe-inspiring! Andrew Lloyd Webber is a complete genius. Philip, Maggie, thank you so much for tonight.”

“Anytime, Jade,” Philip said in a deep, rich baritone. Lean and sandy-haired with keen green eyes, a large, distinctive nose and an expressive mouth, he cut an elegant figure in his tuxedo. “It’s not every day that you turn twenty-five, you know.”

“We haven’t seen in you in forever,” Maggie added, leaning against Philip comfortably. “Besides, you’re totally part of the family. We couldn’t do any less.”

Jade hid a smile as she watched Philip playfully tugged at one of Maggie’s auburn corkscrew curls, though a snicker did leave her mouth when Maggie swatted his hand away. Even after three years of marriage, she and Philip seemed as much in love as ever.

The two women had been best friends since high school and nearly inseparable in college. At first glance, they seemed to be complete opposites. Maggie was tall and athletic, porcelain-skinned and freckled, her hair a mass of riotous auburn curls. Jade, on the other hand, was petite and rounded with almond-shaped amethyst eyes that contrasted strikingly with her black hair and caramel complexion. They shared a great deal in common, however, including a love of literature, classic Hollywood films, shopping, and cocktails. Though they also had other friends, they knew they could trust each other with their deepest and most precious secrets.

After graduation, Maggie got married and moved to England. Jade made her way across the pond soon after, having been accepted into a forensic profiling graduate program at Kings College. Her two friends generously allowed her to live with them for a term, providing her with warm, home-cooked meals and a place to live free of charge until she could find a job and a home of her own. Though she had been living on her own for the better part of three years, the trio still met regularly for dinners, parties, and the occasional night out.

Jade cast a sidelong glance at the man sitting silently beside her, looking uncomfortable and ill at ease. Ian was her date for the evening, and though they had been dating for a few months, he didn’t seem to mesh with her two closest friends. It was a troubling warning sign, but she enjoyed his company – when he behaved himself, at any rate. She offered him a flirtatious smile, sliding her hand in his.

“And what did you think of the first act, Ian? I can’t believe that you’ve never seen ‘The Phantom of the Opera.’ You’ve been completely deprived!”

Ian hesitated a moment before answering, but Jade’s exuberance was contagious. “It was wonderful, Jade,” he said with a warm smile. “Thank you for bringing me along.”

“Shall we go for a bit of a stroll?” Philip asked, rising and pulling Maggie up beside him. “I think I could use a stretch.”

“I fear that I’ll have to steal my best friend away from you, Philip,” Jade said with a mock sigh, hooking arms with Maggie and gently tugging her out of the tall man’s grasp. “We’ve got to visit the ladies’ room and powder our noses.”

Maggie hid a smile and shook her head in dismay at her friend’s antics. Philip and Jade behaved like brother and sister whenever possible, joking, teasing, and taunting each other at every possible occasion. In response to Jade’s words, Philip did his best to affect a displeased, brooding scowl.

“And engage in vile gossip, you scandalmongers!” He wagged a finger at them. “Off with you, then.”

“Try to amuse yourselves,” Jade laughed. “We’ll be back soon.” The glare of open distaste that Philip cast in Ian’s direct, however, did not look promising.

“Does he really have to do that?” she asked plaintively, burying her face in her hands, her cheeks red with embarrassment.

“Do what?” Maggie asked in confusion.

“Treat every single one of my boyfriends like they’ve got the plague or something,” she retorted, flopping down onto one of the cushioned benches in front of an empty vanity table. “I mean, really – what does he have against Ian?”

Maggie snorted unceremoniously as she fished out a tube of lipstick from her tiny gold-beaded evening clutch. “Where do I start?” she muttered under her breath.

“What?” Jade rounded on her best friend with accusing eyes. “What did you say?”

“Hey, you asked! Don’t jump down my throat just because I’m actually honest enough to tell you what I think. Isn’t that what friends are supposed to do? Always tell the truth, even if it burns?”

Jade frowned, her dark brows knitting together. She couldn’t fault Maggie’s logic. “Yeah, I suppose. And don’t you dare rub it in! I see that smug look of yours!”

“Ian is nice, I suppose.” Her dubious expression belied her words. “Still, when you come down to it, he’s really an insufferable idiot.”

“A direct quote from your charming husband, I take it.”

“Stop interrupting.” Jade closed her mouth, but it didn’t stop her from rolling her eyes. “You asked for my opinion and I’m going to give it to you.” She paused, anticipating another flippant remark from her friend. When none came, she took a breath and continued.

“Ian is nice, but he’s altogether wrong for you. He’s boring, dull, irritating, doesn’t have any sense of adventure, not to mention a sense of humour…” She trailed off and forced the other woman to face her.

“He’s getting really serious about you, Jade,” she said softly, “and I know you enjoy stockpiling men as if they were your own personal stamp collection, but you might want to take it easy with this one. I think he might like you more than all the others combined.”

Jade frowned at Maggie’s words and turned back to the mirror. Her expression peered back at her, worried and anxious. Irritated, she pulled out a small hairbrush and quickly ran it through her glossy black hair, trying in vain to distract herself.

“I think you’re being too hard on him, Maggie,” she said at last. “He’s a fine man –
successful, stable, financially secure. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be looking for?”

“Clearly you haven’t heard a single word that I’ve said! What about passion, Jade? Fervent ardour and zeal? An instant connection heralded by choirs of sweetly singing angels? Isn’t that what you’ve always talked about since we were girls?”

Jade snapped her purse shut with an abrupt click. “You and Philip got lucky. You met in the most ridiculous, storybook way possible. I mean, he rescued you from a runaway cable car of all things, and you’ve been joined at the hip ever since.” She shook her head despondently. “I don’t think it’s that easy for the rest of us. As a matter of fact, I don’t even know if something like that can even happen for the rest of us.”

She fell silent, brooding for a moment before forcing a smile on her face. It wasn’t the time or the place for such dark thoughts.

“Come on,” she said gaily, smoothing down the front of her slim-fitting black halter dress. “We’d better get back out there before Philip and Ian completely destroy British-American diplomatic relations.”

Arm-in-arm, she and Maggie sauntered back out into the crowded corridor, searching around for the two men. They found them standing off to the side, hostile expressions fixed upon each man’s face as they glared at one another impossibly.

“Did you miss me?” Maggie asked as she sidled up to Philip and wriggled into the circle of his arms. He offered her a grateful smile and a kiss.

“Immensely.” He cradled her close, an eyebrow raised as he glanced in Jade’s direction. “Did you and your friend have enough time to form your diabolical schemes? Should we be frightened by what you’ve planned?”

“Yes,” Jade called flippantly. “Our blueprints for world domination are practically complete. You’re welcome to join us, if you like.”

Philip chuckled at this, though he wisely chose not to respond. “Shall we return to our seats? I’m sure intermission will be over in a few minutes, and I’d hate to miss the beginning of the second act –” He broke off as Jade suddenly walked away, drifting off into the crowd. “Where is she going? Jade, don’t go wandering off!”

“She probably saw something sparkly, Philip,” Maggie said in amusement. “You know how easily distracted she gets.”

“I’ll just be a minute,” Jade called back over her shoulder, an abstracted expression on her face. “There’s just a painting that I’d like to see over here. It’s by one of the Romantics. Caspar David Friedrich, if I’m not mistaken…”

Whatever snide remark Philip offered in response was lost on Jade as she drew closer to the painting, her attention fixed upon the sweeping landscape. She had all but lost herself in the vivid brushstrokes and detail when something brushed her bare shoulder, sending shivers up her spine.

“I believe this belongs to you,” a low voice said in her ear.

She turned and stepped back to find herself trapped in the intense grey eyes of the tall man standing behind her. “I – I’m sorry?”

“Your glove, Lady.” He placed the elbow-length black silk glove into her open hand. “You dropped it as you walked down the corridor.”

“Oh, yes.” Her mouth opened and closed stupidly as she attempted to regain some control over her faculties. His mere presence wrought havoc with her senses, and it was all she could do to keep from swooning at his feet.

“I… Thank you, sir,” she said finally. His hand, however, did not leave hers, and it was clear that he had no intention of leaving. “May I have the pleasure of knowing to whom I am indebted?” She should have felt ridiculous, speaking like a character out of an Austen novel, but something about him made her want to hover on the edge of formality.

“Pierce Somerset-Grant,” he replied. His voice was smooth, dark and sinful, and she swallowed hard to keep from visibly trembling. “And you are…?”

“Jade,” she returned, blushing slightly as he raised her bare hand to his lips. “Jade Villanueva.”

There was absolutely no way this man could be real, but here he was, solid and standing before her. He was somewhere around his mid-thirties, with broad shoulders and a stalwart, athletic build that radiated power and authority. His thick, dark brown hair was brushed away from his brow, revealing a widow’s peak and a faintly creased forehead. His features were chiselled and finely hewn – a hawk-like, aquiline nose, strong jaw, wide sensuous mouth – but it was his grey gaze, filled with all the wisdom and sadness and joy and pain of a lifetime, that drew her attention.

The world around them faded and disappeared as they faced each other. Silence stretched out for a long moment before he opened his mouth and spoke. “Have you – have you ever considered the music of the spheres?”

She should have been alarmed by his strange words, but there was something so earnest and honest about him that she couldn’t avoid being helplessly drawn in. “The celestial music of the heavens,” she said after a moment’s thought, “conceived of by Pythagoras, and later revived by the thinkers of the Renaissance.”

He nodded for her to continue, and she swallowed hard, unable to tear her gaze away from his. “They believed that it plays when two souls, drawn by destiny, meet for the first time.”

“Yes,” he murmured, the ghost of a smile hovering upon his lips. “That’s right.”

“I’ve considered it.” She held her breath, afraid to exhale, in anticipation of his next question.

“What do you think it sounds like?”

Her voice was a whisper, her heart thudding thunderously. “Like an orchestra tuning.” She spoke without thinking, stepping closer to him. “An orchestra, at the moment when every instrument plays their rightful notes in perfect pitch and perfect harmony. In that moment, for a single heartbeat, the sound is so exquisite that divine light illuminates the world. That is the music of the spheres.”

The faint smile broadened into a grin at her words. “Exactly,” he said. “That is precisely what it sounds like.”

She exhaled at last, feeling as though she passed some sort of integral test or challenge, but before she could articulate her thoughts, Ian’s voice brought her crashing back to reality.

“What is this?” His voice was loud and displeased at the sight of Jade and Pierce standing together, hands clasped. “What the hell is going on here?”

The two parted awkwardly, their inexplicable connection severed. Reluctantly, Jade met Ian’s accusatory gaze, frantically trying to think up a plausible explanation. “I, um, dropped my glove,” she offered lamely, holding up the one that had fallen before sliding it back on to her hand, her skin still burning from where Pierce’s lips had grazed it, “and this gentleman returned it to me.” She tentatively lifted her eyes towards Pierce and was startled by the fierce expression he wore on his face. He was clearly taking Ian’s measure, trying to determine what manner of man he was. From the disdainful sneer on his lips, it was evident that Ian was found wanting.

“Well, isn’t that nice of him?” Ian said in a voice that suggested precisely the opposite, stealing an arm about Jade’s waist in a proprietary gesture. “Now then, dear, we’ve got to get back to our seats – the show will be starting soon, and I know that you’d hate to miss any of it.”

Jade scowled up at him, not appreciating his condescending mannerisms or his patronizing tone of voice. “Not yet, Ian,” she said through clenched teeth, trying to tug away from him, but he was holding on fast. Before she could resort to more drastic measures, Philip’s irritated voice cut through the din of the crowd.

“Dammit, Ian, are you so ineffectual that you can’t manage to drag Jade away from a bloody painting?” he demanded in exasperation. “Hurry up!”

Ian huffed at the insult. “If you really want to know, you’ll have to ask her yourself. She’s clearly not in the mood to cooperate with me.”

Her eyes flashed dangerously. “Not cooperating? You’re the one who’s interrupting my conversations and trying to manhandle me!”

Philip glanced at Maggie helplessly but she merely shrugged, clearly entertained by the disagreement. With a growl, he whirled back to the arguing couple. “What the hell are you two talking about?”

“Philip?” The four of them froze at the sight of Pierce peering inquisitively at the other man. “Philip Elliot, is that really you?”

“Pierce?” Jade had never seen Philip look so shocked and speechless in her life. “My God, man, I can’t believe it’s you!”

The two met in a warm embrace, then stepped back to barrage one another with endless questions: “What are you doing here? How long has it been? What are you doing with yourself? Where are you living?” At last, Philip recalled that he was not alone, and turned to his wife and friend.

“This is Pierce Somerset-Grant,” he explained as he clapped the other man on the back and presented him to the others. “We’ve been friends practically since birth. Our parents are old chums from university.” He beckoned Maggie to his side. “Pierce, meet my wife, Maggie.”

“She’s beautiful!’ Pierce shook Maggie’s hand warmly before elbowing his friend, a sly smile on his face. “But Philip – how in the world did you convince her to marry you?”

He laughed, though his shrewd eyes easily caught the blush heightening Jade’s cheeks as she surreptitiously eyed Pierce. It was too clear that something had passed between them.

“I would introduce you to our friend Jade,” he said innocently, “but I think it’s safe to say that you’ve already met.”

Jade managed to extract herself from the iron prison of Ian’s arms to stand before Pierce. “Yes, we have. How extraordinary, that the two of you are friends.” They exchanged secret smiles, but before he could respond, the bell signalling the end of intermission sounded.

Philip groaned, clearly more interested in catching up with his old friend than returning to the performance. “Do you have plans for after the show? We’ve got so much to talk about. What do you say to drinks and dessert?”

“I’m completely free,” he replied. “I’ll meet you out front when the play is over.”

Moving with the crowd, the five headed down the corridor towards their seats. Ian walked slightly ahead of everyone else, his jaw clenched in obvious irritation. Jade hesitated, torn between hurrying after her date and lingering behind to exchange a few words with Pierce. When the dark-haired man placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, however, she instantly slowed.

“Jade,” he murmured loud enough so that only she could hear, “what are the chances that you can lose that guy between now and the end of the show?”

“‘That guy’?” She lifted her brows, lips twisting in an arch grin. “Don’t you mean my boyfriend?”

“Not if I have anything to do with it.”

The seriousness in his voice made her tingle from head to toe, and in an instant, her decision was clear. “Give me twenty minutes. After that, I’m all yours.”

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