Iris waved to the family before following Attie into the kitchen.
Attie set down her dirty dishes. “Are you all right?” she whispered.
Iris blinked. “Yes. Why do you ask?”
“You’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday.”
Iris opened her mouth, but before she could say a word, Ainsley came bursting into the kitchen carrying her own dishes. She took her time at the sink, casting a surreptitious glance their way, as if she wanted to hear everything they said. Iris was thankful for the interruption, although Attie only cocked her brow at her little sister.
“You wanted to show me something?” Iris reminded her.
“Hmm.” Attie led her down to the basement. It was cooler here, but just as cozy as the ground floor, with plush furniture, a purring cat—which Iris fondly recognized as Lilac, the feline Attie had saved from Avalon Bluff—on one of the cushions, and a host of paintings crowding the wall. A few paper stars hung from the ceiling, and Iris gazed up at them while Attie removed one of the hanging frames.
“Do you remember that story I told you, weeks ago on Marisol’s roof?” Attie said, carefully setting the oil painting of the ocean to the side.
Iris remembered every word. “Yes. You told me about your violin.”
“Would you like to see it?”
Wordless, Iris stepped closer to Attie, watching as she opened the door of a metal safe nestled into the wall. It was hard to believe that what they were doing was now illegal in Oath: being in the presence of a stringed instrument. It sent a shiver down Iris’s back when she saw Attie hold her violin out in the space between them, its chestnut-colored wood gleaming in the lamplight.
“It’s beautiful,” Iris whispered, tracing the cold strings. “I’d love to hear you play it someday.”
A nostalgic expression crossed Attie’s face, but she gave her violin a soft caress before returning it to its case and closing the safe’s door. Once the painting was back on the wall, Iris would have never known a violin was there, hiding behind the rolling waves of a painted sea.
“Only your parents know where it hides?” Iris said.
Attie nodded. “I used to play down here when the siblings were in class. When no one was home to hear me but Papa. Sometimes my mum. I honestly haven’t played since I left for the front.” Another flicker of sadness passed in her eyes until she met Iris’s gaze, and something like steel flashed within her. “And I dreamt about ‘Alzane’s Lullaby’ last night.”
Iris’s heart quickened. “As did I. How is this happening? Why are we dreaming about the same song?”
Attie gave her a wry smile. “Magic, obviously.”
“You think a divine is trying to send us a message in dreams?”
“Yes. Which made me think about that myth you published in the paper. The one about Dacre being controlled by music in his realm.” Attie gathered the purring Lilac into her arms, scratching behind her ears. “If Enva’s harp could coax him to sleep with ‘Alzane’s Lullaby’ … why not a violin? Why not a cello? Why not any stringed instrument? Maybe that is the true reason why the chancellor outlawed everything with strings. Not out of fear of Enva recruiting us to war, but because we ourselves could tame a god with our music if we only knew how to reach the realm below.”
Iris was quiet, but her mind was racing. She knew where the active door was—in the Kitts’ parlor. Her best friend had a violin. They knew the power of “Alzane’s Lullaby.” The only thing they lacked was knowledge of Dacre’s exact location, or a way to coerce him underground. Roman could possibly help provide that information, though, and Iris suddenly felt shaky with apprehension.
“If we put Dacre to sleep…” Iris began.
“Then we could kill him,” Attie concluded.
Lilac emitted a meow as if in agreement. Iris reached out to stroke the cat’s fur.
“This lullaby we’ve dreamt of. Could you play it on your violin?”
“I can, but I need the full composition.” Attie set the cat down on the couch. “I had a music professor a few years ago at university. I’m going to make an appointment with her, hopefully for tomorrow, and see if she can’t help me obtain it. Apparently there have been many iterations of the song over the decades, and I need to make sure I’m playing the right one. The one we’ve been hearing in our dreams.”
“Thea?” Her father suddenly called down to the basement. “Your ride is here.”