Read Online Magic Under Glass by Jaclyn Dolamore - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jaclyn Dolamore
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replied. I’M SCARED. TRAPPED. CAN’T SHOW IT. NO POINT ANYWAY.
When I started to respond, he made an anxious catch in his throat. Like he couldn’t stand my pity. I understood that, but the only proper response seemed to be pity or nothing. So I said nothing.
I WANT TO SPEAK TO YOU. WITH A VOICE.
“I know.”
I felt like I could have peeled back the stiff fingers and found living ones beneath. If I could only see the spark of life in him and draw it out. If I could only strike his back and make him breathe. I ached to see his eyes searching from within his frozen face.
I sat on the edge of the piano bench beside him. There was hardly room. I angled out one foot to keep my perch. His arm bumped mine. I jumped.
“Mm,” he said softly, like he was sorry for having scared me.
I put my finger to his cheek. It was cold and hard. I trailed a line down to his chin. “When I touch you, do you feel it?”
“Mmm.”
Erris couldn’t even see much of me, when I sat beside him. His head couldn’t turn. He couldn’t move to touch me in return. I let my finger drift to his ear, so finely formed. I traced the outer curve, momentarily transfixed by the idea that my touch could travel through this magic and reach him, just like a living man.
He started to spell. STOP.
I sprung up from the bench, heart racing, like I had committed a crime. “I’m sorry.”
He spelled something else, but I didn’t catch it at first. I had to ask him to begin again, although I hated to.
He grunted with some frustration. SIT AGAIN. When I didn’t move, he added, PLEASE.
I lowered myself back onto the bench. “I’m sorry,” I said again. “I didn’t mean to to—I’m not sure what came over me.”
N-O. I easily recognized those letters in a glance. ONLY . . . YOU MAKE ME MISS . . .
The sentence remained unfinished. I twirled the pencil around and around, like the warriors of Tiansher twirled their scimitars in parades. Of course, I knew all the things he must miss. Movement. Freedom. Food. Speech. Life.
Erris played one note to snatch back my attention. DON’T BE SAD.
My thoughts blurred. I didn’t want to feel this way. I had to gather my emotions. I had to stop. This wasn’t right.
NEVER WANT TO UPSET YOU. YOU BRING ME HAPPINESS.
I stared at the letters I’d written. He must have been aching inside, a hundred times worse than I ached for him, but he worried that he’d upset me. He didn’t ask for sympathy.
“I am going to bring you more than happiness,” I said. “I’m going to help you. You’ll speak to me with a voice yet.”
I wished I believed my own words.
10
The dressmaker came: a wispy, exhausted woman who spoke every word like a scolding. She stuck me with pins. I wondered if she treated her Lorinarian customers this way. Hollin ordered me things I hardly thought necessary, unless he meant for me to stay through winter at the least: a new coat, a walking outfit with a shorter skirt and black braiding at the sleeves, and, of course, the ball gown.
It was to be made of pink silk, trimmed around the plunging neckline with velvet flowers in black and cream.
“Miss Rashten thinks pink doesn’t suit my complexion,” I warned him.
“Nonsense,” he said. “There is no color more feminine than pink; no woman it does not suit, and you especially, with your golden glow.”
I gave him a demure smile; what else could one do?
In truth, I didn’t have to feign excitement over the new clothes, especially the gown, seeing those yards of silk. I had never owned anything so grown-up and lovely, nor so expensive. When I dreamed of walking onstage in that gown, my imaginary audience forgot I was foreign, so dazzled were they by my majesty. I sang the best performance of my life. Why, every trouser girl in Lorinar found themselves work in the better halls, following the wake of my success!
As I said, at night I dream of things I scoff at by day.
The dressmaker worked her sewing machine from sunrise to
When I started to respond, he made an anxious catch in his throat. Like he couldn’t stand my pity. I understood that, but the only proper response seemed to be pity or nothing. So I said nothing.
I WANT TO SPEAK TO YOU. WITH A VOICE.
“I know.”
I felt like I could have peeled back the stiff fingers and found living ones beneath. If I could only see the spark of life in him and draw it out. If I could only strike his back and make him breathe. I ached to see his eyes searching from within his frozen face.
I sat on the edge of the piano bench beside him. There was hardly room. I angled out one foot to keep my perch. His arm bumped mine. I jumped.
“Mm,” he said softly, like he was sorry for having scared me.
I put my finger to his cheek. It was cold and hard. I trailed a line down to his chin. “When I touch you, do you feel it?”
“Mmm.”
Erris couldn’t even see much of me, when I sat beside him. His head couldn’t turn. He couldn’t move to touch me in return. I let my finger drift to his ear, so finely formed. I traced the outer curve, momentarily transfixed by the idea that my touch could travel through this magic and reach him, just like a living man.
He started to spell. STOP.
I sprung up from the bench, heart racing, like I had committed a crime. “I’m sorry.”
He spelled something else, but I didn’t catch it at first. I had to ask him to begin again, although I hated to.
He grunted with some frustration. SIT AGAIN. When I didn’t move, he added, PLEASE.
I lowered myself back onto the bench. “I’m sorry,” I said again. “I didn’t mean to to—I’m not sure what came over me.”
N-O. I easily recognized those letters in a glance. ONLY . . . YOU MAKE ME MISS . . .
The sentence remained unfinished. I twirled the pencil around and around, like the warriors of Tiansher twirled their scimitars in parades. Of course, I knew all the things he must miss. Movement. Freedom. Food. Speech. Life.
Erris played one note to snatch back my attention. DON’T BE SAD.
My thoughts blurred. I didn’t want to feel this way. I had to gather my emotions. I had to stop. This wasn’t right.
NEVER WANT TO UPSET YOU. YOU BRING ME HAPPINESS.
I stared at the letters I’d written. He must have been aching inside, a hundred times worse than I ached for him, but he worried that he’d upset me. He didn’t ask for sympathy.
“I am going to bring you more than happiness,” I said. “I’m going to help you. You’ll speak to me with a voice yet.”
I wished I believed my own words.
10
The dressmaker came: a wispy, exhausted woman who spoke every word like a scolding. She stuck me with pins. I wondered if she treated her Lorinarian customers this way. Hollin ordered me things I hardly thought necessary, unless he meant for me to stay through winter at the least: a new coat, a walking outfit with a shorter skirt and black braiding at the sleeves, and, of course, the ball gown.
It was to be made of pink silk, trimmed around the plunging neckline with velvet flowers in black and cream.
“Miss Rashten thinks pink doesn’t suit my complexion,” I warned him.
“Nonsense,” he said. “There is no color more feminine than pink; no woman it does not suit, and you especially, with your golden glow.”
I gave him a demure smile; what else could one do?
In truth, I didn’t have to feign excitement over the new clothes, especially the gown, seeing those yards of silk. I had never owned anything so grown-up and lovely, nor so expensive. When I dreamed of walking onstage in that gown, my imaginary audience forgot I was foreign, so dazzled were they by my majesty. I sang the best performance of my life. Why, every trouser girl in Lorinar found themselves work in the better halls, following the wake of my success!
As I said, at night I dream of things I scoff at by day.
The dressmaker worked her sewing machine from sunrise to
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