was and she should feel naught but relief to be quit of him again.
As long as he returned. Yet Genevieve felt inexplicably powerless as she never had before, and emotions warred within her as to what she should do.
She could not halt his departure. Too shaken was she by his touch and his confession to run in pursuit. Indeed, she imagined she had not even the voice to call out to him.
Wolfram wanted her to leave. Yet Wolfram was lonely beyond anything Genevieve might have imagined before she had sensed his solitude.
She knew not what to do. She felt alone suddenly in his absence, bereft as she had never been before. Vulnerable she felt, yet shaken by the confidence they had shared. A tear rose at the corner of her eye, a tear that slid unhurried and unnoticed down her cheek and splashed upon the fingers gripping the lute.
He had told her his name. How could she possibly leave?
But what if he did not return?
* * *
âTwas later that day that Wolfram was summoned to the Masterâs office once more. A relief âtwas to have an excuse to push the lutenist from his mind, though try as he might, he could not banish either her luteâs haunting melody or the poignant memories it awakened.
Or the other.
He had felt something when the lutenist kissed him that he did not dare to empower by granting it a name. He cursed himself silently for so readily falling prey to her charms.
And then today, that other sense had been there again, that curious sensation that she knew what he was. The way her eyes had widened when she touched him. Indeed, it seemed that she saw within his very heart.
This time, it had troubled Wolfram even less. Reassuring it had been almost to see some reassurance of his earlier impression. Reassuring it had been to not feel so alone.
He wondered what madness had taken possession of him that he should have confessed to her his name.
He wondered what the Master wanted and feared he knew the truth of it. Business there was to attend to, no doubt, Wolfram reminded himself with forced enthusiasm. Mayhap another commission that would take him far from Paris and that cursed lute. âTwas that lute that lay at the root of his troubles, for âtwas that lute that had first loosened the locks on his memories of gentler times.
Aye, mayhap another commission would be a blessing instead of a curse. Work a man needed to focus his life. âTwas the idleness of the past few days that fed this folly and undermined his conviction in choices he had long made and accepted.
The torches mounted on the walls flickered and cast intriguing shadows on the stone that belied the hour. Well might it always be the dead of night within these halls for all the light of the sun that gained access. Now that the evening meal was past, there were not even brethren in the corridors. All were about their chores before compline.
âTwas likely that was why the Master had summoned Wolfram at this time. None would be about to note the incongruity of a sergeant being summoned to the Masterâs offices.
He gained the outer office without seeing another, though on this eve there was no esquire, deaf or otherwise, in attendance. The room was still, all documents neatly filed away as though no esquire would soon return.
âTwas odd. Never had Wolfram been here unescorted. He shifted his weight uneasily, unable to dismiss the sense that he intruded in a private domain.
Had there been a mistake? Was the Master here? Should he be so bold as to knock on the Masterâs door? âTwas ever so slightly ajar, that heavy portal, and Wolfram wondered what to do. âTwas not his place to disturb the Master, yet he had been summoned.
Since he had been summoned, the Master would want to know that he had arrived. Reassured by the simple logic of his thoughts, Wolfram knocked resolutely on the door.
No one answered his summons, but the door swung slightly inward at the impact of his knock. âTwas almost as though he
As long as he returned. Yet Genevieve felt inexplicably powerless as she never had before, and emotions warred within her as to what she should do.
She could not halt his departure. Too shaken was she by his touch and his confession to run in pursuit. Indeed, she imagined she had not even the voice to call out to him.
Wolfram wanted her to leave. Yet Wolfram was lonely beyond anything Genevieve might have imagined before she had sensed his solitude.
She knew not what to do. She felt alone suddenly in his absence, bereft as she had never been before. Vulnerable she felt, yet shaken by the confidence they had shared. A tear rose at the corner of her eye, a tear that slid unhurried and unnoticed down her cheek and splashed upon the fingers gripping the lute.
He had told her his name. How could she possibly leave?
But what if he did not return?
* * *
âTwas later that day that Wolfram was summoned to the Masterâs office once more. A relief âtwas to have an excuse to push the lutenist from his mind, though try as he might, he could not banish either her luteâs haunting melody or the poignant memories it awakened.
Or the other.
He had felt something when the lutenist kissed him that he did not dare to empower by granting it a name. He cursed himself silently for so readily falling prey to her charms.
And then today, that other sense had been there again, that curious sensation that she knew what he was. The way her eyes had widened when she touched him. Indeed, it seemed that she saw within his very heart.
This time, it had troubled Wolfram even less. Reassuring it had been almost to see some reassurance of his earlier impression. Reassuring it had been to not feel so alone.
He wondered what madness had taken possession of him that he should have confessed to her his name.
He wondered what the Master wanted and feared he knew the truth of it. Business there was to attend to, no doubt, Wolfram reminded himself with forced enthusiasm. Mayhap another commission that would take him far from Paris and that cursed lute. âTwas that lute that lay at the root of his troubles, for âtwas that lute that had first loosened the locks on his memories of gentler times.
Aye, mayhap another commission would be a blessing instead of a curse. Work a man needed to focus his life. âTwas the idleness of the past few days that fed this folly and undermined his conviction in choices he had long made and accepted.
The torches mounted on the walls flickered and cast intriguing shadows on the stone that belied the hour. Well might it always be the dead of night within these halls for all the light of the sun that gained access. Now that the evening meal was past, there were not even brethren in the corridors. All were about their chores before compline.
âTwas likely that was why the Master had summoned Wolfram at this time. None would be about to note the incongruity of a sergeant being summoned to the Masterâs offices.
He gained the outer office without seeing another, though on this eve there was no esquire, deaf or otherwise, in attendance. The room was still, all documents neatly filed away as though no esquire would soon return.
âTwas odd. Never had Wolfram been here unescorted. He shifted his weight uneasily, unable to dismiss the sense that he intruded in a private domain.
Had there been a mistake? Was the Master here? Should he be so bold as to knock on the Masterâs door? âTwas ever so slightly ajar, that heavy portal, and Wolfram wondered what to do. âTwas not his place to disturb the Master, yet he had been summoned.
Since he had been summoned, the Master would want to know that he had arrived. Reassured by the simple logic of his thoughts, Wolfram knocked resolutely on the door.
No one answered his summons, but the door swung slightly inward at the impact of his knock. âTwas almost as though he
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