Miri's stomach churned. Which, she chided herself, was ridiculous. She was going to meet the musicians and offer them a boon as Lady of her demesne. She had done the same hundreds times before. This was no different.
Lila spoke to her, about the annual welcome festival, she thought. But, although she nodded and muttered affirmation as necessary, she didn't take in a word.
The cellist's hands kept appearing in her mind's eye. Caressing his instrument.
She shook her head sharply. Lila stopped. “You don't want the exhibition to be held in the assembly hall? I think there should be space for everyone. Even with the increased population.”
“No. Just my own thoughts. Come on, let's go. I'm feeling tired.”
“Do you want to postpone your conversation with the musicians? They'll be here until midday tomorrow.”
“Ah, no. Better to handle it now. Tomorrow is looking to be busy. I should keep my schedule open.”
Lila pushed open the heavy white door to the green room. In contrast to the utilitarian style favored through the demesne, of stark lines and thick beams of wood, the green room was graceful and airy. The celadon walls were lightly textured and pilasters stretched to the ceiling, arching at the top to make a lacy filigree across the ceiling. Georg had designed it to be a showpiece. Though they were intellectuals, they welcomed the arts.
The cellist stood in the middle of his group, vividly demonstrating a movement. His head thrown back. His arms outstretched. He pulled his body tight and laughed. It sang like his cello, deep and filling the space.
Lila was next to them. Miri stood in the doorway still. Lila looked at her, confused, and jerked her head in a “come here” gesture. “You okay?” she whispered.
“I am. I'm fine.”
The players noticed them and their circle opened.