Free Thief of Light by Denise Rossetti

sat strangely on those perfect features.
    Prue stared. Was that . . . apprehension ? Oh, gods . . .
    “What have you done?” she hissed.
    Rose flushed. “It’s only a few weeks. Truly, you won’t know he’s here.” The flush intensified. “Much.”
    “Rose.” Prue gripped her friend’s arm. “ Tell me .”
    “He’s agreed to provide intensive vocal coaching. Think of the publicity, the cachet it gives us, Prue—our courtesans, students of Erik the Golden, the most famous singer in the known worlds.”
    Prue snorted. “Aren’t you exaggerating, just a trifle?”
    “Well, he’s reasonably famous.” Rose’s smile widened. “And he says Tansy is something quite exceptional. He’s going to do special work with her.”
    “Lucky Tansy,” said Prue. She’d meant the words to sound derisive, but to her dismay, they came out wistful instead.
    Rose shot her an uncomfortably shrewd glance. “For some reason, I trust him,” she said. “With our youngest too. Don’t you think that’s interesting? Prue, why don’t you—?”
    “Enough!” Prue threw up her hands. “Leave me out of this. How much are we paying the amazing Erik for the benefit of his wisdom?”
    Rose studied her jeweled slippers. “We drew up a short-term contract. Here.” Extracting a rolled-up sheet of gilded parchment from one capacious sleeve, she loosed the pink ribbon that bound it.
    Merciful Sister!
    Prue had no difficulty making out Rose’s familiar scrawl, another signature in a bold, slashing hand, the space for her own name as co-owner of the business.
    Her heart turned a hard, painful somersault in her breast. Who had he asked for? Rose, it had to be. All men wanted the Dark Rose, and as a stranger, Erik wouldn’t know she’d retired.
    Between her teeth, Prue said, “What—no, who —did you sell him?”
    “Actually,” said her friend, taking a prudent step backward, “you.”

7
    “ What?” Prue’s shout echoed down the hall. For a single delirious instant, every cell in her body leaped to attention, all hot and glowing.
    Rose waved the contract under Prue’s nose. Godsdammit, the woman was choking back laughter! “Not your body, silly, your head. Here, read the thing.”
    Rapidly, Prue scanned the parchment. Oh, of course. How ridiculous she was. Her heartbeat slowed from a gallop to a lurching jog trot. She raised her eyes. “He needs a bookkeeper?”
    “Apparently.” Rose shrugged. “But it’s completely up to you, sweetie. You don’t have to sign.”
    Little Tansy had looked exalted, out there in the courtyard. They all had. Prue might hold facile charm in contempt, but she respected talent, and she’d never for an instant thought Erik Thorensen was a fool. “He’s already told them, hasn’t he?” she said, tracing the bold brushstrokes with a fingertip. “About the music lessons?”
    Rose nodded.
    “They were thrilled, I’m sure. He’s made it impossible for me to refuse. Very clever of you both.”
    “It’s only a few weeks,” said Rose, almost pleadingly. “Then he’ll be gone.”
    Prue tossed the contract to the desk and took a few restless steps to the window. Without turning, she said, “You never met Chavis, did you?”
    “No. And I haven’t heard you speak of him, not in all these years.” A hesitation, then more gently, “Katrin looks like her father, doesn’t she?”
    “Yes.” Prue stared out into the garden below, unseeing. “Tall and fair. But she’s not as beautiful as he was.” In the shadowed reflection in the windowpane, Prue caught the bitter twist of her own lips. “Too much like me.”
    A rustle of skirts, Rose’s hands on her shoulders. “Prue, love, don’t—”
    “Looking back, I know he wasn’t a bad man, just weak. So pleasing, full of light and laughter. And he made a dead set at me.” Prue fixed her gaze on the feature rock that marked the gentle curve of the path. Usually she loved its intriguing contours, the striations of green and shining