The Frost of Springtime (16 page)

“You think I don’t know that?”

The timbre of his voice dripped with pure mirth. She flinched as
Aleksender snapped his hand away, his emerald eyes blazing.

As if overcome with sudden agony, Aleksender stepped backward, swept a
hand through his hair, and cleared his throat. “It grows late. They shall
wonder where I am. And you’ll be expected back. I—”

His eyes said everything.

“Come—come with me.”

Aleksender shot her a questioning look.

“Please?” Sofia smiled, took hold of his gloved hand and ascended the
stairs. The wood creaked beneath the soles of her feet, echoing in the night. A
stream of light split the black as the door creaked open. “I want to show you
something.”

•

All of Aleksender’s worries momentarily fell away as he ventured
through the theater’s widely spread wings. The hustle and bustle was strangely
intoxicating and, even more, wonderfully distracting.

Beyond the stone walls and bleak alleyways, Salle Le Peletier was alive
with activity. Countless stagehands, carpenters, riggers, seamstresses and
maids buzzed about, sharing stories and laughs as they labored. Voluptuous
furls of steam rose into the air, spewing like the breaths of a fairytale
dragon. Men whistled in harmony and drained their beer bottles. A flock of
spinsters delighted in the latest scandals, cackling amongst one another with
the audacity of hens. Towering, faux trees were wheeled aside as La Sylphide’s
forest gradually transformed back into that of a plain stage.

But there was nothing plain about Salle Le Peletier.

Smiling wide and shouting greetings here, there, and everywhere, Sofia
appeared to be entirely in her element. Every so often a crew member would call
out to her and offer his congratulations. Indeed—for all the attention
Aleksender was paid, he might have been a ghost rather than the noble
comte
. And he could not have been more satisfied with such
treatment.

Many single-stemmed roses were strewn about, carpeting the brandished
floorboards in a colorful array, each one representing a patron’s adoration. In
light of the prima ballerina’s stage name, roses had predictably become the
most common token of gratitude over the last season.

Sofia knelt to the ground and fetched several of the fallen flowers,
tucking them inside her cloak. Aleksender leaned against one of the wooden
columns and threw her a curious sideways glance. “Don’t mind me.” She blushed a
shade of scarlet that rivaled many of the roses. “See, I like to collect them
after performances. They make lovely bouquets and just smell beautifully.”

“I wouldn’t have ever guessed,” Aleksender wryly stated as the
surrounding aroma overwhelmed his senses. Sofia came to her feet, edged onto
her tiptoes, and tucked a yellow rose behind Aleksender’s left ear. The
brilliant hue was magnificent against the deep black of his hair.

“How very dashing you look!”

“Glad you think so, chérie.” Aleksender harnessed back a grin, removed
the rose, and tucked it within his coat for safekeeping.

Salle Le Peletier’s cheerful nature disappeared in the following
silence. The commotion of the theater finalized for the evening as the men and
women each took their leaves. One by one, the gas sconce lanterns winked into
darkness, footsteps faded, and quiet descended. An eerie calm washed over Salle
Le Peletier as only a few lights and laborers remained for the night.

Body heat radiated all around as Aleksender stepped intimately near to Sofia.
He bowed his face and allowed his breath to waft across her cheek. “Sofia,” he
murmured in a low tone, “tell me—why are we back here? Where are you taking
us?”

“No questions.” Warmth surged through her veins like a wildfire. She
ignored his inquiry, pushed past his body, and continued to stroll about. “See,
I’ve made it a bit of a habit, gathering flowers after the curtain call. I do
admit I’ve managed to earn the nickname ‘flower girl,’” she said with a faint
blush. Losing herself in a wilderness of ghostly props and shadows, Sofia
inched deeper backstage and signaled him to follow. A wooden stairwell lined
the furthest wall, its slim frame ascending into pure blackness. The thing
looked dangerously flimsy and anything but dependable. Sofia slowly turned to
Aleksender. She offered her hand and an achingly sweet smile.

He took two generous steps back. A flash of pain creased his brow. Only
two people knew of his fear of heights. Sofia was one of them and the other was
dead. “You know I cannot.”

“Of course you can.”

Aleksender glanced up and stared into the dark void. The black seemed
to go on forever. “The roof,” he breathed. “You mean to take us to the
rooftop?”

Sofia lightly placed a hand on his forearm and gave a gentle squeeze.
“Please, Alek. Just trust me.”

And so they ascended the winding stairwell, climbing higher and higher,
soon reaching the rafters, catwalks, elevated platforms, endless flies and
wooden beams. On either side of them the massive curtain was securely tucked in
for the night, the heavy drapes mimicking a pair of colossal, scarlet wings.
Aleksender and Sofia continued to venture upward as the combined weight of
their bodies shook the opera house from its nightly slumber. Aleksender felt
seasick as the stairwell swayed back and forth, the ancient carpentry
manipulated by the slightest of movements. Low moans, groans, grumbles and
creaks resounded with each step they took. The building seemed to possess a
life of its very own, and it was an angry beast waking from a long hibernation.

“Can you hear it?” Sofia drew to a halt nearly thirty feet up. “The
theater—” she exclaimed, imaginative as ever. “She is speaking to us.”

“Is she now?”

Aleksender glanced down and came close to losing his breath. Beneath
his heels, the theater was clearly visible through the wooden cracks. A million
miles away, it glowed softly and surely beneath them. And they were not getting
any closer. There was no turning back. For better or for worse, wherever this
twisted pathway may lead, there was nowhere to go but onward.

Sofia and Aleksender continued their endless ascent in silence, with
only the theater’s laminations for company. Every few steps, she glanced over
her shoulder and offered Aleksender a reassuring smile. The small gesture
empowered him far more than he dared admit.

“Almost there,” Sofia said as their destination finally slipped into
view.

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

Salle Le Peletier’s
rooftop was the ultimate hideaway and sanctuary. The frail lights of Paris
winked against the horizon, peppered amongst a sea of inky black and shining
like constellations. Aleksender and Sofia breathed in the crisp, spring air and
wandered near to the rooftop’s edge.

Aleksender gazed down at the quiet streets below without hesitation.
His fear of heights had miraculously melted away. On this night, within this
moment, he felt empowered and invincible. The nightmares, Christophe’s disdain,
the war, his father’s death—they all faded away. Placed high from society’s
reach, he and Sofia were perfectly alone, yet far from lonely.

And so Aleksender was in no way surprised when Sofia murmured, “I often
come up here when I need to clear my thoughts. And sometimes, if I close my
eyes and concentrate hard enough, I feel as though I’m on top of the entire
world.”

He stood beside Sofia, taking delight in the serene smile that had
claimed her lips. Moonlight danced across the material of her cloak,
brightening the dark hue to various shades of gray.

A gust of wind swept away her hood and sent an abundance of auburn
curls flowing behind her. In the same breath, the breeze parted Aleksender’s
dress shirt and exposed one of many scars. Jarred by the sight, a faint gasp
emerged from Sofia’s lips. She turned to Aleksender, aligning her body with his
own, and carefully traced the slight indention with an index finger.

When she at last spoke, her voice was soft, serene and
overflowing with compassion.
“They say the
Prussians captured Napoleon’s entire army at Sedan—seventeen thousand men died
on that battle, and those who survived were taken as prisoners. Only after the
siege were they to be returned home.”

Aleksender swallowed. He nodded and returned his stare to the night
sky. High above, Orion floated against the endless horizon, ready to ward off
all evils, his bow drawn into a taut arch.

“You were there. You were at Sedan.” Sofia reached for Aleksender’s
face and gently cradled his cheeks. Day-old stubble pierced her palms as the
tips of her fingers drew invisible circles along his weathered skin. She
followed the stubborn curve of his chin, caressed each cheek,
brushed
the forelock from his eyes. “You were a prisoner of
the war.”

Aleksender considered her words for a moment. “We were all prisoners of
the war. And none of us have yet to be freed.”

Sofia’s hands slid away and fell despairingly to her sides. She
withdrew a scarlet ribbon from her cloak and thoughtfully meddled with the
fabric. She wound it about her fingertips till they grew white from a lack of
circulation.
She was visibly wrestling with herself—aching to
comfort Aleksender, but unsure of how to approach such a delicate issue.
Finally, she eased into conservation by reducing the matter to small talk.
“Tell me. What was it like?
At the war?”

Aleksender shook his head in silent contemplation. A shiver coursed
through his body as both eyes squeezed shut, remembering … reliving. “Lonely.
Long. Not much to be said.”

Sofia tucked the ribbon back into her cloak. She aligned their bodies
and ran her fingertips down the length of Aleksender’s torso, deftly brushing
the folds of his cloak aside. She paused on top of the dress shirt’s golden
claps. Their gazes came together. She questioned him with her eyes. His face
dipped into a subtle nod. Swallowing, she deftly unfastened the row of buttons.
Aleksender’s breath hitched. The beat of his heart thundered beneath her
fingertips. Each snap sounded unnaturally loud within the quiet din.

She peeled the material aside, exposing a slate of sculpted muscles.
Spanning from neck to abdomen, every inch of Aleksender was peppered with black
hair and reeking of masculinity. And, as she’d expected, faint scars wove in
and out his flesh. Unshed tears clouded Sofia’s vision. She covered the middle
of his chest with her palm.

The simple gesture was beyond beautiful—beyond moving. Aleksender felt
something open up inside his heart.

As if reading his thoughts, she tentatively murmured, “Let me in. Let
me take some of your pain. You don’t have to be alone, don’t have to be lonely.
Let me help you heal.” A gentle smile curled her lips. “Let me be there for you
as you have been there for me all these years. Please, Alek, just free
yourself.”

Aleksender stepped intimately near to Sofia. Lost in her closeness, he
curved his hand and gently stroked the side of her face. A wisp of air escaped
from her lips as she dipped into his touch. Aleksender felt his heart skip
several beats. He removed both gloves and set them atop the stone banister.
Free from barriers, he touched Sofia once more, allowing his callused skin to
slide across the smooth surface of her flesh. His fingertips trembled in time
with his racing heart.

Sofia swallowed, eyes sparkling with deep emotion. “Alek …” She cocked
her head back the slightest bit, causing their lips to align. They shared the
same intakes of air, mouths mere inches apart.

Dipping into a bow, Aleksender surprised Sofia and outstretched his
hand. “Care to dance, mademoiselle?”

With a defiant pout, she folded both arms over her chest.
“Dance?
Why, I thought you had no desire to do such a
thing,” she teased, referring to their tender evening at Voisin.

Tension furrowed Aleksender’s brow. He swallowed and hung his face in
despair. “I had my reasons for distancing myself.”

“And now?”
Sofia finally
gripped onto his hand, eyes never parting from his steady gaze.

“Now I’m afraid I could never have it any other way.”

Without another word, Sofia smiled and stepped onto his toes, wrapping
Aleksender within her embrace. He swayed back and forth, to and fro, carrying her
body in sync with his own. Smooth baritone spilled from his lips as he sang
into Sofia’s ear. Her heart grew heavy with nostalgia and warm memories; it was
the precise lullaby he’d often sing when she was a child:

“Sleep, my child, peace attends thee …

All through the night, Guardian angels God send thee …

All through the night, while the weary world is weeping …

Love,
to thee my
thoughts are turning …

All through the night, though a sad fate our lives may sever, our
parting shall not last forever …

There’s a hope that leaves me never … all through the night …”

Everything fell into place as they held each other beneath the eternal
sky. Sofia dropped her chin a few inches, leveling her lips with the arch of
Aleksender’s chin. She pressed a kiss against the rugged flesh, then rose a
centimeter and kissed the corner of his mouth, his cheek—one and then the
other.

A tortured groan emerged from Aleksender’s throat. Their lips crashed
together in a movement neither of them was able to control. Sofia grasped onto
Aleksender’s shoulders as her nails dug into the muscles that sculpted his
forearm. He slanted his face and deepened their kiss to impossible limits,
drinking in her very spirit.

And then it all ended.

Aleksender pulled back, breathless, head spinning. He deftly lifted
Sofia off his feet and raked a hand through his hairline. “Damn myself. I’m sorry.
Wasn’t thinking.
Again.”
Face
sunken, he spun on his heels and gripped the banister. Frustration and a potent
self-loathing pumped through his veins. The cold stone was coarse beneath his
fingertips—a powerful contradiction to Sofia’s warmth and delicate beauty. He
steadied his body weight with his palms and glanced at the stars.

Roses and wintertime whispered against Aleksender’s back. Sofia joined
him at the railing and folded both hands atop the stonework. She pointed at the
sky, gesturing the brightest star to be found. When she spoke, her voice was
soothing and wonderfully calm. “Many think that Venus is just another star. But
she’s so much more than that.”

Aleksender finally managed to catch his breath. Finding comfort in her
peace, he gazed at Sofia’s serene expression. “I see. And who is she?”

“Why, the goddess of love and beauty, of course.”

Aleksender had known the story longer than Sofia had been alive.
Regardless, he feigned a look of surprise. Sofia played along in turn, her
consciousness fading into fantasy. Within her mind’s eye, she was sprawled
before a hearth and relaxing in the arms of her guardian’s voice.

“There was only one more exquisite than Venus. Her name was Psyche and
she was a mere mortal … earthbound. Throughout the land she was revered for her
beauty. Forgotten by the people, Venus’s temples quickly fell to ruin.
Jealously twisted her soul and warped it into something monstrous.” Aleksender
leaned against the banister and studied Sofia’s bright and beaming face. It had
come to life with her storytelling. “So, she called upon the services of her
son Eros, the God of Love. Venus ordered that he strike a monster with one of
his golden arrows and sentence a demon to fall in love with Psyche. But even
Eros was swept by her beauty. He’d often gaze upon Psyche from afar knowing
they were from different worlds, knowing they could never be together.”

Sofia brushed the voluptuous material of her skirts aside and knelt to
the ground. She patted the empty space beside her, gesturing Aleksender to take
a seat. He obeyed. An aura of warmth swept over Sofia. His nearness stirred all
five of her senses to life.

“Where was I? Oh, yes—amidst Eros’s infatuation, one of the arrows fell
forward and pierced his heart. Panicked, he soared back to his home. Time
passed and Psyche was still immaculately beautiful, still praised by everyone.
Burning with vengeance, Venus stranded Psyche on top of Mount Olympus, waiting
for either a demon or Death to claim the poor girl. But Eros spotted Psyche
from the skies. Cloaked in the dark of night, he took her into his wings flying
her into the heavens—”

Sofia paused as Aleksender stripped away his cloak. Each movement sent
muscles straining against the material of his dress shirt. Claiming a seat, he
smoothed out the wool and arranged it across the cold flooring.

“Do continue, ma chérie
,
” he said, ushering
Sofia down onto the makeshift blanket. “You have me quite intrigued.”

Heart banging against her ribs, Sofia scooted close to his body.
Tension flared like a tangible force. Moonlight caressed the raven locks of
Aleksender’s hair with enchanting highlights.

“Eros and Psyche soon wed. But he would visit her only in the darkest
nights. She pleaded that he
reveal
his identity.
Psyche was with child and longed to know her husband more than ever before. But
he sadly shook his head and explained how ‘his home was her home, and that he
loved her dearly.’ See, if she were to look upon him before their child was
born, the baby would grow to be mortal. Within the darkness, Psyche came to be
very lonely.”

Sofia’s storytelling stalled to a halt. A sigh fled her lips as she
reclined on Aleksender’s cloak. Head cradled in his lap, she stared at the
immeasurable night sky. A mild breeze swam through her hair and tossed flurries
of curls against her cheeks. Fingertips lingering against her flesh, Aleksender
deftly tucked them behind each ear. Sofia swallowed and gazed into the haunted
depths of his eyes.

“Psyche was lonely, you say?”

“Yes, she loved her husband, but missed her mortal sisters terribly.
Eros took pity on his wife and allowed them to visit one evening. They grew jealous
of their beautiful sister—jealous of her wealth and her heavenly home, her
husband. They formed a plot, finding a way to take Psyche’s lover and fortune
as their own. They warned that she was in great danger and needed to know her
husband’s identity, that he must be a demon—having come only in the night and
never showing himself. And if he was indeed a demon, Psyche must kill him
before he killed their babe.”

“Ah. That’s women for you.” Sofia balled a hand into a fist, reached
behind herself, and blindly socked Aleksender’s torso. He caught her wrist in a
suave motion. Before lowering it to the ground, he awarded her flesh with a
small kiss.

Sofia continued the story with a laugh. “Terrified, Psyche decided to
act on the advice of her sisters.
One night, Eros slept,
spent from their love.
Psyche lit an oil lamp, knife in hand. She was
determined to know the truth—prepared to plunge the knife deep into her lover’s
sleeping chest. But what she saw wasn’t a horrifying demon. No. It was a
beautiful young man, donning wings of gold.”