He put his hands on either side of her face, gentle but irresistible. “You are perfect just the way you are,” he said with quiet fervor. “I wouldn’t change a single thing.”
“Even—” Gizelle started.
“Nothing,” Conall promised without reservation. “Not anything.”
You are perfect, his elk echoed, and if it was hard not to believe Conall, it was impossible not to believe his elk. You are all the herd we need.
Her gazelle took a few springy steps in joy and contentment and Gizelle knew that even if she sometimes had to run, she would never have to run alone again.
Chapter 54
Even if Conall had not actually needed Gizelle for what he was about to face, he couldn’t imagine doing it without her.
“Are you sure?” she asked anxiously, a hand on his neck.
Conall wasn’t sure at all. “I’m ready,” he said anyway.
Gizelle reached over his shoulder, keeping her other hand carefully on his bare skin, and tapped the play-arrow on the screen in front of them.
The file had taken nearly an hour to download; Conall knew better than to try to watch it streaming on the resort’s unreliable network.
It was always jarring seeing himself in videos, but it was even more surreal to hear himself.
He stalked onto the stage; he had been so angry then. Angry and undefeated and grim.
He hadn’t bothered to acknowledge the audience, though they enthusiastically applauded his entrance. He remembered how gingerly he had carried the guitar, remembered how much trust that performance had taken; had the guitar been tuned correctly, or just barely well enough? Would it stay in tune through the entire piece? He hadn’t been thinking about performing, he’d been thinking about how the guitar deserved someone who could make music with it, not just on it.
The orchestra had already tuned, and once he nodded at the conductor, they swept into the music he’d written.
The music he’d written.
The feeling of disassociation only intensified when he began playing.
The music clearly showed that he felt like he had something to prove. If there was a simple progression choice at any point, he had ignored it, preferring to show off his skill instead. There were also points where the song was more about the drama than sound phrasing. He arguably over-used the flutes as a counterpoint to the mellower guitar notes. And towards the end, the guitar might have been just slightly sliding out of tune; understandable after the way he had so ferociously played it.
But on the whole, it was good.
It was an emotional piece, with a strong melody and technically excellent harmony. His playing was inspired, if questionably full of angst. If he had been listening to someone else’s work, he would have praised the work as excellent, if slightly raw. His recorded version gave the most cursory bow in the history of music performance and fled the stage, leaving the guitar behind as if he had been struck with a case of stage fright, while the audience rose to their feet and thundered their approval.
Conall remembered how it had felt, the silence around him like a fireman’s blanket, the despair that he’d tried to recapture in his music feeling distant and unimportant as he tried to shutter away the pain, and all the other feelings that came with it.
“Conall?” Gizelle’s quiet voice near his ear reminded him where he was now. “Are you all right?”
“Did you like it?” Conall had to ask, only recognizing the tightness in his throat when he heard how choked he sounded.
“It was beautiful,” she said immediately. “So sad and glorious and strong.”
Conall folded his head down onto her shoulder and put his arms around her, feeling weak and full of relief. “I... I deserved it,” he said numbly. “I actually deserved the Grawemeyer award.”
“Of course you did,” Gizelle said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and as if she had anything more than his own explanation of what the award was to base her opinion on. She wrapped her arms around him in return. “You are amazing.”
“I never felt amazing,” Conall admitted. “Not before you. I always felt like I got everything handed to me out of pity or privilege. Everyone felt sorry for me.”
“Who would feel sorry for you?” Gizelle asked in astonishment. “You’re so beautiful and smart and have such a big strong elk inside.” She drew back suspiciously. “Is the word you’re looking for envy?”
Conall had to laugh at her earnestness, and at his elk’s proud assertion that she clearly had a point.
“I want to hear all of your music,” Gizelle said eagerly. “Is there more?”