by A. R. Henle
“For a while.” Her chin dropped against her chest. Blinking dispelled the tears. “I am always happiest here where I come to dance, to escape. It’s left fallow, so no one else comes here. Only me.”
“Why are there no crops planted?” He let go one hand and scooped a handful of earth. Rich loam trickled between his fingers. “It seems fertile.”
“It’s been fallow for several years, and hadn’t recovered.” The smell of wet earth cleared Gisela’s mind, as though a flood passed through carrying all cares away. She’d face her fears tomorrow. For now, the sight of the flowering field filled her with gladness. Here, at least, she’d made a difference. “But now, maybe it has. It will.”
At which point she noticed where they sat, at the end of the field. Movement caught her eye and she jerked to study the trail leading toward the village.
Nothing there but the wind blowing through flourishing trees and bushes. All the same, it brought back memories of her first dance in the field and how that had ended. How ironic.
Her shoulders shook with reluctant laughter. A few last drops of moisture glittered in the corners of her eyes, but declined to fall.
Stevan grabbed the hem of his mantle and dabbed at her face.
She pushed his hand away and cleared her eyes with the back of a hand. Although not so soft, skin on skin roused less soreness than the cloth.
“What did you find funny?” He tilted his head to one side. Voice light, and face bright, he invited her answer with a carefree air.
She could decline. Yet something about the set of his shoulders—and the intentness in his gaze—made her wonder how much he truly wanted to know.
He’d comforted her when she needed it. She could give him something back, small truths at the very least.
“Here is where I came to dance, and it’s because of that I must go with you.” She jerked her chin at the head of the trail. “That’s where I saw her. The Terparchon. One time, early in the summer. She watched me dance, then ordered me to let her dig her fingers into my hands and feet. Didn’t tell me anything, except that I was a dancer. And now I’m to be a princess? What do I know of that? Of anything, even the dances I’ll have to perform? The spells . . .”
“I don’t know what dances the princesses do in their chamber deep within the palace.” Stevan frowned. A leaf, round and bright green, drifted down from overhead. He caught it before it could land on her head, and laid it on the ground. “I haven’t even been there. But the dances at court balls are not so very different from those at the festival the other night.”
“The princesses dance at festivals?” Gisela hadn’t much considered what her life might include other than exercises and magic. And power wielded against the land as well as for.
“Yes. Often.”
“Have you seen them do magic dances?”
“No. They don’t do their magic in public although there are tales that once upon a time they’d go out and Dance anywhere, from a riverside to the top of a mountain. There are special chambers and buildings in every palace.” He shook his head and picked up a stick to draw in the dirt. Line by line, he sketched an immense array of buildings and rooms that surely encompassed as much land as the village. Perhaps twice or three times as much.
Separate from all the other buildings, and yet encompassed by them if Gisela read his drawing aright, he outlined a square.
“The rest of us keep out.” He tossed the stick to the side and tapped the square.
Only then did Gisela realize his other hand was still entwined with hers. She pulled her hand to her lap and his followed, not letting go. A harder tug and he likely would have, but she didn’t test the theory.
“You’ve never pried?”
“No.” He laughed, shoulders shaking.
“You weren’t curious?”
“It wasn’t my business. Not until very recently.” Stevan squeezed her fingers, then let go. “I am not so different from you. Until this past moon, I was a scribe. A clerk to one of the royal ministers. Sub-ministers.”
She reached for his hands and took them in hers. Turning them over, revealed the remnants of ink stains. Shivers of excitement trickled up her arms at the feel of the rough calluses from holding pen or stylus too long.
His fingers quivered within her grasp. His breathing shallowed, then emerged in a sigh.
But he’d stopped his story, right at the point where he’d caught her interest.
“What happened?” She looked up at him, hands still cupping his.
“The Terparchon danced with me at a ball—I blame my brother for that—and decided I was what Amara calls a compeer. Someone born to partner princesses.” His hands turned within her grasp. Pushing backwards, he laid her hands in her lap and withdrew. Wrapped his arms across his chest. “That’s why they sent me here. As bait, for you.”
“Bait?” The word made no sense.
“A lure. Attraction. Amara claimed any princess would be drawn to dance with me. Not least one unaware of her power and standing.”
Gisela sat right next to Stevan, practically in his lap. Nevertheless, without moving he withdrew from her. The air between them became a vast gap.
“And that is why I declined to lie with you that night.”
“I don’t understand.”
“What were you offering, when you asked?” He stroked her cheek with a finger, leaving a burning warmth behind.
“The pleasures of the body.” She cupped her head, covering the spot he’d touched. Her other hand flattened against the ground. The steady beat of the earth beneath helped her keep from reeling. As well she was seated still, for she did not know how many more unexpected shocks and realizations she could face.
“For one night. You did not think I would stay or you leave with me.” He shook his head. “But I knew otherwise. That we would be bound in the same direction for much longer than you guessed. It wouldn’t have been fair of me. It would have been taking advantage of your lack of knowledge.”
“Kind of you.” Though for a moment she wished he hadn’t resisted. That she’d had a night of celebration before facing the loss of her world.
“Because I want more.” He caressed her other cheek, though his own ruddy cheeks flushed redder. “As I told you that night, ask me again at the next full moon and you’ll get a different answer.”
At which he turned shy, and ducked his head. Pulled away and rose to his feet where he towered over her.
She sat unmoving, turning his words over and over in her head. A new life away from the village, filled with unknowns. The power in her dance and the potential for its misuse. Someone who wanted to live and love with her, in this new life. It was all too much.
“If you’re not ready at the next full moon, then the full moon after or any moon after.” He smiled down at her, though his hands shook as he helped her to her feet. “If you ever decide you are willing to risk a life with me, all you need do is ask.”
He escorted her back to the village, bowing over her hand as he left her at the door to her chamber and walked off.
Only after she’d downed a pitcher of watered wine and laid on her bed to rest did she allow herself to ponder any of the changes and realizations of the day.
Of which his offer was the sweetest.
A compeer. She’d never heard the word, yet the syllables held a sense of rightness and balance.
Someone to turn to and share with as they both entered the magic of the dance.
She dreamed of the dance that night. Of matching with him in twisting limbs as the beat of the earth pumped in their blood.
Then roused in the darkness to sit bolt upright and clutch the covers. She might not know much of the rulers and their attendants, but some things were no secrets. That the members mated in twos and the occasional three.
That rather than holding all children in common, bloodlines mattered.
If he wanted children, she could not bear them.
Chapter 13
Mud covered Gisela’s foo
t. Thick and gooey, it clung to her skin. Resisted her attempts to yank her leg free. She stood at an angle, left foot dirty but resting on comparatively firm ground and the right stuck. Her hands held the skirts of her tunic and mantle to the knee, giving a clear view of the slick, yellow guck adhering to her skin. Adjusting her girdle, she twisted the cloths so the leather strap kept her skirts high. She wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of one hand. Damp hair clung to her scalp and neck.
Rain no longer cascaded from the clouds. Only stray drops pelted from the tree branches arching over the trail. The sky remained overcast and the air humid but otherwise pleasant. Certainly filled with the fragrance of grasses, grains, and flowers all growing in abundance. A glance in any direction would reveal a dozen or more shades of flourishing greens—a glance anywhere save directly down.
Gisela had spent many a day in the council chamber listening to traders complain about the condition of the tracks in the district without paying much heed. The trails near Foleilion might grow slick with mud or ice on occasion, but remained passable. How much worse could the path to the main trade road be?
If only she had advocated for improvements. Too late now.
Two days into the trip destroyed any interest in travel. Never having drifted farther than the other Escalli villages, she’d spent much thought on what she left behind and the trials she might face when she reached the palace—and almost none on getting there.
Stevan and Amara and the company had made their way to the village well enough; how hard could it be to walk the reverse? With all her dancing in the field, Gisela should be well suited to the trek.
Alas, walking along an uneven track for hours on end proved different enough from dancing that, although her body was accustomed to regular movement, she ached. Her step started out sprightly before settling into a slog. By the end of the first day, she lifted her feet only as far off the ground as necessary to shuffle along. A brief stint jouncing along on the back of the cart convinced her walking was preferable.
At least she no longer wore the dreaded sandals. She’d doffed them shortly after the cart stuck in the first large mud puddle. Heavy rain overnight left the bare ground wet and mucky. Here and there, the gray sky reflected in pools of water that had yet to seep into the earth. No matter how much mud clung to Gisela’s feet, stepping in the pools rinsed her skin.
The narrow track passed along a dip between a field and forest. On either side, uneven banks sloped up. Patches of grass and large boulders covered both sides, as did thick roots from the tall trees. The result channeled rain into the ground along the track rather than letting it seep into the field or run off.
Whoever had thought this a good place to pass?
Curses and grunts rang out from behind as Stevan and half of the guards lent their strength to get the cart through the muck. The donkeys brayed and struggled as they forged on. The humans pushed. Most had streaks up legs, along arms, and across faces and chests. One of the guards had a solid smear of mud along the top of his head, having run a mucky hand through. All had rucked up their tunics above their knees, showing shapely legs now amply striped in thick wet earth.
Quite a sight to see, even dirtied as they were. If Gisela’s gaze lingered longest on Stevan, she doubted any took the time to notice.
Gisela’s offer to assist had been gently declined.
Amara had not offered. Wrapped in two layers of mantles to keep off the damp, she passed along the edge of the muddy ruts and escaped with only a thin layer of mud coating her feet.
If only luck had favored Gisela as well.
The muscles in her back and thighs protested as she bent over and wrapped her hands around her ankle.
Yanked once. Twice. On the third, her foot came free with a vengeance. Clods of earth splashed all around. The force of the release nearly toppled Gisela, except Stevan’s solid body braced her. His muddy hands fastened on her upper arms and her torso pressed back against his.
They held onto each other as they hobbled to the side of the track and dropped onto the narrow verge. Covered by a mix of grass clumps and gnarled tree roots, it offered little in the way of comfort but was preferable to treading further off the track into the field stretching to one side or the forest to the other.
The ground welcomed Gisela with a soft thrum. The resonance eased the ache in her legs, but only for a moment. Running her hands along her legs, she massaged her sore muscles. Found a knot in her right calf and pressed hard. Drew in a deep breath, held, and then let it out slowly. The muscle twanged as tension released. Although improved, a residual ache remained.
Farther down, the others had freed the donkeys from the mud puddle although not the cart. The wheels remained nearly a third covered with muck as most of the dirty company likewise settled onto the verge to rest.
Emmi and Rik lifted skins of wine from the cart and poured generous mouthfuls for all who wanted. Other servants tended the animals. Gisela drank the wine gladly, swishing some of the tart liquid around her mouth to clear the taste of mud.
“How long did it take you to travel here?” Gisela looked back where the track curved in the distance, around a high hill.
“A matter of days.” Stevan picked up a stray pebble and tossed it into the puddle. It sank with a gulp. “The way was not this bad. The summer storms hadn’t started. We’re fortunate not to be walking in pouring rain, though this is hardly any better.
“The summer storms?”
“Beginning around midsummer, great storms roll in from the ocean and drench the land, at best. The winds have been known to whip houses from their foundations. They grow worse, then weaken as summer turns to fall. The court remains at the summer palace in Yaras to face the storms, as the princesses ease their rage.” Stevan frowned, brows wrinkling. “Haven’t you endured them in Foleilion?”
“Our summer storms are mostly the same as you saw while you were there. Nearly every afternoon, a squall will pass through and drop rain before moving on. They rarely last long.” She rubbed her soles against her legs, sending clumps of flaking earth to roll down the slope. “And though they leave us with mud, I don’t recall ever seeing quite so much of it.”
“I can see the road in the distance. In good weather, we’d cross the distance in half an hour or less.” Amara remained standing, perched high on a thick root that raised her nearly a length above the muck. She shook her head, mouth turning up to one side, as she gazed down at Gisela, Stevan, and the rest. “It’ll take longer today.”
Gisela’s arm muscles trembled as she rubbed her calves and ankles. Little though she’d liked the previous day’s travel, she’d found passing over dry earth more preferable.
“Must we continue on in this?” The notion of a long slog through more mud sent a shiver up Gisela’s spine. “Is there nothing that would dry the earth, just a little?”
“Only a Dance, though even a lesser one could. There’s a Dance for almost everything.”
Amara pronounced dance the same way everyone did. Yet somehow the way she said it roused a resonance in Gisela, a warmth as though she’d stepped from shadows into a pool of sunlight. Soon, she’d learn what Amara meant, what kind of Dance was more than the measures and movements enjoyed at festivals and casual gatherings. But not, evidently for healing conditions such as hers. A flash of disappointment flooded through her, even though she’d not imagined the possibility until it was withheld.
“Dance.” Gisela tried to replicate the emphasis, but failed.
Stevan glanced back and forth between them, brows narrowing in a frown. Perhaps he hadn’t heard the difference.
“There’s no way to describe it that does it justice.” Amara closed her eyes and tilted her head back. “When done right it is a melding. Bringing disparate forces into harmony. Achieving balance. Once you’ve Danced on purpose, not by accident, you can never mistake it for anything else. Balls and hops at taverns are mere exercise in comparison.”
The older dam pressed clenched fists against he
r chest, arms tight at her sides. Her torso expanded and contracted with deep, shuddering breaths. Air hissed through her lips as she exhaled.
“You miss it.” Stevan rose. Though standing on earth, not the root, he was tall enough to lay a comforting hand on Amara’s shoulder.
“Always.” A shiver racked her, then the tension drained from her body. She opened her eyes and ducked her head. “But I am no longer able to Dance as I did before.”
“Why not? You’re in better shape than Gisela or I. Surely—“
“It’s not just a matter of body but mind and spirit.” She jerked away from his hand.
Stevan retreated, shoulders turning inward.
Without thought, Gisela rose and stood next to him. She nudged him, tucking her hand in his. He grabbed tight.
Amara noted the movement and gave them a tight smile. “My apologies. But I know myself not fit. I leave things unbalanced, so it is better if I content myself with teaching others.”
“But you’re not content.” Gisela waved at the mud. “Couldn’t you do a little one here, on the track?
“I must be content. It is required of me.” The other dam shrugged. “Didn’t you hear me say I am unbalanced?”
“Well, so am I.” Gisela reflexively touched her temple, where the purple streak had yet to fade.
“It’s not quite the same.” Amara shook her head.
Gisela slumped. Stevan laid warm hands on her shoulders, fingers digging deep to the point Gisela moaned in relief as tension dispersed. She leaned back into him as he spoke over her head.
“Could you teach Gisela?”
Amara paused, then leapt down onto the trail. The mud squelched, sinking her down far enough that her toes vanished from sight.
“I’ll show you something that might work, but you must be the one to Dance and dry the road.” The elder offered Gisela a hand. “I’ll only participate as much as needed to ensure the cart wheels are not trapped. And you”—she jerked her chin at Stevan—“can keep time and watch that Gisela does not use too much power.”