by Jade Lee
He exploded upward, his face darkening as she had not seen in a long time. Not since the shameful waste of her family, her home and their library in dragon fire. "Natiya!" he bellowed. "You forget yourself!"
She looked up, cringing inside, straight-backed and steady on the outside. But for all that, she did not know what to say. She did not know what she wanted.
You are worth much more than he offers.
She closed her eyes. The voice was correct, but she could not tell her uncle that. He did not know. Then a sudden noise in the hallway distracted her, saving her from answering her uncle. The noise was the sound of heavy, rushing feet, a quick knock, and an even more hurried push as the door to the side room burst open and—just as quickly—was pulled shut.
It was Talned, looking as frazzled and excited as she had ever seen him.
"Natiya! Quick!" he gasped. "You must dance."
Natiya groaned, feeling herself slip into the familiar pattern again. "You promised, Talned. Not today."
The bald man rushed forward, shoving aside furniture in his haste to chastise his employee. "You will dance today. Now!"
She could only look at him in confusion. Something momentous had happened. And something momentous in Dabu'ut usually meant soldiers, danger and dragon fire. "Talned ..." she began, only to be cut off by a furious slash of his hand through the air.
"Now!" His face twisted in fear, not anger.
Natiya bit back a sigh. She knew she would not win this argument. "Fine."
"Dress! Go! Dance!"
"I said, fine." But she looked in worry to her uncle. What could have happened to send the usually unflappable innkeeper into a terrified tizzy?
Rened merely shrugged, his expression unreadable. "As long as you work for him, you will always be at his beck and call."
Natiya didn't respond. She could tell by his flat expression that she had offended her uncle deeply. Perhaps even irreparably. But there was nothing she could do about it now. And no chance she could accept Pentold as a life mate. Not with her secret.
So she turned away, feeling more lost and alone than ever.
"Go! Go!" Talned was waving her on, actually pushing her when she moved too slowly. In fact, she would have stumbled if her uncle had not distracted the innkeeper.
Tugging backward on Talned's arm, Rened asked the one question that Natiya hadn't dared ask, not with the innkeeper in such an agitated state: "Whom does she dance for?"
The answer came quickly, and with a tremor of excitement or fear, she couldn't tell which.
"The new governor."
* * *
Natiya tugged at a loose string of beads on her dancing costume. She would have to repair it tonight before it came apart. In fact, she thought, looking sourly at the entire bodice, there were quite a few places that needed repair.
Someday she would be able to afford all the beads and jewelry she wanted. And a seamstress to sew them into her clothing. But for now, she needed to take more care with her two costumes.
"Ooh," crooned Monik, coming around the corner beside her. "What a lovely red jewel," she said, pointing to the ornament in Natiya's navel. "It would go perfect with my costume. And I have a gold piece that would complement that dress so much better."
Natiya's hand covered her abdomen reflexively, not needing to look down to remember the brilliant, shimmering red stone that flashed there. Then, realizing what she had done, she slowly lowered her hand. "That's a good idea," she said slowly, "but I just glued this one in. It'll have to stay for a bit. But we'll discuss a trade later."
Monik's expression turned sour. "Oh yeah, I forgot. You don't share."
"That's not true," began Natiya, but Monik had already flounced off.
She doesn't matter, came the voice, and Natiya nodded in confirmation. It was true. Monik didn't matter. She was an average dancer with less intelligence than the dock workers she serviced. Still, Natiya thought with a sigh, it would have been nice to have a friend.
I'm your friend. The only one you need.
Before Natiya could respond, Talned came scurrying over. "Are you ready? He's right over there."
Natiya peered through the curtain, not needing the innkeeper's extended finger to spot him. It was not that the new governor was so very handsome. Dark hair, tall stature, hauntingly clear blue gaze—those were mere physical attributes that would tempt a lesser woman. His shoulders were wide, his clothing immaculate, and his hands steady. Very nice, but she focused on his hands and her breath caught in her chest. His fingers were long and tapered. Elegant. Almost refined. And more importantly, they were quick and sure as they gestured whenever he spoke. That was it. That was what made her heart beat faster and her eyes linger on the sight of him.
Confidence.
She supposed someone who killed dragons had the right to be secure. His every movement, even the way he breathed, was flush with assurance. And from the way everyone in the room deferred to him, they felt it, too. This was a man who would be obeyed.
Then he looked up. He had been drinking ale, and she had been fascinated by the splay of his long, tanned fingers about the tankard, noting the calluses typical of a man who used a sword. Until he set down his drink, his gaze wandering almost casually about the room. Until it landed on her.
Instinctively she drew backward, deeper into the shadows, making sure she was hidden by the curtain. It did not change a thing. Though he could not see her, she could feel his gaze on her, steady, heavy, seeing too much. Yet she knew it was impossible.
Nothing is impossible in a land of magic.
Natiya winced at the oft-heard admonition, but did not respond.
Why do you look just at him ? See everything.
Obediently, Natiya scanned the room, taking in the drunken revelers scattered about, Talned and Monik in hurried conversation in the back, the covetous glances of men and women alike as they gazed at the new governor.
Everything.
Natiya sighed, knowing what the voice wanted and slowly shifting her gaze to see. The governor had a companion. A woman. Brown hair, dumpy, well-manicured, and dressed too beautifully for a common tavern.
The men watch her.
Yes, Natiya thought sourly. They watched her too-ample curves accented by her tight-bodiced gown. Lord, she jiggled every time she breathed. And now she was leaning toward the governor, touching his arm with casual intimacy and speaking to him in an undertone.
Don't turn your head away, Natiya ordered the woman silently, and happily, the woman didn't. Narrowing her gaze, Natiya watched the woman's lips, reading the words as easily as if she'd heard them whispered into her own ear:
"I'll never understand your... plebeian tastes," the woman said.
Natiya stiffened, feeling the insult even though she had to search her memory for the meaning of the word. Plebeian. Peasantlike. Lower-class.
Far from being insulted on his people's behalf, the governor merely smiled. His words were equally silent, but also easily read from his lips. "You know why I am here."
"I never know," returned his companion. "Nor do I care to learn."
Neither do I, Natiya thought as she turned away, focusing on readjusting her clothing. So the governor had another purpose for being here? No doubt to find a prettier whore to grace his bed. Well, it wouldn't be her.
You are angry. Why?
"Because I don't want to dance. Not now. Not ever. And certainly not for the likes of him."
She muttered the words aloud, using the sound to reinforce her ill humor.
You are lying. You always want to dance.
"I'm tired." This time her words were a peevish complaint.
What are you hiding from me?
Natiya sighed. She hated it when the voice got this demanding. There was never any judgment in its tone, merely a steady and insatiable curiosity. It wanted to know. It wanted to understand. And Natiya struggled to answer honestly.
"That woman," she whispered silently. "She is rich."
Yo
u will be rich one day.
"She is dark-haired and curvy. Voluptuous."
The physical is not important.
Natiya grimaced, knowing the voice would not be still until it had a label, a name to put to the unaccustomed emotions flowing through her.
"I am envious of her."
But she has nothing you envy. Wealth and physical form are unimportant, power is important. Power will get you everything you desire.
Natiya shook her head. "You do not understand," she said. Then she finished her thought silently, knowing the voice would hear what she dared not say out loud: I envy her the man.
Why?
Because the man has power, and she has him.
Could not he have her? Must it be she who has possession?
Natiya shrugged. To be honest, she could not believe that the man was the woman's puppet. Most likely, it was he who toyed with her. Still, she thought in response, sometimes access to power is enough. If she were this woman, she would not squander the opportunity. She would study and learn and use the man until she had gained all she could from him. Until she understood him.
Mercifully, the voice remained silent, no doubt studying her thoughts as Natiya wished to study the man. But both were denied the opportunity because, at that moment, the musicians began to play.
Time to dance. She didn't need to speak the words; the timing was obvious. Yet it was a ritual with her, something she always said before the first step, before even her first dancing breath. And the sound of the words reminded her that this was a task now before her, a persona she donned for the benefit of others.
At least, that's what she told herself.
She began haltingly, sliding slowly out of the curtained alcove, moving awkwardly because she truly was tired, and she hated being forced to dance. Merely for emphasis, she shot both her uncle and Talned a scathing look, one filled with anger and resentment.
Rened responded with a self-satisfied smirk. He knew she was angry, and he mistakenly believed that this enforced activity would bring her one step closer to marrying his son. Talned simply jerked his head toward the governor, telling Natiya to dance for the dignitary and no other. As long as Dag Racho was Emperor, insulting any branch of the government—even a governor bent on reform—could make one dragon-bait.
The music began in earnest.
She intended to dance badly: It was the only way to prove to Talned that he could not command her, that when he forced her to dance against her will, the result was ugly, stilted and ungainly. Eyes open. Body stiff. These were the orders she gave her limbs. These were the thoughts that she chanted over and over in her mind.
The music turned, the melody began, but she heard only the beat of the drum. The low tum was steady, merging with her thoughts, adding tempo and cadence to her chant.
She turned, and the coins and beads of her costume shifted as well, adding another sound. The steady ting was a necessity, demanded of all dancers. But for her, the adornments were tactile, the heavy tap of jewelry against her skin an echo of the drum.
Eyes open. Body stiff.
Tum. Tum. Tum. Tum.
Her hips shifted. Her back arched.
Eyes open. Body stiff.
Tum. Tum. Tum. Tum.
Her head fell back as her shoulders swayed. Her arms curled with the melody, lifting and moving, adding form and depth to sound.
Eyes open. Body stiff.
Tum. Tum. Tum. Tum.
The words of her chant had no meaning now. She heard only sound, felt only the beat while she explored the true expression of muscle and bone.
Stretch, pull, arch, breathe.
All was one. The sound, the movement, the breathing, even her vision melded color and light into a kaleidoscope of harmonies. Dance steps disappeared from conscious thought. Her training faded. The hours of repetition and study meant nothing to her here; all was life and movement and joy.
Joy.
The music swelled. Did she lead it now? Did her feelings pull the harmonies with her? It didn't matter who led and who followed; they had joined, and the beat pulsed on. As Natiya gave form and expression to sound.
Tum. Tum. Tum. Tum.
Joy!
Chapter 3
Kiril set down his tankard untouched. Great Unity, the girl could dance!
She had started out stiffly, obviously angry with the innkeeper. Her fury had radiated like the sun, and Kiril had been surprised by it. The dancers of his acquaintance welcomed the opportunity to show off their skills and, more to the point, their assets to a wealthy customer. The other wench, Monik was her name, had proclaimed her interest by all but stripping before his very eyes. So when the innkeeper had mentioned his best dancer, Kiril had considered feigning an illness just to escape what would no doubt be an oppressively grotesque display of feminine harlotry.
But disappearing early would not only have been rude, it would also have defeated his primary purpose in coming here: to meet the local population and show himself as a friendly peer who happened to govern them. He wanted to say as loudly as possible that he was nothing like their last money-hungry, power-drunk brute of a governor. And so he had stayed, barely noticing the mediocre music or the girl's obvious hatred.
To make matters worse, she was blond. Who had ever heard of a blond dancer? Truthfully, there were probably many, but those so cursed dyed their hair. Failing that, they at least wore a wig. But this dancer obviously scorned such convention, deliberately flaunting her pale tresses as openly as she displayed her fury.
Then, d'greth, she began to dance in earnest.
She had begun slowly, as if unwilling to surrender to the lure of the music. But who would deny such a gift? Even the drunks about the room had ceased imbibing long enough to watch.
For a bare moment Kiril tried to analyze what made her movements so compelling. There was skill, surely, but he had seen dancers with greater practice, greater training. It wasn't in the way she twisted or shifted before his eyes, her movements almost serpentine in fluidity. No, though mesmerizing to watch, the attraction did not lie in her sheer physical performance.
Then his mind began to falter, conscious thought slipping away as he gave himself up to the pure joy of watching. The music, the dance, the girl herself; all combined to express an emotion he had rarely seen, much less felt.
What was it? He couldn't even give it a name.
Sufficiency, perhaps. He doubted the girl even remembered she had an audience. And happiness. Her expression was rapturous.
Joy. That was it. Simple, pure, unadulterated joy. D'greth, when was the last time he'd felt that happy?
She took a leap into the air. He was so caught up in the dance that he fully expected her to sprout wings, taking the explosion of power and movement into the air. But she didn't have wings, and so she fell, plummeting to the floor in a dazed heap, as though she too were surprised by her lack of wings.
The tavern was silent, the musicians done, and as one, dancer and audience took a breath, all simultaneously returning to reality.
Then came another explosion: a roar of deafening applause, whistles and cheers. For a moment Kiril envied these men, knowing that for them, the dancer's performance was routine. The innkeeper said she had danced here most of her life. What would it be like to know, at the end of the day, that such awesome beauty awaited? One need only step down the corner to the local tavern. No wonder this inn was thriving.
Kiril took a deep breath, startled to realize it was his first in many moments. In fact, his dizziness came as much from lack of air as from the woman still on the floor by his feet. Without thought, he left his seat to crouch beside her, gently lifted her up in his arms.
Tiny was his first thought. She weighed next to nothing. But through the thin barrier of her costume he felt the hardened muscles, the strength and the power of a body that could perform such miracles.
"I can stand on my own, thank you very much."
Her cold words jolted him into awareness. Sweet Amia, he had
been standing with her in his arms for who knew how long. He felt his face flood with heat, and the shock of that sensation made him drop his arms as if she were no more than a sack of meal. Fortunately, she was lithe and found her feet as easily as any wild animal. And like any wild animal, she turned to flee.
Fortunately, he was regaining control of his thoughts. Quicker than she could run, he extended his hand, catching her arm. And though he tried to be gentle, his urgency to keep her near him made his grip tighter than he'd intended.
"Don't go," he urged.
She stood still, her expression wary, her gaze locked not on his hand where he gripped her wrist but directly at him. On his eyes.
She had the most marvelous eyes. Pale. Changeable. They matched perfectly with her blond hair and fair complexion. And once again, they were angry, blazing challenge at him for daring to touch her. He felt their impact as a physical blow. No doubt this was how she kept the local populace in line. Otherwise, she would likely be mauled at the conclusion of her first dance.
But he had not become a dragon-killer without obtaining some skill. No human could match a dragon for power in their mesmerizing gaze, and as potent as this girl was, she was nothing compared to the creatures he had already defeated.
Instead of releasing her, he drew her forward, urging her to sit with him, talk with him, anything that would keep her by his side a little longer. His attraction was not physical, he told himself, it was intellectual. What type of creature, what type of woman could dance like that? She had to be extraordinary.
"I'm sorry, my lord."
Kiril blinked. That comment came from the innkeeper as the man rushed forward, stupidly trying to interpose his body between the governor and the dancer. Kiril ignored him, his entire being focused on the woman.
"My lord!"
Kiril blinked, frowning as he turned to the irritating man. "Talned?" His voice fairly dripped with rancor, completely at odds with his plan to befriend this influential businessman.