Blade Dancer

by K. M. Tolan

  “I disobeyed some rather basic conditioning when I left, Paleen, leaving my duties and my Holding, and not to mention consorting with the enemy.” Mikial peeked into Paleen's shoulder bag as she sorted through a tangle of jewelry, cloth, and various coins. “May I ask what you're doing?"

  Paleen gave a victorious cry and pulled out a sealed package. It contained a necklace of hollowed beads, alternating in bands of white, red, and black. They formed three strings connected by silver links. “Why don't we start by dealing with the matter at hand?"

  “My first aile necklace!” Mikial said with a laugh as Paleen tore the seal open. “Paleen, it's beautiful!” The beads were perforated, allowing through the strong flowery fragrance of crushed aile petals inside.

  Paleen gave a grin and snapped it around Mikial's neck. “Congratulations on your first Passion!” Paleen lifted up the smaller cord of solid beads attached to either side of the three strings. “I shortened your Promise stones. Your mother told me that you've only a week left.” She gave a wicked grin. “Didn't want people to think that you hadn't anyone interested in taking them."

  Mikial's humor deflated. “I don't."

  “You might. Your mother's made all the arrangements at the inn. I've a carriage waiting."

  “Has she said anything to you about me?"

  Paleen paused, her ear fans flicking. “Nobody wants to see their daughter go through a Judgment, Mikial.” Paleen's smile returned as she gave Mikial a hug of reassurance. “Don't worry. You're going to have a great week!"

  It was wonderful to leave the hospital and enjoy what little freedom had been given her. They splashed through puddles left along the road by an early rain as Paleen drove her from Healer's Ridge toward Shadow Inn. It was Mikial's first time up the lodge stairs where the neighborhood's unattached females in Passion were customarily encouraged to spend most of their time. The scent of Passion was a powerful distraction, and even an aile necklace had its limits.

  Everything she had heard of this place had been filled with tales of lurid furnishings. None told of the warm cinnamon-colored carpet and paneled walls that decorated the hallway. At the end of the corridor stood an ornate sheld display case carved into flowing patterns like a frozen wave. Several gifts sat on its backlit shelves.

  “Look what someone's being enticed with,” Paleen said, pointing out a finely worked silver necklace. She peered at the card beneath. “Shoren Kial. It's an invitation to dinner from someone named Malan."

  “Which she's accepted,” Mikial observed, looking at the promise stone on the adjacent hook. “I remember her from dance class, a Cothra who works in the—” Mikial's eye caught on another gift that all but stopped her heart. It was a knife. To be more exact, it was a killing knife. This one had none of the drab uniformity of those issued to her sect, however. The hilt was fashioned into a morning hawk's head. The gleam of an inset sun gem marked its eyes. The grip looked like twisted feathers. The blade was shaped like a straightened talon, a wicked point glinting beneath the light.

  “Wonder who that could be for?” Paleen asked in mock surprise as Mikial peered at the attached card.

  “Dalen,” she said, shaking her head in spite of the delight that rose inside her. “I thought he'd had enough of my company."

  “He's just asked you to dinner,” Paleen said with an innocent face as she looked at the card.

  “Has he now?” Mikial half muttered, afraid of what she would do later, or not do. Ugly memories were still too fresh in her mind for something like this. “Paleen, despite everything, I hardly know him."

  The Ipper put her hand up on Mikial's shoulder. “Well, here's an opportunity to know him better."

  Mikial gave her friend a long look. “Come on. Let's see which door has my name tag on it."

  “You're not going to accept? I mean, Dalen might be up here any moment to check."

  Ignoring Paleen's mischievous laugh, Mikial unsnapped one of the promise stones from her necklace and hooked it next to the knife. The invitation was only for dinner, after all.

  Sweet scents overcame even her aile necklace as she neared a door at the end of the hall. Mikial stared at the nameplate and glanced at her friend. “What did you do? It smells like someone's flower garden in there.” Her hunting eyes picked up a presence inside. “I also seem to have a visitor. It's Yora!"

  The door was unlocked. Swinging it open, Mikial's eyes widened at the sight of tier upon tier of bouquets along the walls. The room itself looked like a lavishly appointed study, the riot of flowers contrasting with the rich dark woods and heavy burgundy drapes. A massive nutwood bed occupied the center of the floor.

  The calico Dathia smiled up from an adjacent couch, her coal black eyes shining from the familiar lean face. “Welcome back, Mikial."

  “Yora!” Mikial exchanged hugs with the tall Dathia officer. It relieved her that Yora was not in uniform, but had chosen a simple white blouse and dress. “Not on official business. That's good."

  “That remains to be seen,” Yora answered ominously. She swept her hand around. “These smaller red vases are from Datha Strikes. The blue ones are from more Ipper than I thought we had in this Holding. Brown are Cothra schools, and we even have a smattering of yellow Shandi vases as well.” Yora gave a chuckle. “Most are unsigned, of course. I just finished with the last ones."

  Mikial glanced at the red bracelet that dangled from the Dathia's right wrist. “Yora, is this getting out of hand?"

  Yora gave a curt nod that sent Paleen outside. Mikial's mentor shut the door behind her. “Young lady, this is very much out of hand. I've read your field report. I don't know what the Shandi found out during their questioning, but it's got the Tasuria and your father pacing the halls. It is said that one can spot who read your report by the shock on their face. And the sect?” She raised her hands in a futile gesture. “You told of an army massing to the east, and we haven't even been placed on alert."

  “Have you heard anything about Ryan?"

  Yora shrugged. “I'm told he smells like a wet yhas. Not Servant, not Qurl, and not stupid either. The Shandi aren't admitting he actually is from beyond the Curtain, and our sect certainly hopes he isn't."

  “Our sect's in for a disappointment,” Mikial sighed. “Yora?"

  “Yes?"

  “Do you think I'm a traitor?"

  The officer looked down for a second, then regarded her evenly. “Your only crime is in thinking that you know better than anyone else what's good for this Holding. That's hardly something to condemn you for, when a good cuff alongside your ears would suffice. And since we're on the subject of discipline, you might as well know that I'm now a High Strike Commander, and Parva answers to me.” Her dark eyes narrowed. “As do you."

  “Congratulations,” Mikial offered, disconcerted by the frown following her new commander's announcement.

  Yora's claws dug into Mikial's shoulders just enough to warrant her full attention. “You are not to set foot across any of our borders unless directed otherwise by Parva or myself. No matter what the circumstances, including saving either lives or what you comprehend as this Holding's future. Acknowledge the order, Dathia!"

  “Acknowledged,” Mikial gulped.

  Yora gave Mikial a satisfied look and withdrew her claws. “I suspect you wouldn't be in so much trouble if Parva had the sense to phrase the blindingly obvious as an order. In any case, Mikial, I'll have your ears if you even think of disobeying.” Yora's smile was all teeth. “You won't have to wait for the Tasuria to kill you. Understand?"

  “Acknowledged,” Mikial repeated, not doubting a word of what Yora had said. “Just the same, I'm pleased to be under your command."

  “Let's keep it that way too. Enough with official business, then.” Yora went over to an open cabinet across from the bed and pushed aside empty luggage cases. She retrieved one of Mikial's tan dancing chiras from a drawer. “I've been waiting for this moment, Mikial. You wouldn't believe what Passion does for one's performances. It could even put
you closer to a Four Beat rank.” She looked over her shoulder. “Does my favorite student care to practice?"

  Mikial gave an uneasy laugh. “It's been so long."

  “It's easier to forget your worries than your training,” Yora said, tossing the chira over. I've sent your Ipper friend on ahead to arrange for one of the upstairs rooms at the hall. Get changed and let's go, while that aile necklace is still doing its job."

  Dowin Hall was right next to Shadow Inn, so Mikial's walk was a short one. As much as her own life had changed, the dance hall remained an island of stability. She watched in warm remembrance as children formed up on the main floor, practicing for that cherished first stone of a One Beat dancer. Sunlight poured in from skylights, illuminating the blue geometric dance patterns painted on a wooden floor large enough to sit a small house on. The room was surrounded by two-story high windows on three sides. The fourth wall, fashioned from the ginger-colored wood of sheld trees, contained shelves for dancer's sticks and various musical instruments. Above the equipment, an observation balcony crossed in front of three smaller tutoring floors.

  Yora led the way up a back staircase to the first floor. Paleen waited inside, tapping her fingers on a tempo drum in obvious anticipation.

  Adjusting the brief dress that hugged her hips, Mikial positioned herself in the center of a mirrored room roughly twice the size of her bedroom. She stared at her reflection, as if it were a stranger from her past. Swallowing, she inclined her head to Yora, who waited alongside Paleen.

  “Three-beat, eighth pattern, Shora Keeran style,” Yora instructed. “Begin."

  Mikial's arms swept gracefully into her ready stance. What looked back from the mirror was anything but a dancer. Her hardened lines hardly belonged beneath the chira's thin fabric. She shook that image from her mind and tried to think of a poetic theme to coax her thoughts toward dancing. Inside, she greeted that effort with a stony laugh.

  “The first Motion isn't to drop into a combat stance,” Yora said with a wry look. “Try again."

  Canines bared in frustration, Mikial repositioned herself. Had the Shandi finally succeeded in burning everything out of her heart but how to kill? Where was the Holding's youngest Three Beat dancer? Why couldn't she find her? Why couldn't they have left her alone?

  “You're not moving,” her teacher softly pointed out.

  Mikial stomped her foot on the polished wood. “I can't!"

  “Mikial, where are you going?"

  “To the gym—and rip something apart!” she shouted, running from the floor.

  Paleen tried to chase after her, but Yora stopped her. “Let her go. Mikial has gone a bit wild out there, and needs to work this out herself."

  I need to beat somebody senseless, you mean, Mikial fumed to herself as she ran down the terrace road. Preferably a Shandi. Or her father. Maybe it was better that they execute her, because living was not worth much anymore.

  Red emotions kept pace with her as she dashed up the terraces of Keep's Ridge and ran into the Datha compound behind the market. Mikial aimed herself at the four redwood hexagons housing the gymnasiums. A single roof joined the buildings in a common reception area. Entering, she favored the rusty-haired Datha behind the desk with a scowl when he denied her access to the main floors.

  “You have more than overpowered that necklace of yours,” the soldier said, his green eyes traveling along the chira that clung to her beaded skin. “I can't have your scent distracting every male here."

  “I don't intend giving them the chance!” Mikial snapped back, her ears lying flat. “Which area is being used for open challenge matches?"

  The Datha's nostrils flared. “Fighting you will be the very last thing on anyone's minds.” He tossed her a key. “Use one of the private exercise areas in Area Three, Dathia. And for the sake of us all, take a shower afterwards! There's one attached to the room."

  Giving a disgruntled hiss, Mikial strode off for Area Three. Like all exercise rooms, the chamber was well equipped with kicking bags of various heights to vent herself against. Tossing her aile necklace aside, Mikial set the heavy bags ringing on their chains with her blows. This time there was no hesitation as she melded her attacks into a dance pattern where movements ended in impact. Her targets leapt and shook from the force of her kicks. She hated the Shandi! Leaping, Mikial smashed at the highest black leather target. Even Jakar had given up on her. Her own father!

  Her extended claws dug into her palms as she glared at the walls. Had she seen too much? Learned more than she should? Or was it a simple case of being betrayed by the very ones she defended? “Where are you?” she seethed, trying to find the dancer among the swinging bags. “Why can't I bring you back?"

  “Perhaps you're trying too hard,” came a carefully spoken observation from the doorway.

  “Dalen?” she said, recognizing the sweetness of his scent. Mikial reined in her temper and turned to see the Cothra leaning against a wall just inside the door. How long has he been there? No doubt long enough to watch me act like an idiot. Dalen wore a set of rumpled tan work clothes. His cheeks were slightly flushed, his brown hair plastered against his high brow. “You look like you just came out from one of your forges."

  “An accurate assessment,” he chuckled as he walked forward. “I was told by a certain Ipper girl that you wanted to see me."

  “Tonight, yes,” Mikial muttered, highly aware of the intent look on his face. Paleen. That interfering Ipper must have signaled a runner to fetch him. “I have to shower. Don't mean to bother you with..."

  “They wouldn't let me look for you,” he said with exasperation. “I helped get you into this mess. I'm sorry I wasn't able to help get you back out again.” Dalen gave her a hug that sent a shock of desire through her body. “Allow me to at least make amends."

  Her laugh was more of a gasp as she pulled away from the alluring smell that wafted from his body. “I'd better shower. There's a lot to talk about."

  Mikial entered a small side niche and turned the corner, pressing herself against the cool brown tile walls with a long exhale. Her legs shook from a mere hug! And of course she had not bothered to bring a change of clothes. She tossed the damp practice chira to the floor; it could always be rinsed out. Her ears flicked at the sound of Dalen shutting the door outside to allow her some privacy. Will he wait for me in the reception center? Of course he will. Little worry about that after the look on his face when he caught my scent. Mikial took another deep breath, and turned toward the shower stall.

  A metallic bounce made her look to see the room key slide across the bench behind her. “Door locks both ways, I noticed,” Dalen said with a grin as he walked in.

  Stunned, she could only gape at him. Surely, he wasn't intending on...

  “My uncle was right about Dathia,” he said, his eyes traveling over her body with frank admiration. “You have a beauty all your own."

  “Did he also tell you what happens when you accost one in the shower?” she ground out, finding her voice again. Mikial bared her teeth in a cautioning snarl, its sincerity diluted by a stronger feeling that rose in her loins.

  Putting a finger to his lips in conspiratorial fashion, Dalen slowly edged closer. “I think that's how he met his wife."

  Claws extended, Mikial crouched down as a deadly need once more took control of her as it had in Minnera. This time, however, her instincts found nothing to cue off of. Dalen approached her in gradual steps with the gentlest of smiles, his hands spread open in invitation. He reached out and lightly held her shoulders.

  Mikial's responding hiss shuddered into a cry. “Dalen, please!” Images of Minneran soldiers welled up from her darker memories. “I'm afraid of what I'd do to you."

  “Actually, I'm looking forward to what you'll do to me.” Dalen's right hand stroked the tension from her face, following the angular lines of her cheekbones. “We never had a chance to know each other, beyond the mess I got you in."

  His fingers slid down to gently mold themselves against her
right breast. Mikial sucked in a breath, along with his wonderfully intoxicating scent. “You pick a fine time to—” Mikial gave a soft cry as Dalen's fingers coaxed a warm spasm of pleasure inside her.

  Dalen's arms slipped down to encircled her waist. “I quite agree."

  The release Mikial had sought from exercise, came instead on the shower floor in an explosive mating. Dalen's caresses were a shout of affirmation that she was worth caring for, despite all the accusations. His lips drowned out the ugly memories of Minnera, allowing Mikial to drop the weight she carried and surrender to the ecstasy. That alone was a gift of freedom without match.

  Afterwards, they sat beside each other on the tiles beneath the running shower. Mikial watched the wisps of steam as she pondered the new direction their relationship had taken. She never knew a Cothra could be so bold, but then Dalen never impressed her as being halfhearted about anything. Especially when it came to defying the Shandi. Still, she could have left him on the shower floor in bloody ribbons for his rashness. As it was, his impulsive style had not been without cost.

  “How's your back?” Mikial asked over the splattering shower. She gently examined his raked shoulders with a guilty look. The cuts were thankfully shallow. She had tried to control herself.

  “Most of the bleeding has stopped. My fault for not putting some gloves on you first.” Dalen gently turned her face toward his. “It wasn't just the Passion talking when I said I wanted to know you better, Mikial."

  She shook her head. “Dalen, I'm going to face Judgment soon. What makes you think we have any time at all?"

  “Because I have more faith in you than you have in yourself. The Tasur canceled my Judgment because my sect was vehemently opposed to the Shandi's edict concerning new research. He didn't want the Holding tearing itself apart while the Minnerans watched. I've been given permission by your sect to continue my research. Seems a certain Dathia impressed them with her combat flying near Gap Watch."