by Jodi Meadows
“Fifty,” he said, and sipped his own drink. “Almost since the beginning. We don’t get many parties like this, but Tera and Ash are always good for one. Every generation.”
If they lived to be about seventy-five every life, that was 3,500 years together. I couldn’t imagine that kind of love.
“For the first few generations, they couldn’t stand being different ages or the same gender, so they used to kill each other in order to be reborn about the same time. No one could talk them out of it.”
I thought loving someone shouldn’t involve so much death. Not that I had any experience with that. “They’re both women now.”
He nodded. “They decided that dying all the time was too painful, and if they loved each other, it shouldn’t matter. Still”—he leaned closer—“when one dies now, the other does, too. I imagine it’s hard to be physically very old while your greatest love is learning to walk again.”
“I bet.” I finished my coffee and dropped the cup in a recycle bin.
Armande and I had a few more dances before he released me to a crow, all shiny black feathers on his mask and clothes. I didn’t know him, but he said something nice about my costume before passing me to a woman dressed as an elk.
I recognized some of my partners — Stef and Whit made appearances as a jewel-toned dragonfly and a lion — but plenty were strangers, as far as I could tell. We had fun. I found myself laughing and asking other people to dance with me, rather than wait to be acknowledged.
Maybe anonymity didn’t matter as much as I’d thought.
I found Sarit, a crest of gray feathers protruding from her black hair, and a bright mask covering the top half of her face. Sharp orange cheeks stood against the yellow silk. Long folds of gray cloth draped across her arms made wings — much better than mine.
“What are you?” I hadn’t seen that kind of bird in Range.
“Cockatiel.” She grinned beneath the wide, hooked beak. “They’re from the other side of the planet.”
Even just southern Range felt far away. I’d have to remember to ask her about the birds, but for now, she took my hand and dragged me toward the Councilhouse steps, where a series of archways had been placed, though not in a straight line. They were everywhere, random. “What’s this?”
“The arch march!” She giggled. “No, don’t actually call it that in front of anyone who does the rededication. They get mad because it sounds silly.”
“I bet you started it.”
“Ma-a-aybe.” She drew the word out into several syllables. “The idea is really sweet, though. They start at the first arch at the base of the stairs, then find their way through the others until they reach the top. The whole time, they’re blindfolded.”
“Blindfolded? The arches aren’t even in a line. They’re all over!” I stared at her. “You’re making this up.”
“Nope. It’s to symbolize the uncertainty of the future. They get to hold hands and offer each other suggestions which way to go. They’ll have seen the layout while they’re dancing, anyway.”
It still sounded crazy to me.
“Each arch symbolizes something important. The obsidian one is night, the flowers — since it’s winter, they’re silk — are happiness, the pine is health. You get the idea.”
“What happens if they don’t make it through all the arches?” I asked as we drifted toward the buffet.
“They always do.” She leaned toward me. “Except that once, they skipped the pine boughs. It was probably a coincidence, but a lot of people got sick that year….”
I shuddered, guessing from her tone that Ash and Tera didn’t live long after that. Still, it was romantic the way they kept coming back to each other.
Revelers danced all around. Sarit pulled me into the nearest circle for a fast eight-person dance, which involved so much clapping my palms stung by the end. We moved on to another group after that, then another, sometimes finding new partners, but always keeping each other in sight so we’d have someone to dance with, just in case.
For two hours, I was a butterfly going from flower to flower, swirling about the masquerade in a flurry of silken wings. I’d never felt pretty before, but so many people complimented me I almost believed them.
The sensation of being watched never eased. If anything, I felt it more strongly as the evening wore on. I still hadn’t found Sam, but he’d probably gotten bored and gone back to his house. He hadn’t wanted to come to begin with.
Regretting having drunk so much coffee, I excused myself from Sarit and slipped inside the Councilhouse to use the washroom. I needed the break, anyway. My legs were tired and my cheeks numb from grinning.
I hadn’t known what exactly to expect of this ceremony, but it was fun, as Stef had promised. Plus, I liked how this was important to people. Maybe they didn’t bother to hide identities, but the fact they put so much work into making a special evening for Tera and Ash…
This was something I could appreciate.
I felt better when I came out again, surveying the crowd from the stairs. Masks glittered, but the night held dark pockets. I saw the shrike again, as well as the peacock, both pretending not to watch as I descended.
A fast song played, making people prance and skip around. Someone caught me and spun me, grabbed me again. Rough hands squeezed mine, dragged me through the press. Fingers dug into my sides and snatched me away to another dancer.
A wolf. A hawk. A lizard. Soon they surrounded me. The music became a frenzied blur in my ears, and the world a dark and bright smear on my eyes.
They tossed me about like a butterfly in a gale. I spun from hands to hands so my hair whipped into my eyes. Ribbons and flowers fluttered, and my mask strained to fly off. I pinned it against my cheeks, lost and dizzy with energy and fear.
There were so many strangers. So much noise.
Feet stepped on mine, and my arms ached where too many hands gripped. Every piece of me was sore and shaking. When I tried to flee, the wolf seized me again, ignoring when I screamed. The music was loud, and others shouted with joy. The din swallowed my voice whole.
I jabbed my elbow into the wolf’s chest and kicked the lizard’s shin, tried to run again. A swan caught me, but before they recaptured me in their circle, a new dancer stepped in and fitted himself between the others and me.
My heart raced, but he caressed my cheek and shot the others a fierce look as he drew me to safety. Wings strained as he spun me away, before I got a look at his mask. I caught only a flash of gray and black and a streak of white, and then my back pressed against his chest. His arm around my waist kept me from facing him, but his embrace was gentle.
His fingers brushed my cheek, down my neck. The entire masquerade stretched out before me, but my focus tunneled to the man behind me. Hands eased toward my hips and held tight as we spun; my feet lifted off the ground, but even when I thought the wings might carry me into the breeze, he held me tight.
My new captor, or rescuer, guided us toward the edge of the crowd. He kept me so close no one could come between us. His hands stayed on my hips and stomach. The music turned slower and deeper, and his fingers curled against silk-covered flesh. I couldn’t breathe.
The whole dance shifted. Heavy seductiveness replaced the fear, and the gaiety before that. My new partner smoothed my dress down my stomach, down my thigh. When I tilted my head back against his shoulder, warmth billowed against my throat where he kissed.
I stiffened and gasped, almost darted away. But his arms tightened, somehow conveying apology, and I remembered he hadn’t hurt me, only saved me from the others. I relaxed again and closed my eyes. We’d moved beyond the worst of the crowd, and I trusted him not to let us run into anyone.
Music filled the space around us, the slivers of air between us. Strings sang, long and warm as gold. Flutes sounded like silver, and clarinets like forests.
This almost wasn’t real. It was almost a dream when I tilted my head back again; his mouth lingered just over my skin, and I managed a slig
ht nod. His hesitation lasted a lifetime, but finally his lips brushed the tip of my ear.
I shivered deeper into his embrace, pressed my hands over his so he wouldn’t let me go. I’d waited my entire life for this.
Eternities passed between kisses down my neck. His free hand traced patterns on my hip and thigh and back up, around my wing. He touched my face and hair, restraint evident in the way he trembled and tried again.
A waltz began. His breath caught as he took my hand, spun me away, and then drew me back so we faced each other.
His mask covered the upper half of his face. Not a hawk or falcon, in spite of the hooked beak; the markings weren’t right. Dashes of black under his eyes, gray hood and feathers, and a white ruffle at his throat. The shrike.
He didn’t give me a chance to study him further, just drew me close so I leaned against him. His arms circled my waist, careful beneath my wings. As we danced, his heart pounded over the music. I could feel the tension in his arms and chest, trying to hold me, trying not to break me. I wanted to say something, reassure him that I trusted him, but if I spoke, the moment might shatter.
He felt good. Familiar. My body knew where his hands would slide before he moved, and where we’d breathe together. He knew the music as well as I did, anticipating the strong beats, letting the others linger.
Shrikes were songbirds; he ought to know.
We danced forever, and not nearly long enough. Now that I faced him, I could touch him, too, rather than self-consciously drip through his fingers. I explored his back, fingertips discovering ridges of his spine, muscles, a place below his left shoulder blade that made him writhe, as if struggling not to laugh. I tickled him again, devouring the sensation of his chest against mine.
When the song ended, he drew back and angled behind me as we looked up at the stairs. There, a sparrow and a lizard — not the lizard who’d trapped me — navigated the arches, hand in hand. One tugged, the other followed. Through the pine, flowers, obsidian, silver, stone— The couple made it through every archway, even with the silken blindfolds over their masks. Gold cloth streamed behind them like banners.
They’d really done it. Whether because one knew the route, or their true love drew them down the correct path, maybe it didn’t matter. They did love each other.
Framed by the columns of the Councilhouse facade, the sparrow and lizard embraced, kissed, and tore off their masks and blindfolds. Everyone cheered as the masks went flying into the crowd; Sarit would have explained that to me, but she wasn’t here.
Meuric stepped up to the microphone again and began another speech. Ugh. Meuric. No thanks.
I turned back to the shrike, but the beak of his mask grazed up my neck and warm lips brushed my ear. Thrills coursed through me, but I didn’t move until he started away. I caught his hand. “Wait.”
He’d felt right. I knew who I needed him to be, even if the way we’d danced was not how— That kind of passion he reserved for music. Not me.
A cold breeze made me shiver as I tightened my grip on his. Stepped closer. Searched his eyes.
His lips tilted up at one corner, like amusement. I’d known, but still, the familiar expression stunned me so much I almost didn’t act.
I kissed him.
Rather, I pressed my mouth against his and hoped he wouldn’t run. It would probably kill me.
Three long seconds and he only gasped and tightened his hands on my back. Then, with a soft moan, he opened his mouth and kissed me. It wasn’t an easy, sweet kiss like I’d imagined my first would be, but frustrated and hungry. That was good, better than easy and sweet, because after everything, I was frustrated and hungry for him, too.
His beak scraped my cheek, but I ignored it while the tip of his tongue danced over my lips. Everything he did was magic, but when he deepened the kiss and the moaning came from me, I held my palms over his mask and nudged until it slipped off and dangled around my wrist. I needed Sam, not the shrike.
He jerked back, surprise and embarrassment flickering across his face. I licked my lips and pretended like my cheeks weren’t hot, my insides weren’t melting, and I didn’t want everything his kiss had promised. “Hi.” Hand shaking, I held out his mask.
He didn’t take it. “You knew.”
“I’ll always know.” My entire body was still on fire from his touch, from his legs brushing mine, from his mouth. I wanted him to kiss me again.
Meuric’s speech must have stopped. Around us, others were removing their masks, greeting one another. They didn’t pay attention to us.
“You knew the whole time,” Sam said. “While we were dancing?”
“Yes.” As soon as he’d touched me. The way he fit against me, and the way his mouth had hesitated over my neck. It was a very Sam thing to do, hesitating. “Didn’t you know me, too?” There was an unsettling thought. What if he’d hoped I was someone else?
He took my hands like he feared I’d fly away. “Of course.”
“Oh, good.” That might have sounded desperate. “I mean, I wouldn’t have danced with you like that if I didn’t know who you were.”
“You danced with a lot of people.”
“Not like that.” I forced myself to keep his gaze. All the places he’d touched me, I could still feel him. Maybe it hadn’t meant much to him, but it had been important to me. He needed to understand. “Why were you trying to run away?”
“I wanted—” His cheeks were dark as he shook his head. “I’m sorry about today. I want to tell you everything, but mostly”—he tucked a loose strand of my hair behind my ear—“mostly I want to tell you I lied to Stef.”
And I wanted him to kiss me again. Less talking. More kissing.
“She knew, I think. We’re not very good at lying to each other after so long.” He inhaled sharply. “Ana. I want you to know I’d choose you. If it were up to anyone, if what I wanted counted for anything, I’d have chosen you.”
I felt like I had the night he’d first played for me, like I wanted to drop to the ground because my legs weren’t strong enough to hold me. Instead, I used his shoulders for balance and stood on the tips of my toes to whisper by his ear. “Let’s go home, Sam. No more thinking. These wings are heavy.”
He kissed my neck and murmured something that sounded like assent.
Chapter 22
Wings
AS MUCH AS I wanted to go straight back to Sam’s house, the ceremony wasn’t quite over. Several of Tera and Ash’s friends made speeches, going on about how happy they were to see another successful rededication. Many people had brought gifts, which required oohing over, and photos, and thanks.
The crowd pressed closer so everyone could look, and it was obvious with the way people cheered: The ceremony was important to them. Even if few people actually believed in matching souls, it was hard to deny that Ash and Tera fit together. They practically glowed when they looked at each other. After more than three thousand years. Incredible.
We stood another hour, and then the entire population of Heart was supposed to get in line to congratulate Tera and Ash on their rededication. I noticed a few people skipping out, but that just made people around us mutter.
Sam clutched my hand, as if I might fly off, and at last we had a turn hugging Tera and Ash, congratulating them.
Mission successful, we wove through the lingering revelers in the field, who were chatting and laughing, comparing costumes. To my relief, we didn’t stop to speak to anyone. We barely spoke to each other. I couldn’t fathom why he didn’t have anything to say, but I’d just experienced my first kiss, not to mention a billion other things I’d be dreaming about tonight. I was a little stunned, and fire burned inside my chest, inside my stomach, and lower.
We didn’t take the long way back, the way I knew, but the shorter way that involved a dozen smaller streets. I wished we could fly back.
“Ana,” he said, once we were alone in the moonlit road.
Nighttime hid anything farther than an arm’s length away. We might have be
en the only people in the entire city. Just us, the dark, and cold. Air prickled across my arms and face, making me shiver. “Sam.” His name became mist.
Our masks dangled from his fingers, swaying with his steps. Darkness obscured the bright colors of my butterfly, which I’d spent so long cutting and painting. “I shouldn’t have danced with you like that. Or kissed you.”
My heart stuttered. “Yes, you should have.”
“Not in front of everyone.” His voice sounded like icicles crunching underfoot. “I lost control.”
He’d seemed plenty controlled to me. “You acted on passion.” I’d assumed. I was less certain now, what with the way he was insisting it shouldn’t have happened. But he’d kissed me. Hard. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“What do you think everyone will assume?”
“I don’t care.” I bit my lip and followed him around a corner. The cold ached worse now. Why couldn’t he need me as much as I needed him? “Okay, I do care a little what they think, but mostly I care that you meant it.”
“It?”
“Dancing. The way you kissed me.” I didn’t want to have to ask or clarify. I wanted him to take me in his arms and kiss me until I couldn’t breathe. Now I simply couldn’t breathe for other, far less pleasant reasons. “Did you mean it?”
He stopped walking and turned on me. “Of course! Why would you think otherwise?”
If he didn’t remember when nothing happened in the kitchen, and then pretty much all of today, he was stupid. “You tried to run away, and now you’re saying you shouldn’t have kissed me. What do you expect me to think?” My voice betrayed me; it caught and trembled. “I can’t do this in-between stuff. Either we kiss or we don’t. If we do, then no more running away or saying we shouldn’t. Because I can’t—” I swallowed hard and tried again. “It’s too confusing when you change your mind.”
The masks hissed as they fell to the cobblestones. Sam made a noise almost like my name, then took my shoulders and kissed me. Not as passionately as before, but my insides clenched up just the same. I struggled to mimic everything he did, but relief and rage were stronger. I jerked back, kicking the masks with my heel.