In Which Morwen and Telemain Dance as Little as Possible

"Shall we, er, dance?"

Morwen looked at her old friend in surprise. "Why, Telemain, I thought you'd never ask." As far back as she could recall, neither of them had much cared for dancing.

"I probably wouldn't have, except Willin kept badgering me," he confessed, as they linked hands and walked out to join the elves, dwarfs, princesses, and even a couple of very careful dragons kicking up their heels in the center of Fire-Flower Meadow. "You have no idea how persistent that little elf can be."

"I have some idea," she responded dryly. In fact, her first and only dance thus far had been with the elderly Willin, who moved with impressive agility despite his age. "At least he didn't sulk too much over my idea of formal attire."

"I'll admit, it would be easier to find your waist if you were wearing a dress," said Telemain, his left hand searching for a place to rest among the loose folds of her black robe.

Though it was more of a fumble than a caress, Morwen found herself strangely affected by his touch, which may have caused the extra tartness in her response. "There are plenty of princesses with perfect waists around, after you've satisfied Willin by dancing with me."

Telemain frowned. "Did I offend you? I didn't mean to. I appreciate the practicality of your robes, although I do think you should consider subdivisions of the sleeves."

He had settled on sliding his hand around to the small of her back, which brought them close enough that Morwen had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. "You mean like all the pockets on this ridiculous vest of yours? I don't see much advantage, since it seems you can never remember which pocket has the thing you want. You spend at least as much time rummaging for spell components as I do."

"I do not." Telemain turned them in an awkward circle. "And I won't let your comment about princesses go unanswered, either. You ought to know I haven't the least interest in dancing with anyone else."

"It would appear you haven't the least interest in dancing, even with me," replied Morwen, hiding her pleasure. "You could at least try to keep up with the beat."

"I am well-versed in the methodologies of seventeen different magical systems, and my research has left no time for dancing lessons," Telemain huffed. "If you want someone with fancy footwork, go back to Willin."

Morwen lifted an eyebrow. "He's more of a match for my height, is that what you mean?"

"That's not what—I wouldn't—" Color rose in Telemain's cheeks when she laughed. "Are you trying to make a fool of me?"

"Of course not; you do it so well by yourself." Then she squeezed his hand. "You know I appreciate your magical training more than I would any fancy footwork."

Telemain smiled, then stumbled and nearly lost his balance. Morwen looked down to see a brown furball cruising around her partner's feet. "Fiddlesticks! What are you doing?"

The cat gazed up at her, wide-eyed. "Trouble said that Telemain's boots smelled like fish. I thought I should come and see if he accidentally got a fish in one. I could get it out for him."

"I see," said Morwen grimly. "Well, Telemain does not have any fish in his boots, and I'd like to speak to you both when we get home."

Fiddlesticks looked disappointed. "I'll go back to sniffing the wedding gifts, then. Maybe some of them have fish."

"You do that," Morwen said, and looked up at Telemain. "I'm sorry."

The magician shrugged. "It's all right. Having one's boots stalked by a cat is an excellent excuse for poor dancing."

Morwen smiled. "I won't be too hard on him, then. Let's get something to drink. I'm sure Willin is placated by now."

They escaped to the tables at one end of the meadow, where Telemain filled two cups from an enormous punch bowl, and handed one to Morwen. Then they sat on an empty bench.

Morwen touched her cup to his. "Here's to Cimorene and Mendanbar."

"Long may they reign," Telemain answered solemnly, and they both drank. He nodded in approval. "This is good stuff."

"I prefer Morwen's cider," said a deep voice behind them.

Telemain jumped; Morwen smiled. "Thank you, Kazul. That's very kind."

"You make cider?" asked Telemain.

"The term is press, and the answer is yes," said Morwen. "Are you surprised?"

"Not really." Telemain looked at her thoughtfully. "I remember you were always setting dough to rise while we studied, or collecting herbs for spells in one basket and stews in another. It makes sense that you would have expanded your culinary operations. I suppose you grow the apples yourself?"

"Of course." Morwen was glad that Kazul had brought it up. "You should come over to see the orchard, and taste the cider."

"I'd love to."

An enormous, disappointed dragon head settled on the moss in front of the two humans. "Does that mean you didn't bring any tonight?"

Morwen shook her head. "I'm sorry. Cimorene and I briefly discussed trying to seed Ballimore's cauldron with one of my homemade batches, so that it could produce enough for all the guests, but we decided there wasn't time to fuss over something so experimental."

"Why didn't you mention it to me?" Telemain looked almost hurt. "I've got an entire treatise on seeding magical items with external sources in my library. I won't say that it's trivial, but with the proper application of—"

"If you're talking about Gallagher's thesis, I've got a copy too," Morwen cut him off. "All his applications are purely theoretical, and I didn't mention it to you because, as I said, we decided there wasn't time. Besides, you were busy with the weather."

Kazul licked her lips. "If you're interested in experimenting after the wedding, I can speak to Ballimore about it. Council meetings would be infinitely more bearable with a cauldron of cider as refreshment."

"I can imagine," said Morwen. She glanced at Telemain and saw a faraway cast to his eyes that meant he was wondering which of Gallagher's five categories would best fit the cauldron, so she added quickly, "In fact, we had already thought of paying you a visit. While we were studying all those wizard staffs, Telemain got an idea for a prophylactic allergy treatment."

"A what?" Kazul tilted her head forward, looking both interested and amused. "This magician of yours is useful, Morwen, but mind you don't start talking like him."

She blinked at Kazul, momentarily at a loss for words. She didn't dare look at Telemain. Solitary and independent as he was, she didn't imagine that he would appreciate being referred to as anyone's magician other than his own. But maybe he hadn't heard Kazul.

From behind one of the dragon's spines, Jasper raised his head and blinked back at her. "Kazul, I think you've flustered Morwen. I didn't know it was possible."

"I am not flustered, merely tired," Morwen told the cat sternly.

"If you say so." He resettled himself on Kazul's back.

The dragon looked like she was trying not to laugh, but all she said was, "In any case, you're both welcome in the Mountains of Morning. I expect Roxim will be especially glad to try out this anti-allergy spell, if it works."

"We'll see what we can do," said Morwen. She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She really was tired.

Telemain, who must have been lost in thought about the cauldron or the allergy treatment or both, came back to the moment and put his arm around Morwen. "One must expect dancing till dawn at a royal wedding, but there's no reason you can't take a rest."

She leaned gratefully against his shoulder. "I'm more accustomed to getting up with the sunrise than going to bed with it."

"Aren't witches supposed to be nocturnal creatures?" he asked, his voice almost teasing.

"Aren't dragons supposed to carry off princesses, not attend their weddings as matron-of-honor?" She waved a hand at Kazul. "Anyway, I'd like to see you sleep in, with nine hungry cats yowling for breakfast."

"Would you?" said Telemain, so quietly that only Morwen heard it. "Perhaps one day I'll try."