Attolia looked at her court and once again marveled at how uncomfortable they looked. It amazed her how the visiting Eddisians all looked at ease sitting on the low stone barrier that lined the palace roof.
All Eddis had to do was drop some broad hints about it being a tradition in Eddis that on the longest night of winter, it was considered lucky for the entire Eddisian court to usher in the new year. Apparently, this was done by dancing on the roof. She had overheard some of her husband's cousins calling it the Night of Thieves. Her court had jumped on board, eager to please the mountain queen while still laughing at their unsophisticated goat-footed king.
Of course, her court was not as sure of themselves once they were on the icy roof. The sun was going down, making the ice-coated stones glow with brilliant reds and oranges. Servants made their way around, lighting torches while trying to keep their feet firmly under them.
Attolia started to make a sotto voce bet with her husband about which member of court would be the first to make a spectacular fall. She stopped herself when she realized that the only people surrounding her were her attendants. Attolius had disappeared.
Eddis caught her eye before Attolia got too worried. Eddis nodded to where a group of Eddisian men encircled around a shorter man with dark hair and a scar on his cheek: her wayward husband.
Just then, the sun finally set behind the mountains. The only thing breaking up the darkness on the roof was the inconsistent, flickering light from the torches. This, of course, was when the Eddisian drums started and Attolius started to dance. His cousins surrounding him kept time, clapping along with the drums.
Attolia could tell that it was a traditional Eddisian dance. However, it was one that she had never seen before. Every time her husband jumped, her breath caught in her throat until his feet landed safely and stably on the ground.
The torch light made everything seem ethereal and dream like. If she hadn't known better, Attolia could have sworn that there were two other dancers dancing the same dance with her husband. One was an old man. His hair was gray, turning to white and though his body was bent, his movements were graceful and his feet were sure. The other dancer was a young woman. Wisps of hair had escaped her hairdo, adding a fae quality to her. Her skirt was simple and easy to move in, but heavily embroidered with the Eddisian red and black colors. The sparrows were skillfully done so they looked like they were about to take flight from her clothes. As Attolia blinked, the other two dancers seemed to flicker in and out of focus.
With a final bang from the drums, the one dancer, who might have been three, spun to a stop. The old man pulled a battered shepherds whistle out of thin air. Smoke from the torches distorted Attolia's view and when her eyes cleared, the old man was lounging against a crenelation, a foot casually swinging over empty air and a long drop. He started playing a lazy tune on the whistle but Attolia could tell that in time, it would grow faster and faster until it was impossible to keep dancing to it.
Attolius had made his way towards his queen and had extended his hand in invitation. Attolia looked at her husband's remaining hand and started to shake her head minutely in denial. Again he offered it to her, neither looking to his right or his left. Attolia finally took it, not wanting to be seen by her court denying husband outright.
He pulled her to her feet and led her back into the ring of Eddisian men. The woman had also returned. She, too, had a partner. Eddis' Minister of War held the woman's hand so tightly, that his hand was turning white. Attolia's father-in-law gazed deeply into his partner's eyes. For once he wasn't glaring at Attolia with enough heat to melt lead.
The drums started back up again and Attolia danced. It should have been a disaster with the ice and her lack of knowledge with the dance. However, her feet had minds of their own. They supplied the steps without any consultation with her brain. The landed surefooted, even when she knew she had stepped directly on ice that was slick because of a thin layer of melted water. Her partner's lack of hand didn't hinder them at all.
The other woman had thrown back her head a was laughing in joy, though no sound passed from her lips. The Minister of War's eyes were full of anguish and joy. He seemed to be drinking in every moment with the woman.
Their small group seemed to dance both forever and yet at the same time, only for a few minutes. Attolia never grew tired, never needed a break. Even with all of this, everything must end. The whistle stopped in time with the drums. Her husband seemed to slip through her fingers.
The Minister of War reached out a hand as if to pull his partner back into his arms. His face betrayed his longing and despair. Yet his feet stayed firmly planted.
The two dancers met the older man by the wall. Except he wasn't alone. There, standing on top of the crenelations was a short man. His hair was black like charcoal, his skin was a deep brownish red, like that of fired clay. He had a narrow face with a sharp nose and on his cheek was a feather-shaped scar.
"Well done, my thieves. Congratulations on another successful year."
The man nodded his head at the three original dancers. The three dancers bowed deeply towards him. Just then, the light of the rising sun came over the horizon, momentarily blinding Attolia. When her eyes had cleared, her husband was the only one of the dancers remaining. The man on the crenelations had also disappeared.
Her court stirred and noise recommenced. Over the coming weeks, she would overhear her court talking about the night. As far as she could tell, not one of her court remembered any extra dancers or strangers. In fact, they had a hard time remembering the night at all.
Her husband wouldn't talk about the night at all, pretending not to know what she was talking about. However, she could read her husband better than that and she knew that he still kept the memory of that night.
She also saw Eddis one in one of the rarely used alcoves laying a comforting hand on her Minister of War and talking softly to him. Attolia knew that she wasn't the only one with the knowledge of that night.
Having seen cracks in her father-in-law's mask, it made her more determined than ever. She would do everything within her power to keep Eugenides alive and safe. She would not let him become another one of the ghosts dancing for his god.
A/N: This plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone. Actually, I had the idea in my head for years of a ghostly dance with the previous Thieves... so I finally wrote it. Please let me know how I did.