Chapter 34: Dancing Girl

The village was a riot of color. Hundreds of paper lanterns decorated the clearing, painted in every color imaginable. The lanterns hung from a tangled web of ropes connecting the village's cabins with the gnarled limbs of the ancient oaks that stood guard over Alma-Kinan. The afternoon sun lingered high in the sky, but even now the lanterns gleamed like strewn jewels.

Preparations for the feast were well underway. Tables lined the glade, bursting with loaves of freshly baked bread, platters of ripe and juicy fruit, and pitchers of Kinese brandy lifted from the cool root cellars of Alma-Kinan. Hundreds of refugees had labored for hours with the preparations, hanging lanterns, setting tables, and preparing food. Low benches flanked the tables, but the few seats available were reserved for the elderly and the crippled. When the Festival of Lights began, only they would have the patience to remain seated.

At the center of the glade, a few carpenters had improvised a podium out of spare boards. Dense ranks of expectant faces crowded into Alma-Kinan's central glade, eyes directed to the platform. Hundreds of men and women, perhaps thousands, jostled together shoulder to shoulder for a chance to see the Flame Champion give his speech.

Hugo mounted the wooden scaffolding wearing ceremonial Karayan garb. Pendants of ivory dangled from his neck, shaman's bangles hung from his wrists. To an outsider, the subtle patterns and color combinations or the eagle and elephant motifs on the vest meant little, but to his people, it marked Hugo as a clan elder. Rina had insisted on the outfit. To Hugo, it was nothing but a cruel reminder of his mother's absence. She should be the one to speak for Karaya. Not he. And everyone here knew it.

The crowd went silent. The podium creaked with each step Hugo took. His heart pounded in his chest. He planted his hands on his trousers and tried to wipe the damp from them without being too obvious about it.

Deep breaths, he told himself. Calm down.

A thousand pairs of eyes fixed on him. Watching his every move, weighing his every word. Spirits, but he'd never felt such a visceral need to run. He'd sooner face down a dozen men with swords than face this crowd.

Hugo forced himself to draw deep breaths. He struggled to recall the words he'd memorized. He'd paced through his room last night, floorboards creaking and probably keeping the poor souls in the room downstairs up all night as he mumbled the words of his speech over and over. Moments ago, even as he ascended the steps to the platform, the words had flowed like rainwater through a creek. Now they were scattered for the winds.

He searched the crowd. There was Chief Dupa, towering over the heads of his fellow Grasslanders. Rina stood beside him, arms crossed, head bent in whispered conversation with Yuiri. Hugo passed them over, searching for a particular face among the crowd.

He found her near the edge of the glade. Chris stood flanked by Yumi and Lilly, with the knight, Percival, peering over her shoulder. As Hugo's gaze slid over him, their eyes locked, and Percival's mouth bent in a crooked grin. Taking in Chris, Hugo's breath caught. The flowing garment draped over her body was a Kinese shaman's dress. Their eyes met across the distance, and Hugo felt his throat go dry.

They hadn't had a chance to speak since last night. Was she still angry with him? He wasn't sure from the distance, but he thought he saw a stern smile on her lips.

He broke away his gaze, fixed it on the clan chiefs instead. Rina motioned at him, tried to get his attention. Slowly and deliberate she raised her hand to show the back, pointing to it with her other hand. Her brow lifted in a question.

Taking the hint, Hugo thrust up his hand. He turned it to face the emblem of the True Fire Rune at the crowd. The true rune's pattern glowed darkly red, like an angry scar. Hugo focused his thoughts and reached out to the rune. Pure torrential madness awakened in his mind, fighting for control of everything he was. Concentrating, wrestling with the maelstrom of power that was the true rune, Hugo drew a tiny tendril of power.

Fire bloomed in mid-air before him. Its heat washed over him. He released the power, and the fire turned to cinders that danced to the ground.

The emblem of the True Fire Rune glowed like a blade hammered under red heat.

A deafening cheer rose from the crowd. "The Flame Champion!" someone roared, and the crowd took up the call. With each cry, more voices added themselves to the outburst, until the entire glade erupted with the call. "The Flame Champion! The Flame Champion!"

Hugo couldn't keep from staring. His mouth must have hung open for a moment. His people, cheering for him. It took every bit of effort he could muster not to get swept up in their fervor and joining in the call. It's not me they're cheering for, he reminded himself. It's the Flame Champion.

As he waited for the crowd to settle down, Hugo went over the words in his mind. The explosive reaction had loosened something in his mind, and the words flowed freely now. When the chanting simmered down, he raised his arms.

"Clansmen! Brothers and sisters! The Flame Champion has returned! I-"

Another bout of cheering burst out, and their voices drowned out his words. It took another long moment before he could hear his own voice.

"I know you're tired," he said. "I know you're scared. I know it seems hopeless at times. I know these things, because I feel it too." He paused to let his words sink in. The crowd took on a more somber cast, and near-total silence descended over the glade. Hugo found it almost eerie, watching so many people go so quiet.

"I know you grieve," Hugo continued. "We've lost so many. Friends, family. Brothers and sisters. Sons and daughters. Fathers and mothers. I know because I grieve too." Hugo felt his throat tighten. He had to stop speaking for a moment or his voice would break. Spirits, where was his mother? Was she still alive?

"We've seen our villages burn," Hugo finally went on. "We've seen our homes trampled and destroyed. We've seen our lives dashed upon the rocks by our enemies. I know this too. My home… is also gone." Hugo drew a labored breath. He'd known it, but the thought hit him as hard as a falling rock, now. He would never see Karaya again. The place where he'd grown up, the place where he'd met his friends, the place where he'd thought he would die, was gone.

"This war's taken a lot from us. I lost my best friend." Hugo swept his eyes over the crowd, deliberately turning away from where Chris stood. He couldn't bear to see her reaction. He didn't say this to hurt her. It just had to be said. "I lost more than that. I lost my childhood. As long as my friend lived, I thought we'd always have that safe place of memory to retreat to when things got too tough. The adventures, joys, and fears shared. The places explored. I thought nothing could take that away." Hugo paused, then added, "Until something did."

Hugo clenched his fist and raised it. Now, Hugo's eyes swept to Chris's. Her face was hammered steel. "It's true," he said, holding her eyes, "there's no more havens. No more places to retreat to. We can't go back. But we're still alive. And as long as we're alive, there's hope. And if we can't go back, well…" He knotted his hand into a fist, and called upon the True Fire Rune.

Fire wreathed his fist. Fire burning brighter than a forge's flame. He felt its heat, and yet it burned him not. His pulse pounded in his veins. The madness of the rune infected him, made him feel invincible. Memories came roaring back, other people's memories, flooding from the endless well that was the True Rune. Memories of anger. Memories of destruction. He forced the memories down, and anchored himself firmly in the present.

"If we can't go back," he said, we'll have to go forward."

Scattered cheers rose from the crowd. Hugo barely heard them. He stared into Chris's eyes, and felt something change. Something had changed between them, or perhaps it was something that had changed within him. The past can't hold the living, he suddenly thought. There is no dwelling in that inhospitable place. They could move forward, together.

Hugo swept his eyes over the crowd. "The battles of the past mean nothing. Our enemies are the Harmonians. Their soldiers are battle-hardened, and they outnumber us. Their lord wields a True Rune. Their general is without peer. But we have a True Rune, now. And we have something more important: Our heritage. We are Grasslanders. We are warriors. We are strong!"

The crowd erupted into deafening cheers. "For the Grasslands! For the Flame Champion! The Flame Champion!"

Hugo allowed the cheering to build for a time. He raised his arms for silence.

"Together," Hugo said, "We will defeat the Harmonians. We'll drive them out of the Grasslands."

The crowd shouted their agreement. Warriors let loose battle cries and pumped their fists into the air.

"We can't bring back the people we've lost. But we can take our lands back. No one," he said, thrusting his fist into the air, "Is going to drive us out of the Grasslands!"

The cheering rose ever louder and more fevered. People jumped up and down in excitement. Hugo could see the fever building among his people. He did not doubt that his speech had its intended effect. But part of him also knew it wouldn't have mattered who spoke the words. He was no orator, no great leader. But he was the Flame Champion. And his people needed to hear these words, no matter who spoke them.

"We'll have victory!" Hugo shouted. "Victory!"

"Victory!" the crowd bellowed back at him as one. "The Flame Champion! The Flame Champion! The Flame Champion!"

The voices of the crowd ran in Hugo's ears. His thoughts ran to the past. He turned to look beside him, and imagined that Lulu stood beside him. He imagined that his friend was grinning.

Hugo returned that grin. Childhood's over. I'll move forward. But you'll always be there in my memories, my friend.

A hundred colored lanterns burned against the night sky. In their midst, the swollen moon gleamed bright and huge.

Chris stared up at this sight, and the colors mesmerized her. In all her life, she had never seen such a thing as the Festival of Lights. It brought her mind to the Cathedral of the Goddess, and the stained-glass windows there. When the sun lanced through those multicolored panes, it filtered brilliant upon the statues on the altar. In those moments, she could feel the presence of the Goddess.

Here, too, she felt the presence of the Goddess.

It was a day for wonders. She still reeled from the effects of Hugo's speech. His words had tossed her from one emotion to the next, like a ship straining against a storm. She had felt his pain as if it had been her own. Had his eyes sought hers in the crowd, or had she imagined it, wanting it to be true? Her mind still spun, and her heart would not be quiet. The intensity of her feelings shocked her.

The last cheers for Hugo's speech had only just died down when the first musicians struck up their tune. The air filled with drums and flutes, and the moment there was rhythm and melody, the Grasslanders followed suit.

They erupted in wild dance.

The celebration was on. Everywhere there was the buzz of conversation and the roar of laughter. Pigs and chickens turned over fire pits, filling Chris's nose with the pleasant aroma of roasting meat. Jugs of Kinese brandy sloshed in the hands of excited revelers. Kinese shamans stalked the crowds in carved masks, chanting prayers to the spirits accompanied with fevered dancing.

Chris smiled as she jostled through the crowd. Where she walked, laughing men and women drew her into dance, pulling at her arms and hands, spinning her from side to side. More often than not, it was the young men who sought her out. Some of them cut a rather dashing figure in their Clansman's festival garb, she had to admit. She humored them, a step here, a twirl there, but did not linger for long.

Others took to the experience like fish to the water. A roar of joy and laughter picked out Sir Percival in the midst of a throng of Kinese women. The knight spun heedlessly from fathom to fathom, leaving the women tittering and clamoring for more. The fact that he did not know the steps seemed not to occur to the man.

Chris had to laugh at the sight of him.

The welcome they gave her surprised Chris. She almost had not attended the Festival. An outlander, and the infamous Silver Maiden at that? At best she had expected the Grasslanders to shun her. At worst, she had feared violence. Only Yumi's badgering had made her don the dress and attend the dance.

Perhaps it was the dress. Yumi had fished it out of a wardrobe somewhere. It was made of dyed-green wool, with Kinese tribal patterns in geometric shapes of brown and red woven into the breast. The dress flowed about her ankles and thighs, but cinched her waist tight. Perhaps at a glance, she could be mistaken for a Grasslander, though she doubted it. Her silver hair tended to betray her. Chris stepped carefully, hands straining not to touch the skirts. She hadn't worn a dress since her hair was in pigtails and she only came up to her father's knee.

Despite the smiling faces all around her, Chris still felt awkward and isolated. Different. She knew this feeling well. As a young cadet, she had been the one girl among dozens of boys, all hopeful squires-to-be. She had been the daughter of Sir Wyatt Lightfellow, the rising star of the Zexen Knights, pegged as the successor to the captaincy. That was before Galahad, of course. Before her father fell in battle. Living up to such expectations would have been hard enough, had she been a boy. A boy would have had a chance to fight for it, to earn it. As a girl, she had been a shadow upon the wall. A token representation of the Zexen Knights' philanthropy. Someone who did not belong. Someone who was not even given a chance to earn it.

Galahad, who had been her father's comrade, had stood as the staunchest opponent to her knighthood. He meant well. He had wanted to protect her. She knew that now. But she had never asked for that, had never wanted to be protected. So she had forced her way. Step by excruciating step. She had worked twice as hard as her peers. Ten times as hard. She had abandoned all the things that called attention to the fact that she was different. From the day she was made a squire of the Zexen Knights, Chris had not once worn a dress. She had made them see her not as a woman but as a knight. First her fellow squires. Then the knights. Even Galahad had accepted her, in the end.

Yumi pushed through the dancers to stand before her. Smiling sweetly, she held out a cup filled with Kinese brandy. Her cheeks were already rosy with drink.

"Here," she said, "Drink up!"

Chris took the cup and held it gingerly. She gulped the dark crimson liquid and felt it burn her throat. The taste was sweet, and pleasing. Dangerously so. The stuff was as strong as Iksayan whiskey. She made a mental note to take careful sips from now on. Goddess forbid she do something that would embarrass her in the morning.

Yumi slung an arm over her shoulder and leaned in conspiratorially. "Have you danced with the Flame Champion yet?"

Chris followed Yumi's gaze. There, at the foot of the podium, Hugo stood surrounded by a throng of women three ranks deep. Trapped within the press of bodies, he resembled a cornered wolf. The women tugged at his sleeves, patted his biceps, ran their fingers over the True Rune on the back of his palm. Their laughter and giggles carried even over the general din. Hugo laughed along with them, but he kept sweeping his hands through his hair – a gesture Chris recognized as a nervous tic.

"Our champion does not want for attention, it seems," Chris said.

"Jealous?" Yumi snickered.

"Certainly not," Chris said, a little too forcefully. "I simply think it is inappropriate. All those women, fawning over a man who clearly does not enjoy their attention."

Yumi gave a piercing laugh, taking a swig from the jug of brandy under her arm. "Damn it, girl. Don't you know how starved us Kinese women get for attention? Now the bloody Flame Champion strides into the village, and he's as cute as a button. Half the women of Alma-Kinan are doing their best to catch his eye. If I were you, I'd be more jealous."

Chris felt her cheeks burn.

"Why should I be? I have no claim on Hugo."

With some effort, she tore her eyes from the sight, just as a young woman tried, with mixed success, to plant a kiss on Hugo's cheek. It would not do for a knight to challenge an unarmed woman to single combat over something as trivial as a man.

Chris was startled by her own reaction. What was wrong with her? By the Goddess, there was nothing between Hugo and her! They had shared adventures few would ever experience. Certainly they were friends, now, but nothing more. And as a friend, Hugo was free to chase or be chased by however many women he wanted. She should not care. It certainly made no sense for her to harbor thoughts of violence against the women flirting with Hugo.

She did her best to silence the little voice at the back of her head telling her the true reason why she was upset: that it was envy at the natural ease with which these women comported themselves. That they seemed so natural where she felt clumsy and foolish. Even the dress felt ridiculous on her. She could hardly move in it, stumbling on the skirts every other step. She could not begin to imagine how a woman might act around a man to win his affection.

Now where had her mind gotten her? Chris forced the thought aside. She was a warrior. Her place was with the Flame Champion, as his sworn sword. It was a matter of duty. Affection did not enter into it.

Yumi shrugged, sipping more brandy. "If I were you…" She glanced at Chris. "Well, if I were you, I'd wear long dresses more often. Possibly braid my hair. That said, if I were you, I wouldn't let an opportunity like this slip through my fingers."

Chris searched Yumi's features. The Kinese woman sipped her brandy and arced an eyebrow at her.

"What are you saying?" Chris asked.

Yumi did not respond. She held out the jug to Chris. "Take this. I'm going to dance with the Flame Champion." She grinned. "Maybe steal a kiss."

Chris gaped. Left standing with the jug of brandy, she watched the woman slip through the crowd towards the circle of women surrounding Hugo. Yumi glanced back and Chris thought she saw her wink before she pushed through the last rank of women. Yumi grabbed Hugo's arm and pulled him away, laughing and smiling. Clearly relieved to escape his captors, Hugo followed behind. The throng of Kinese women cooed and shouted their admiration at his back. Yumi played the game well, Chris realized. A bit too well.

Chris worked her way closer to the pair through the dense crowd. As the revelers drank their fill of brandy, the glade grew more difficult to navigate. Chris dodged errant legs swung in dance, threatening to trip her. Occasionally she had to duck beneath arms flung out in celebration, or elbows carelessly thrust back. The festival resembled more a battlefield than the austere mercantile balls of Vinay del Zexay.

Ahead, Yumi laced her arms around Hugo's neck and swayed her hips in tune with the thunder of the drums. The Karayan put his hands on her hips, and swung into motion with her.

Chris's eyes followed their movements. She was not too innocent to catch the general meaning of Yumi's suggestion. But what she suggested was absurd. It was true that Chris had begun to see Hugo in another light. Their travels together had forced her to admit certain things. Among them, that the boy she had first met at Brass Castle had come into his own. Hugo had an air of power about him. A born leader. She had seen people like that before. Galahad had been like that. Hugo's mother, too. She was beginning to see that side of him emerge. The way he moved, the way he spoke. He seemed always to carry himself with a natural confidence. She admired his unaffected ways, so different from her own. And if she was being honest, she might even admit that she found it attractive.

Suddenly Chris was right beside them. Hugo spun around and released Yumi. The woman bowed and backed away, smiling at Chris. In a moment, the Kinese woman was swept up in another man's arms.

Hugo turned to Chris, and extended a hand. The drums slowed to an expectant pounding.

"Dance with me," he said. It seemed more a command than a question.

Chris glanced uncertainly at the crowd around her, men and women thrashing in wild dance. "The only dances I know are those of the Zexen ballrooms. And even then, I only ever learned the gentleman's steps."

Hugo laced his fingers in hers. "There are no steps," he said with a grin. He pulled her arm taut, dragging her towards him. "You worry too much. Come with me."

He pulled her towards him without waiting for an answer. She stumbled at first, but caught her balance, and he swept her up with one hand on the small of her back. In a heartbeat, she went from feeling clumsy to feeling, rather acutely, his hand burning a hole through the fabric of her dress. She almost recoiled in reflex from his touch. She flushed, and saw a smile play on his lips before he smothered it.

Chris tracked the movement of his feet. She could see a method to them, though the patterns would take time to recognize. "This hardly seems fair," she said. "There are steps."

Hugo laughed. "You Ironheads and your rules!" He swung her around, made her spin in the crowd. "Everyone knows the steps," he said. "Just listen to the music, and follow your heart."

Chris knitted her brow and focused. She divided her attention into two equal parts: one balancing her feet, and the other taking in the notes of the music, gauging the drums and flutes for some pattern. With each pound of the drums, she darted a glance at her feet. With each turn of the dance, she glanced at the people around her. If only she could—

She stumbled. Hugo's arm caught her, leaned her up into standing position. Several times she bumped into other dancers, and stopped to make an apology. Each time, she was left staring at the dancer's back as they departed with only a smile. No one seemed to mind such bumps.

Hugo smiled. "Relax," he said. "Feel the music."

Chris frowned. "There is no meaning to such words. Music is heard, not felt…"

Hugo suddenly pulled her into an embrace. Before she could protest, he flung her away, hands locked, and used the momentum to spin her around.

Chris yelped in shock. She had barely enough time to regain her balance. Then Hugo picked up the tempo, trotted wildly through the crowd. He dragged her behind him by the hand, and drew up beside one of the drummers.

"Listen," he said. He nodded at the drummer, a woman seated cross-legged and bent over her drums, her woolen blouse drenched with sweat. The drummer's arms swung furiously as she hammered and slapped the leather stretched over the drum tops. Sweat poured from her forehead in spite of the headband that held her hair back. She seemed to have eyes for nothing but the drums.

Hugo turned Chris to face the crowd. "Feel the music." He began to move in a circle around her, laughing.

She bit her lip. She peered about, taking in the spinning forms of dancers around her. The colored lanterns illuminated their faces in ghostly hues. She looked at the drummer again, and saw the tensing and flexing of her swift-moving arms upon the drums. Like a swordsman practicing the deadly flicks of her wrist, the drummer's ability could not easily be imitated. Chris squeezed her eyes shut, placed a hand on her chest, and let her senses expand to take in the festival night.

Perhaps it was the brandy, but she felt something. She began to perceive the drums more vividly, as a beat that pounded through her mind, and through her heart. She felt the cool night breeze touch the exposed parts of her skin with greater intensity. She smelled the thick scent of hundreds of sweaty bodies on the air.

Chris popped her eyes open. The lights dancing above the glade seemed sharper, the music louder. She nodded at Hugo.

Hugo grinned. "Show me."

With timid steps, Chris began to dance. She was aware of his eyes on her, but her self-consciousness had evaporated like mist under strong sunlight. She felt an awareness come over her. Why should she feel clumsy, when all that mattered was the heart? No one was watching her. Her dancing was her own. She passed her eyes over the crowd, perceiving but not seeing the people around her. She mimicked their movements, raised her arms as they did, swung her legs as they would. Chris swayed in tune with the drums. Her cheeks should be burning, but she felt at ease, in a trance. She felt a silly grin slowly spread on her face.

Hugo's grin had faded into a bewildered smile as he watched the understanding build within her. Now he matched her motions, stomping his feet around her, swinging his arms and legs.

"That's better!" he half-spoke, half-laughed.

"I must admit," Chris breathed, heart racing, "This is rather exhilarating!"

Hugo closed his hands about her waist and pulled her close, laughing.

Chris thought her heart might stop, his face was so close. She stared into his eyes, and felt her cheeks burn. Last night, owing to his sudden and scandalous appearance, she had bared everything for him. She struggled to sort through the jumble of emotions in her head. The thought of him seeing her that way was mortifying. What if he thought she meant for him to see her? What would he think of her? He had stared, unabashedly. What did that mean? Was it shock, or desire? The most confusing part was, Chris thought she might prefer the latter. If she was being honest.

Chris pushed the humiliation of last night aside and studied Hugo's face. He was certainly handsome enough. There was a boyish charm about him, not her preference perhaps, but with time she felt sure he would grow into a devilishly handsome man. She had to admit she did not mind sneaking a look at him now and then, when his eyes were elsewhere. He cut a striking figure, lean and broad-shouldered. A lifetime beneath the harsh sun of the Grasslands had toned his body to near perfection. The scars adorning his bare arms served as a reminder of what she already knew: Hugo would charge death itself for a friend. When she looked into his eyes, she saw the fury with which he launched himself into the midst of the Vessel's undead thralls to protect her.

Even now, she felt his protective instinct. His strong hands, light but firm on her waist. His fingers laced in hers, guiding her through the crowd. His eyes, flicking about to keep her from bumping into another's back. His eyes, always returning to hers, a small smile of encouragement on his lips.

That smile. It made her heart quicken. She might imagine what it would be like to rest in the embrace of those strong, gentle arms. She might even imagine how it could feel to to be kissed by those smiling lips.

If she was being honest.

A voice cut in from the crowd, "Quit hogging the Flame Champion!"

Lilly squeezed between them, her back facing Chris. The girl glanced over her shoulder and gave Chris a teasing smile. Lilly wore a long blue dress with a naked back. It bore no resemblance to Grasslander clothes, or Kinese clothes for that matter. Chris realized the girl must have brought the dress on her travels. Not even a wrinkle married the fabric. Ribbons tied to her locks decorated her dark brown hair.

Hugo shrugged, throwing Chris a rueful glance before Lilly fairly dragged him off into dance.

A Chishan man emerged from the crowd and asked her to dance. This time, Chris accepted gladly. She felt less timid, surer of herself. And she found the Kinese dance thrilling. But as the thundering drums rose to a crescendo, she kept glancing in Hugo's direction. True to her word, Lilly had not hogged the Flame Champion. Hugo spun through the crowd, switching partners every few turns. The girls he danced with were young and pretty, hair pinned back in the Grasslander way, skin swarthy and sun-kissed.

Chris felt suddenly foolish. Her pale alabaster skin set her apart, as did her formal manners. She stood out as a sore thumb. She might wear a Kinese dress, but even the dress could not change her nature. Whatever feelings she might harbor, they mattered not one iota. She did not belong here. Desire her he might, but the son of Chief Lucia would certainly never wed an outlander, much less a knight of Zexen. The thought was laughable. Except that it left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Chris felt dizzy all of a sudden. She broke away from the man she was dancing with, an older Karayan, and pushed through the crowd for the tables. She needed a drink.

Chris snatched a cup of brandy and downed the contents in gulps. Her throat burned. She set the cup down, grimacing, and started away from the glade. She wanted to be alone, to think.

She had just reached the edge of the trees when Hugo caught up with her.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Chris faked a smile. "Nothing. I just…" She laughed bitterly. "I just needed to catch my breath." Running from you, she thought.

Hugo fidgeted nervously, looking around the glade. "I'm sorry about last night," he said.

Chris shook her head. The brandy made her head swim a bit. "I did not mind," she blurted out. That was not what she had meant to say. Realizing how it sounded, she blushed and said, "It was an honest mistake." Was it, though? Had it been a mistake?

Hugo hesitated for a long while, his eyes studying the hem of her dress. "Come with me," he finally said. "There's something I want to show you." He started into the woods, turning to hold his hand out to her.

Chris hesitated, glanced back at the glade and its dancing crowds. The sound of the drums was muted here at the edge of the trees. Curiosity warred with modesty. She did not think it appropriate for her to slink off into the woods with Hugo, however much the thought appealed to her. The brandy was no good influence on her, she decided. "This is hardly proper…" she began.

Hugo laughed. He motioned for her to take his hand.

"Trust me."