HEALER, KILLER
By Amanda Swiftgold
BOOK ONE: DRAGOON SPIRITS GATHER
Chapter Seven
In a tavern in the lower city, only the scratch of twigs on wood could be heard as the owner swept flat the rushes that had been strewn across the floor to collect the mud from customers' boots. The aching sense of emptiness that happens in busy places when everyone has gone seemed to fill the ale-hall. It was night in Vellweb, the freezing air choked with the scent of long-burning fires and the remains of cooked meals. The unsetting moon and the stars above glittered coldly over the sparkling whiteness of the drifting snow. There was stillness within the encircling stone walls, the city's occupants cocooned in their beds.
Kanzas too slept fitfully in the spare room above the tavern's kitchen, which Shirley had procured for him when they'd first come there from Mekadris. It was a small space, the chimney rising up along one wall to warm it, with a single small oiled paper window on the opposite side to let in what daylight could reach beneath the wide eaves. There was barely enough room for his bed to fit in one corner.
Though, oddly enough, he did not often suffer nightmares, this time was different. Kanzas twisted violently beneath the pelt that served as a blanket, clutching his pillow, releasing it, his breath coming in short gasps. Inside his mind, a small farm baked under the rays of a relentless summer sun.
It was no place he had ever been. Three whitewashed timber-framed buildings sat arrayed around a small garden, and fields stretched beyond. He didn't know why he was here, nor did he care. He had a knife in his hand, and here life lingered.
He was searching for something, or someone; two other men searched with him, and he instantly knew himself to be their leader, a bandit again. Into the houses and out again they went, looking and looking but finding nothing other than blue sky, waving grass and flowers planted neatly in rows.
In one of the buildings, upstairs, Kanzas discovered a bedroom. Lying crumpled on the floor was the body of one of his companions, blood streaking his chest. Calmly, he continued to wander the area, hearing as if it was next to him the sound of doors slamming, of feet running on brick pathways, of hushed, frightened voices.
He walked on. The other man was found dead as well, a mere limp shape barely recognizable on a floor. It did not matter; he stalked his invisible prey, hearing the footsteps and voices, occasionally catching a glimpse of straw-colored hair or a scrap of cloth disappearing around the corner as the sweltering air buzzed with the heat.
The third building was empty of people, but filled with such things as they accumulated throughout their lives. Kanzas picked up a piece of paper that was lying on a table, holding it up to see a poorly-drawn image of a woman's face traced across the sheet in black ink. He held it to the light, staring at it without curiosity.
"Do you know her?"
This did not surprise him either, for he knew he had nothing to fear. He looked at the young woman standing there, a blonde Human he didn't recognize. Just some girl, random and unremarkable, walking up so hesitantly toward him. "No," he answered, handing her the ugly portrait. "I don't know her."
She nodded, putting the paper back on the table before taking a trembling breath and stabbing him in the chest. He drew back, eyes wide with pain, and she drove the dagger into him again. He slashed at her with his own knife, but no blow connected. She stabbed him again. Again. Again. He felt the heat of his blood welling upward, felt the sharp blade sliding into him with each frantic jab.
And Kanzas fell to one knee, his hands doing nothing to staunch the thick red flow dripping from the latticework she'd made of his chest, but his voice was steady, calm if weak: "Why?"
Tears welled in her eyes as she answered tightly, "You tried to kill my family. I won't let you."
"I understand." He nodded, and like a curtain falling, darkness descended. But it was not the end.
The dream shifted, and he found himself in a bed, bandaged, alive but without the strength to move. The room around him was white, as was everything in it. He felt blinded by the brightness of it all.
The woman who'd stabbed him sat now by his side, pressing a wet cloth to his brow. Small Dragons played on the floor, and, with the logic of dreams, he knew that somehow years had passed, that the Dragons were supposed to be their children. He also knew that he'd die from his wounds soon, but the prospect alone did not alarm him. There was no pain - only sorrow, and fear.
She touched his head, running her fingers gently through his hair. "You will be well," she murmured. But he knew she was lying, and he was already dead.
Not this knowledge, but rather what he was feeling terrified him, a new emotion swelling to fill his chest as he awoke, thrashing the covers away. Kanzas stared blankly into the darkness as sweat trickled down his face from his hairline. What he felt was remorse, a lingering sense of remorse from a dream, regret over something that hadn't even happened.
It never happened. It was a dream-
No, it had been a nightmare, and he didn't even know why he was scared. The small of his back felt damp, the threadbare shirt he was wearing sticking to his skin. It wasn't as if the day's events had made him dream of Shirley, or even Jidena regurgitated from the dank pool of memory. The girl he'd dreamed of had meant nothing, had been no one, and yet he still wished he hadn't-
Hadn't done anything! Letting out a low growling noise, Kanzas swiped his hand across his face and scruffy beard before reaching blindly for the small table crammed next to the bed. His fingers fumbled across the ceramic pitcher sitting there, knocking it to the floor with a shattering crash. Angrily, he sent the washbowl after it, and a watery slosh and the plinking of shards on the floorboards rang out loudly in the stillness.
A moment later he found what he was reaching for, his fingers closing tight around his Dragoon Spirit. With a deep sigh of relief, he tore a long strip from the end of his ragged shirt and bound the violet orb against the inside of his wrist as he'd been wearing it before, pulling the knot tight with one end of the bandage in his teeth. The little jewel seemed to beat gently in time with his pulse, as if to remind him that he was still alive.
Too awake now to try to get back to sleep, he got out of bed, lurching over the end of it to avoid stepping on the pieces of the bowl and pitcher on the floor. Shirley would have been surprised to find that he hadn't slept much while in Kadessa, either. Kanzas hated those portions of nightly death, the required hours of vulnerability; sometimes it felt as if he lived on his nerves alone.
He crossed the little room toward a short pile of secondhand clothing, folded on a rickety chair by the window, and began throwing it all on, several layers thick. The weather here was one more thing he didn't like about Vellweb. He'd been a Southlander at least half his life, and he wasn't used to having to dress warmly just to go outside. The bulky things were awkward and made him feel immobile, the heavy boots like leaden weights on his feet, but at least they kept out the wind.
And the wind was indeed blowing, scraping loose powder from the hardened drifts outside and blowing the flurries into the air. It howled into the upstairs room as Kanzas pushed the window frame outward on its frozen hinges, spraying snow into his face as he climbed through the narrow opening. The tavern's slate roof angled away toward the icicle-covered drop-off, and he walked out toward the edge, eyes scanning the sky.
The shape came in a blur of darkness, momentarily blotting out stars as it passed, descending toward the sleeping city. The man raised his arms, hands outstretched, and as Taranis dropped lower he caught hold of the length of chain still trailing from the collar around his neck. The Dragon was projecting concern, having sensed his Dragoon's troubled thoughts. /Anywhere,/ he thought, adjusting his grip on the freezing metal. City guards were calling an alarm, their voices clear through the otherwise silent night. /Let's go anywhere./
Taranis flapped hard to rise higher into the air, the gale from his wings making shutters rattle and roofs creak, and Kanzas carefully climbed up the oversized links like a ladder, swinging onto his scaled back as they left the city behind them. Wrapping his arm beneath the collar at the base of his vassal Dragon's neck, he let out a sigh and, finally, closed his eyes.
The orphanage's schoolroom was small and cramped with students, the air hot and stuffy from the fireplace in one wall. In summer, school was held outdoors, but summer was short and still some time from now.
"Come now, Davi," Belzac sighed, squatting down to bring himself more level with the table. "I can tell you're not trying."
"I'm trying," the boy whined back in return, dragging a stubby bit of chalk listlessly over his piece of slate. Several letters had been printed neatly above his scrawls, which looked only remotely like the examples.
The man shook his head, glancing at the work in front of the other children sitting around the table. Most of them had managed to copy their letters, at least, though with varying degrees of success. No one but he and rarely Shirley ever bothered to hold class, and they'd both been gone. It was hard to keep the children's attention as it was without long absences between lessons.
It couldn't really be helped, though; the vast majority of Vellweb's residents were former slaves, and they generally had never learned to read or write themselves. The wife of Belzac's owner had taught him, and he'd taught Shirley, but that sort of thing wouldn't happen nowadays. It was against Wingly law now to educate Humans in order to keep them from getting ideas. He hardly worried about that, though - if he was ever executed, he doubted it would be because he taught some kids to read.
He circled the table to write a new set of words on the slates, pausing briefly to pat Damia's shoulder in silent approval before erasing her neat letters. She smiled up at him slightly, her hair brushed forward to hang oddly over one eye. Though she too had been illiterate when she'd come here, the half-mermaid was learning quite quickly. She was one of the oldest children in the orphanage, and he'd found her to be a great help with the others, at least once he'd impressed on them that he wasn't going to tolerate any whispers about her looks or heritage.
"Very good," he announced when he'd returned to his starting point. "Please continue." Leaning down behind Davi as the sounds of chalk on slate commenced, he adjusted the boy's grip, guiding his hand in the shapes of the letters. "Like this, now," Belzac murmured. Immediately, Davi relaxed, letting his teacher move his hand but not paying attention to what, exactly, he was writing. Biting his lip in aggravation, he repeated patiently, "Davi, you have to try."
"I am trying," the child answered back automatically, shaking his head in annoyance.
He sighed again under his breath, brushing back his golden-brown hair absently. Sometimes, even the tone of the boy's voice made him despair of ever teaching him anything. Davi seemed to float through life wrapped in ignorance, with no desire to learn at all.
The low blaze in the fireplace guttered suddenly, the loud howl of wind rising outside to scream and shake the windows in their frames. Belzac stood up slowly, hearing a few shrieks from the younger children, and went over to where they were playing near the fire. "What's wrong?" he asked, compacting his huge form as he knelt near them. "Christa?"
The little girl in question sniffled, her face red, before extending one hand, clutching a rag doll with the other. As he lifted it up gently with two fingers, one of the others volunteered, "The fire spitted, and she got burnt."
"It's not bad," he told her with a kind smile after inspecting the pink splotch on her tiny hand. "Let's see if we can find a bandage for that." She nodded tearfully, and he picked her up and stood without effort, giving the room an automatic glance for trouble starting.
And then the door slammed open; an older boy ran inside from the woodpile, split logs spilling from the stack clutched in his arms as he hurried toward the half-Giganto. "Teacher," he gasped, "there's - there's-"
"Calm down," he said quickly, shifting Christa in his arms as he went to meet him, his pale gaze still focused on the boy. "What is it?"
His eyes wide, he gasped out, "A Dragon! There's a Dragon!"
"You're lying, Robin!" another boy's voice said, its owner standing up from where he'd been seated with the others around the table.
"Am not!" he retorted. Color flooded back into his pale face as he forgot his fear in order to defend himself. "It's flying down right outside!"
More chairs scraped back as other children got up, crowding toward the door and the windows, voices rising in an excited babble. "I wanna see!"
"Not me! I'm scared-"
"Really a Dragon? Guess what, I saw one when I was five-"
"I can't see through here, open the window-"
"Enough!" Belzac shouted, his voice immediately silencing them. The fear on Robin's face had been enough for him to know that he was telling the truth. "I'll go see what this is about. None of you are to step foot out of this room, you hear me?" Patting the blonde waves of Christa's hair as she sniffled and clutched the sleeve of his white linen shirt, he put her down before moving for the entrance.
His students quickly made a path for him, watching as he ducked through the open doorway and raised a hand to shade his eyes from the glare of sun on snow. However, he soon dropped it, realizing that something was, in fact, blocking out the sun. Light glinted instead off Taranis' shiny violet scales, his wings creating huge gusts as he flapped them to stay aloft over the lower city roofs. "What is the meaning of this?" Belzac yelled, though he was not talking to the Dragon.
A moment later, a figure swung down from the back of the Dragon, dropping from the large chain to land upright in the drifts. Blowing snow stirred around them, mixed with particles of glowing turquoise as Taranis rose back into the air again. Kanzas smirked at Belzac, glancing around at the people gawking, most from hiding places behind something or through opened windows. " 'Meaning'?" he said, folding his arms in front of him.
Swallowing hard, the Golden Dragoon watched as Taranis flew toward the towers before settling with a flare onto the edge of the nearest unfinished one. "The Dragon," he hissed back angrily. "Into the middle of the city!"
"He doesn't like it here," Kanzas said, waving a hand. "Too cold."
"Then send him to the mountains on the southern border like the rest of us," he retorted, still trying to keep his voice down.
"It's Kanzas?" someone broke in, and they both whirled back to see the children crowded into the doorway, staring at them but carefully staying just inside the room. Damia had pushed her way to the front of the group and out onto the doorstep, her ruby eyes widened in surprise.
The man blinked at her. "Oh, it's you," he answered vaguely. "Still afraid, are you?"
"Um-mum-um," a girl's voice piped, "I'm telling…! Teacher, Damia's outside!"
"Tattletale!" she retorted, spinning around with flushed cheeks.
"So? You are!"
"Well, you're whiny!"
This is just what I need. "Everyone, take a step backward!" Belzac hollered toward the children, giving them a familiar teacherly glare and watching until they did so. "Good! Now, stay there! Quietly!" Rubbing at the bridge of his nose, he turned back and demanded, "What do you want, Kanzas?"
"I was out flying around," he replied in the same distant tone. "Is Shirley here? She's not in her tower."
The question made him tense up, but he forced himself to brush it off. "No, she's not here."
"You're sure?" he asked, peering over the heads of the children into the dimness of the schoolroom, as if he could see anything other than shadows from where he stood. "I wanted to tell her something."
"Of course I'm sure!" he snapped back irately. "Plan to apologize for what you said to her yesterday?"
He made an amused noise. "No. It's important."
Belzac immediately cleared his throat, taking a breath of cold air. If it had been anyone else, he would have just gone in and slammed the door on him immediately. However, the children were watching, and they would remember such hostility between two Dragoons. "I don't know where she is, but I'm sure she's too busy to be disturbed by your banter," he informed the other man shortly. "And, in fact, so am I. Save it."
There was a pause as Kanzas looked up at him slowly, regarding him with an impassive expression. "So, then," he said suddenly, tilting his head to the side, "I'm not supposed to tell you about the convoy heading this way?"
"You know…this was one of the last places I'd have thought to look for you."
Though the sound of the voice surprised her, Shirley didn't look up from where she was seated in the corner. Her hand, however, paused in mid-motion, needle and thread upraised. "I think that may be why I'm here," she replied quietly, brown eyes finally flickering toward the doorway. "Rose."
The other woman remained standing in the entrance, a darker shape amidst the steam and warm fireglow of the palace laundry, looking around the room rather than meet Shirley's gaze. Servants worked in the large area beyond, stirring vats of boiling clothing that gave off a strong cinnamony smell due to the cassia bark in the water. A bit further back, others were using what looked like old millstones to squeeze out sopping fabric, pressing it flat. Grayish water splashed over the laundry's rock floor, trickling down past iron grates and away below. They were ignoring Shirley, apparently, and thus her as well, attending to their hot work.
Rose finally approached her, watching her sewing a patch over a tear in one side of the fabric she had piled on her lap. Even in the dim firelight she made tiny, even stitches, masking the rip completely. A basket of mending sat beside her; there appeared to be more clothes finished than not. "And how long do you plan to hide here?" she asked in a neutral tone.
Shirley's hand jerked a bit, her needle pricking her finger. She raised it up to eye level, watching almost sadly as a drop of blood beaded up, before quickly sucking it away. "I don't know," she answered, her even tone wavering slightly, and she put down her thread, folding her hands over the bundle in her lap. That all depends on you, my friend. I dreamed of a little dead girl last night, and she wore your face… "Would you prefer it if I pretended nothing happened?"
The Darkness Dragoon looked away, twisting a long strand of her black ponytail around her finger. Suddenly, she sat down, leaning her back against the side of Shirley's chair, and pulled her knees up close despite the heat of the room. "No," she said, "I wouldn't. But Zieg and I will be leaving this afternoon to search for the Blue Sea bearer, and I don't want to go with things unsaid between us."
A small part of her, deep inside, wondered why she had to tread so cautiously around Rose's feelings anyway - but this thought was quickly brushed away in shame. "I am guilty, Rose," she whispered, her voice low, "and though the child's death was accidental, there's no denying I killed her." She gave a bitter, sardonic laugh. "I don't think I could feel worse. I am hiding, but I don't know what else I can do."
"I should not have made it worse," Rose replied slowly. She lowered her head, deep in memory, pale face almost hidden against her folded arms. "You couldn't have known…after all, I never said anything about it, did I? About Frahma, and those years. How could you have known we - she was trained to give her life for him without a moment's thought? Protect the master, shield him from assassination, as if he needed the help. We were more afraid of the punishment for failing than the death obeying would bring."
Tentatively, Shirley reached down her hand, placing it on the woman's shoulder. "I am sorry, Rose. So very sorry."
She tensed momentarily before reaching to grab hold of Shirley's hand, squeezing her fingers tightly, though otherwise remaining still. "You needn't be," she answered impassively. "Not for me. The…anger I felt has passed, and the pain too. Melbu Frahma must be stopped, and for that to happen innocents will be sacrificed. It's not your fault - it's his."
Dropping her gaze sharply, she said, "Kanzas told me something like that as well. If it's truth, it's bitter to swallow."
"Did he, now." It wasn't really a question. "It's not what I'd have expected him to say. I'll tell you this, too, Shirley - I don't trust him. The Dragon accepted him, but it still feels like he's hiding something."
"I know he is," Shirley confided, lifting her head to stare at the wall across from her. "But I got to know him on our journey, a little. Kanzas has no love for Winglies. If anything, he has more in common with you than you think, Rose. It's…not my place to tell you how, though."
Silently, the other woman thought this over, making the connections in her mind. "I see," she replied after a while, blue eyes flashing darkly in the dim light. "This doesn't make me trust him any more, however, and you shouldn't mistake pity for something stronger."
Reaching up with her free hand to brush hair from her blushing face, she went on, "I don't expect you to trust him - and I'm not, I swear. I'm just doing what I can to help him, but - well, you know. It's not easy. You of all people know how terrible the past can be."
"I of all people know," she responded, but her voice had a lightness in it, her fingers warm clasped around her own. "But I'm stronger than old memories. Not everyone can be. Sometimes," she went on very quietly, "not me either."
She didn't answer, Rose's words striking somewhere inside her, calling up the ghost of the executed slaves and Kanzas as he spoke of Aglis, his voice straining horribly, almost scraping against her mind. It was strange to think of him as not being strong enough, and yet it made a sad kind of sense. She understood why Rose was mistrustful, and had felt it herself, but even so…
"Take care, Shirley, even though you mean well. I once pretended my fear of Frahma was love for him. Now I see the truth, and I only wish his death."
There was a pause as a maid went past them and through the doorway, carrying a basketful of damp clothing to be hung on lines to dry in another room. Her friend's advice had hit too close for her to acknowledge it aloud, and so when the servant had gone, the red-haired Dragoon made sure to change the subject, murmuring, "I'm afraid that even Frahma's death won't cure all the evil of the world."
Rose nodded in agreement, her grip on Shirley's hand tightening slightly before she let go. "No, it won't. But it'll be a good start." She straightened, relaxing a little and stretching out one booted foot as she sensed the change in the mood. "Zieg has promised that to me," she said in a happier tone, "as an engagement present. I'm told rings are more traditional…"
Shirley felt her lips curving into a small, almost involuntary smile, although she wished she could see the expression on Rose's face, to know if she was truly as forgiving as she sounded. Though Rose had learned to hide pain, she knew it would still be some time before the guilt began to fade from her own conscience. "You two are finally engaged, then. It took a lot longer than I thought."
"Yes," she said, pleased, "but don't tell anyone yet. It's not the right time for such things anymore. We'll be married when we can be sure our children will never know slavery."
"That might be some time from now," Shirley told her gently.
Rose finally turned to face her, twisting to stand up and brushing rock dust from her black leggings and long slit indigo tunic. "We've been together for five years already. I can wait a bit longer for that," she announced, smiling, "but not to get some air. Come up now with me, Shirley. You'll ruin your eyesight and your aim, sitting in the dim like this."
Giving her a wry look, she tucked the needle through the edge of the cloth she held before setting it in the basket and standing up. "I could use some fresh air," she admitted, stretching her legs and snatching up her cloak. Just not the cold! Fastening it tightly around her shoulders, she followed her friend without protest, however, up the curving flight of stairs from the laundry and outside.
The very bases of the seven towers were in this part of the city, breaking from the huge stony courtyard like the trunks of massive trees reaching for the sky, their long shadows preventing much sun from reaching the ground. The towers were wider at the bottom and took up a lot of the lower city's ground space; in fact, new dwellings were now being carved into the walls of the Vellweb canyon to meet the growing demand for housing.
Out of habit, Shirley craned her head back, trying to see to the tops of the structures around them, and then gasped as she saw dark shapes high above separate, merge and flutter. "What is that?" she got out, stumbling a little when she leaned back too far.
Rose merely raised her eyebrow, unsurprised, although her voice had hardened a bit. "It's one of the vassal Dragons; Kanzas', I believe, though I didn't get a very good look at it. It's been sitting up there since at least fifteen minutes before I went to see you."
Even as she stared upward, the shadow suddenly extended, wings unfolding, and the Dragon took to the air again, climbing high enough to disappear into the sky. As it moved, a single flash of morning sunlight streamed out from behind a tower dome before disappearing, becoming a vague halo around the colored marble. "Oh, Divine Tree," she said softly, clutching the edges of her white cloak with crossed wrists. "Why? I thought he knew better than that!"
"I wouldn't worry too much about it," the dark-haired woman told her, pulling a pair of black leather gloves from under her belt and putting them on. "The time for secrecy is over now, especially when it comes to the connection between Vellweb and the Dragons."
"You're right," she managed, remembering Taranis' rescue all too well. "Let's go-"
"Rose! Shirley!" The two spun at the sound of their names, stopping as a familiar figure ran up to them, her telltale long teal hair flying behind her. "I'm so glad I…found you both," Damia panted as she reached them, pulling up short to catch her breath. "I thought I'd have to…go up the stairs…"
Shirley smiled. "Why are you running around the city? Does Belzac know?"
"He sent me," the girl said breathlessly, straightening her blue wrap where it was twisting around her neck. "I've learned my way around the city since I came here. It's easier than it looks."
"And she's been making herself useful as a messenger since then," Rose put in, sounding amused. "What does Belzac want, Damia?"
She bit her lip momentarily in thought, drawing her hands together behind her back. "He wants you and Shirley to meet him by the lower south gate," she recited, nearly chanting it as she recalled the half-Giganto's words. "There's someone coming, and it might be important that everyone is there."
"How strange," Shirley murmured. It didn't sound like this visitor's arrival was bad news, but they weren't expecting anyone important yet, either. She had no idea who it might be, or why the Dragoons would need to meet them. Rose, for her part, gave a pensive nod but said nothing.
Damia's gaze refocused as she finished the message, and she went on more slowly, "I found Zieg already, but there's - Syuveil? Is that right? I need to tell him too, but I don't know who he is. Where do I find him?"
"He's probably in his tower, studying, if I know him," Shirley answered, pointing upward and shading her eyes with her other hand as she did so. "The one with the green dome."
The twelve-year-old followed the line of her motion and groaned exaggeratedly, putting her hand to her forehead. "No, I do have to go up the stairs! I always feel like I'm going to fall."
"You won't fall if you pay attention." Shirley peered at her, suddenly noticing the way she had combed her hair forward over half her face; she kept absently but firmly smoothing it down to keep it in place, as much as its natural waves would allow. "Is there something wrong, Damia?" she asked, indicating the odd hairstyle when she got a questioning look in response. "Why are you covering your eye?"
"Oh, no, it's nothing," she blurted out quickly, her fingers jerking toward her hair again before she forced herself to awkwardly cross her arms, a blush coloring her pale face a bright pink. "Anyway, well, I'm going to go up there now. Bye, Rose, Shirley!" She waved hastily as she turned to run back the way she'd come.
"It's good to see you again!" Shirley called after her as she went, receiving another wave in return.
She shrugged at Rose, who smirked slightly. "We'd best be getting to the gate, then," she announced, starting off to the south with the shorter woman quickly at her side. "I wish Belzac had told her who we're going to see. I don't like playing these…guessing games."
"I'm sure he doesn't mean to," she professed, her boots crunching into packed snow as they cut across open yards toward more well-traveled areas. "But it must be important, or he wouldn't have stopped class for it."
It was not very far to the south gate, although they had to go down several side streets to reach it. Vellweb had been planned to resist attack, and of course it wasn't very wise to leave an open avenue straight to the heart of the city. It quickly became clear to the two Dragoons that the townsfolk were also aware something out of the ordinary was happening; there seemed to be more people than usual massing near the lower walls.
However, near the gates themselves the crowd had parted, leaving a wide slushy path open. Conscious that everyone would be watching the area, Rose and Shirley stayed to one side as they drew near. It was plain now what was causing the uproar: through the open gates flanked by town guards, a small convoy could be seen approaching over the fields of snow, fluttering orange and white banners high above the nearing group.
Belzac was instantly recognizable as he stood near the open gates, and Zieg was there as well. Most of the commoners were giving them space out of respect for their high positions in the city. She was not surprised to find Kanzas absent. It wouldn't be like him to care much about an important visitor, she thought, shaking her head slightly. He was probably still angry at her, anyway. However, those thoughts fled as she realized who, exactly, was arriving.
Shirley caught hold of the half-Giganto's arm to get his attention, peering around him, and her friend looked down at her with a raised eyebrow. "Damia found you fast," Belzac remarked lightly. "I thought we all, you know, should be here to greet the lady before Lord Diaz arrives."
"She's not supposed to be here yet!" she gasped to him, standing back again.
"Yes," Rose put in, squeezing Zieg's hand briefly in greeting. "There's no way a messenger could have even gotten to Magrad yet, much less returned."
"I don't know if it's good or not," the blonde man said thoughtfully, "but it certainly means it's started."
No one answered him, as they all understood his meaning. But we aren't ready for this war, Belzac thought, unconsciously reaching for his vest pocket beneath his cloak and closing his hand over his Dragoon Spirit through the cloth. Not yet. I'd gladly die for Diaz and Gloriano, but I'd like to make a difference first!
The sounds from the other side of the wall grew louder, due in part to the general hushing of the people in the plaza square. The flags on the ramparts snapped in the breeze, echoed by the matching standards flying above the convoy. The small group of riders seemed to be escorting a sledge pulled by two horses, and most of them kept pace behind it, with a guard on each side. One man led the procession, sitting tall on his mount in front.
Hoofbeats on rock rang out, the snowy road giving way to the trampled slush near the entrance of the city, accompanied by the scrape of the sledge's runners slowly coming to a stop atop the raw stone. The first man reined in his horse, scanning the crowd with fierce dark eyes. He had long iron-gray hair spread out over his shoulders and an equally long beard fanned across his chest.
Zieg made a choked noise as he took in the figure of the lead rider, his own eyes going wide. "I don't believe it!" he breathed.
Standing in his stirrups, the armored man called out in a strong, deep voice, "We come from Fort Magrad! Who is here to greet us as we step onto Vellweb's stone?"
"Lord Tibero!" the Fire Dragoon yelled back, forgetting ceremony as he raised his arm in a wave. Rose's hold on him broke as he stepped forward, and with a noise half of amusement, half of annoyance, she followed him. "Lord Tibero, we weren't expecting you to come so soon!"
The older man's stern gaze broke into one of recognition as he sat back in the saddle, looking down at Zieg's smiling face. "Yes, that's apparent, my boy," he answered. "Well met, Zieg. It's been quite a while since I've seen one of my clansmen."
"Oh, has it?" he replied with disappointment. "I was going to ask how my family fared."
"I wish I could bring you news of home," Tibero told him, "but as you know, the times are keeping me from the south. It's likely you have been there more recently than I."
Shirley scanned the area as the two talked, looking for an important face. "Lord Diaz really should be here," she whispered to Belzac, standing on her toes as he bent a bit to hear it. "You sent a messenger to him, too?"
Belzac's pale eyes narrowed, but he nodded. "Yes," he said, something oddly disapproving in his tone. "I did send one."
Before she could ask him to explain further, there was motion behind her, and she turned to see Syuveil and Shynn edging their way through the onlookers with Damia trailing behind them. They too came up to the side of the gate, joining the Dragoons waiting there. "I found everyone you asked for, Belzac," the girl told him quietly, grabbing his hand and tugging on it to get his attention.
He smiled down at her, squeezing her hand gently. Shynn hadn't been on his list for messages, but it didn't really matter that he'd come anyway. Try as he might, something in him just couldn't let him think of the man as being one of them. "Thank you, Damia."
"What's this all about, anyway?" Syuveil asked, adjusting the fall of his green and brown cloak. However, when he caught sight of the sledge and the two people inside it, his expression froze, his cheeks flushing red.
He took an unconscious step forward, but Shynn threw his arm out in front of his friend's chest, a reproachful look in his eyes. "Now wouldn't be a good time, Syu," the dark-haired man said in his soft, even voice.
Relenting, the scholar nodded, embarrassed, and fiddled with the frame of his glasses. "I-I know that," he mumbled, clearing his throat, and Shynn let his arm down, tucking his gloved hands in the crooks of his arms. When Syuveil looked back up, however, his gaze never left the hooded figure waiting patiently inside the sledge.
Moments later, the other occupant stood up, lightly vaulting over the sledge's carved wooden side, and stepped toward Tibero and Zieg. Though he received many stares from the onlookers, the young man didn't seem to notice them. Even the Dragoons were taken aback, as he was unfamiliar to them.
He was a Mininto, most obviously, but dressed much differently than most of his kind, wearing a black and green leather breastplate and bracers. His pink hair was cut into shorter upswept spikes, with several strands trailing bone beads, and over his shoulder he held a sword, one-handed for a Human but obviously a greatsword for him. It had a gently curved blade and its golden crosspiece was in the shape of a four-pointed star.
"Yes, Matthi?" the Human lord said, catching notice of him as Zieg stopped in mid-sentence, startled by the small guard.
"My lord," he began in a clear voice, "I hate to interrupt, but are we to sit out all morning?" Tibero raised an eyebrow at him, and he went on, "I just ask, you know, because of the lady."
"Indeed," Tibero rumbled, casting his gaze toward the Dragoon at his side.
Zieg turned slightly to give the others a questioning look in turn, and with some hesitation Belzac stepped forward. Having been the first to find out about their arrival, he felt as if he should take responsibility for the formalities. He gave a half-bow, a bit flustered. "Of course, you are all welcome here," he began. "I'd hoped Lord Diaz would be here, but he must be delayed. He will certainly be in the palace, however, and greet you there."
"That is well," Tibero said, smiling only slightly; it seemed as if his rocky face was unfamiliar with the expression. He dismounted with a whirl of his cloak and handed his reins to Matthi, who gave the huge long-nosed animal a wary grin. "We shall go up to see him."
He turned toward the sledge, but then stopped upon seeing Syuveil already halfway there. The others saw as well, and Shirley shook her head in sympathy, knowing what was going on. I wish things weren't so impossible for him, she thought sadly.
"Lady Mille," the Jade Dragoon said, bowing toward the woman sitting there, brown bangs dancing across his face in the breeze. "Please, allow me to assist you."
She inclined her head as well, giving him a smile. Though most of her face was shadowed by the large fur-trimmed white hood she wore, golden-brown eyes glittered out from underneath, shining with affection. "Dear Syuveil," she began, extending her gloved hand, "of course you may."
He helped her to stand and put his hands to her waist to lift her out of the sledge, but then stopped short, surprise flashing across his face. Mille shook her head shortly as if to forestall a question, and Syuveil, his cheeks reddening once more, lifted the lady easily over the edge and down again as if she was made of glass. His hand lingered at her waist before he quickly jerked it away, hiding his flush with another deep bow.
"We will not have to go to the palace to greet our lord," Lady Mille announced, breaking the awkward silence as she gazed up the square. Almost absently, she pushed back her hood to reveal dark brown hair adorned with an ornament of gold chain and tiny strung pearls. "He's come after all."
The sound of booted, marching feet in the slush rang down the cleared avenue, resolving itself into another small group, and cheers rang from the onlooking townsfolk as Lord Diaz and his armored honor guard swept down to meet the guests. Most surprising to Shirley, however, was Kanzas walking at their ruler's side. Though he was still in his overlarge secondhand clothes, for some reason to her eyes he didn't look out of place, even next to Diaz's finery. He caught sight of her standing there in front near the gate, and after a moment's glance simply looked away.
"My friend," Diaz said to Tibero, who bowed to him in respect. "It is quite the happy surprise to see you here now. Clan Feld always manages to amaze me."
"I was hoping you would approve, my lord," he replied. "There will be much to speak of, later."
The bearded man nodded gravely, his crown catching the light with the movement. "There will be, but as you say, later." As he faced Lady Mille, she dropped into a deep curtsy, but he quickly put his hand beneath her elbow to raise her up again. "My lady wife," he greeted, his voice lowering almost unconsciously. "I am most pleased to have you return home after so long."
She looked down, her own voice thick and strained with emotion. "My lord husband," she said, "I am…overjoyed to come back to you."
The cheers of the crowd grew to a crescendo as Diaz and Mille shared a brief, chaste kiss, and Belzac couldn't help but glance at Syuveil, who was staring at the two, a painful half-smile playing on his lips. He wasn't the alone in his concern for their friend; only Damia and Kanzas had no idea something was wrong.
"In truth," Diaz was saying, "we were not expecting you to arrive so early. Messages were only sent yesterday."
Tibero, folding his hands behind his back, told him, "We received no messages, Lord Diaz, but decided to make the trip in order to seek the safety of Vellweb's walls. Fort Magrad was no longer safe for the lady."
The lord nodded. "We shall speak of this later, Lord Tibero," he murmured, his eyes crinkling with his smile. "Let us instead celebrate Lady Mille's return with a feast tonight."
"That's what I've been waiting for," Matthi said with a grin, flipping his sword down to rest its point lightly in the slush.
"A reward well-earned," Diaz told the young Mininto, "for your guarding of my wife." As if suddenly noticing Kanzas next to him, he looked over at the Dragoon and said, "You and your comrades must be there too, Kanzas, I insist. Zieg, you and Rose must delay your journey until tomorrow. Tonight, let us celebrate." Diaz's voice grew soft as he murmured, almost as though talking to himself, "Let us celebrate tonight as if it was our last…"
Kanzas didn't know how to respond, aware of the onlookers, but Zieg came to his rescue. "Of course, my lord, as you will."
Diaz nodded to him as Mille took his arm, placing his hand over hers gently. "You have come a long way," the lord announced. "We shall retire to the palace so you may rest."
There was a sudden flurry of motion as Diaz and the guests turned to go up the street toward the upper city stairs, the soldiers who had come from Magrad hurried to take the horses to the stables and to find room in the barracks, and everyone else suddenly remembered what they were supposed to be doing.
Kanzas let the people flow around him, waiting until the square was almost empty before walking toward the other Dragoons, Damia, and Shynn, who were all remaining in place as well. "So," he said abruptly, "who was that, anyway?"
"She is the light of Gloriano," Syuveil answered absently, obviously preoccupied.
The russet-haired man rolled his eyes. "Actually, all I wanted were the names." He glanced at the others, demanding, "All right, now what's the problem?"
Rose shook her head, sighing. "They've come early," she told him a bit reluctantly. "Diaz would have only sent for them yesterday. Lord Tibero is to be the head general of Gloriano's army. It means that the Winglies are moving, I think, or something is making him nervous enough to bring Lady Mille here for safety."
"I see," he replied slowly, rubbing his chin.
"Well," Zieg announced, stretching his arms in front of him, "looks like we have a party rather than a journey ahead of us, Rose."
Shynn gave them a narrow-eyed look. "What sort of journey?" he asked, too suspiciously for anyone to answer him with the truth.
"Just an errand for Lord Diaz," the blonde man replied cheerfully.
The young fighter didn't answer, continuing to stare flatly, but the tension was broken when Damia spoke up, reaching to twist her fingers into Belzac's sleeve. "Belzac," she asked in a sort of whisper, her other hand unconsciously smoothing down her hair, "do you think…you know, would it be all right if I could go too? To the party?"
He smiled broadly, looking down at her and nodding. "You are a servant of Lord Diaz, Damia," he said. "You're a messenger. Of course you can go."
"Oh!" she breathed, bouncing slightly on her toes. "Oh, wonderful!"
"We'll find you something suitable to wear," Shirley smiled, patting the girl's shoulder. She looked up, her eyes catching on Kanzas. I wish you wouldn't ignore me, she thought. How long are you going to let our argument fester?
He met her gaze without blinking, and she said his name softly, questioning. With only the hint of a smirk, however, he turned to stride away, and in front of the others she didn't move to call him back.
Lord Diaz's great hall was filled that night with the sounds of a crowd's chatter. Though the midday meal was usually the most important of the day, the sudden news of the feast had required that it be skipped, and preparations for dinner had stretched on until evening. The poor cook, Shirley thought, smiling a little to herself at the thought. She must have had fits when she was told.
However, the kitchen staff's hasty work had culminated in what was likely the largest meal Vellweb had ever seen, and servants were even now bringing it up on large platters. Long tables were arrayed across most of the room for the lord's elite warriors and his retainers, while another table had been placed on a raised platform at the back of the hall for Diaz and his important guests. A small group in the corner played music to entertain everyone while they were waiting, and some even danced in the limited space available.
Shirley stood to one side of the hall and looked out across it, the bright colors of everyone's finest clothes mixing and separating as men and women mingled back and forth. Her own dress was a plain homespun white, though she'd brightened it a bit with a yellow girdle belt around her hips. She'd pinned her short hair back, tried to curl it as best she could, slipped some of her dried flowers into the pins and then given up. She felt dressy enough, however, and it was a nice change from normal.
Still, she wasn't quite in the mood to be festive, and so she stayed back in a corner to avoid conversation and especially one rather earnest young fighter who thought he was very impressive and wanted her to think so as well. He sought to accomplish this by continuously talking about himself, and, being too polite to brush him off, she'd only just escaped.
This event was doing wonders to raise everyone's spirits, Shirley noted as she watched them. Even the commoners of Vellweb were having their own gatherings tonight, as Diaz had declared a holiday of thanks and celebration. It would be needed, too, with the war soon to start.
She shook her head, but then a smile came as she caught sight of a unique figure amidst the others. She and Rose had come up between them with a makeshift dress for Damia, who was now proudly, but shyly, the center of attention wherever she went. She walked alone through the crowd, though Belzac, also quite visible, was never far away in case the curiosity about her supposedly 'Wingly' looks took a bad turn.
The shift she wore beneath a laced brown surcoat was too large in the neck and had fallen off her shoulders, and dark blue ribbons wound around her arms to hold the sleeves close. However, she'd refused to let them change the style of her distinctive hair, which still covered one eye and most of her large inhuman ears and hung loose down her back. At the moment, the twelve-year-old was conversing with the musicians in the corner, who were taking a break. Whatever she said made them laugh, and she put her hands on her hips indignantly in response.
Curious, Shirley watched as one of them handed Damia a long wooden flute as if in challenge. Blushing brightly, she hesitated a few seconds before raising it to her lips and beginning to play. After a moment most of the people stopped what they were doing to listen, the quietness allowing her to hear the song even at a distance.
The music was a familiar, quick and lilting street song, usually played by Humans who'd taught themselves an instrument, though Winglies sometimes performed it as a quaint folksong. After a moment, the other musicians softly joined in, drum and tambourine a counterpoint to the flute's flowing sound until Damia, flushing, cut herself off and handed it back to its owner.
"Quite good, girl," the flutist approved with a grin, but whatever she said afterward was swallowed in the sudden rush of voices that returned once the spectacle was done.
Shirley agreed, wondering where she'd learned to play so well. Though the song had been familiar, there had also been an odd undertone to it that reminded her of something she couldn't quite place. Deciding she'd ask Damia about it when she got a chance, she searched the faces swimming through the hall for one of the others.
And then she saw Kanzas, not far away, speaking with an older woman, and bit her lip to keep from muttering something in surprise. He startles me without even trying to, she thought, annoyed by the realization. It was mostly the fact that the long slit tunic Zieg had lent him was white, a color she would not have pictured him wearing at all. The cuffs were rolled up halfway, his old purple sash holding it at his waist. The paleness of the shirt intensified the tan of his skin and the red in his hair and freshly-trimmed beard, and she found herself unable to help admiring the contrast, much to her own embarrassment.
He'd not wanted to attend at first, but he seemed comfortable now. Whatever story he was telling the woman was making her laugh demurely, her mouth hidden by her hand. Shirley felt her lips twitch, and then jumped in shock as a hand from nowhere touched her shoulder.
"Ah, so here's where you've been hiding," Belzac announced, not calling attention to her surprise.
"I still don't feel right about enjoying myself," Shirley answered, rubbing at her knuckles with her other hand.
The half-Giganto nodded slowly, taking his hand from her shoulder to tug awkwardly at his brown shirt, which had been pressed a little too enthusiastically before he'd put it on. It hung long, nearly to his knees, split in the front below his belt and trimmed with gold-thread edging. "I understand, but even so," he told her, "you should come out from the corner. You…look lovely tonight. Don't stand back here in the dark."
Giving him a thoughtful glance, she smiled suddenly, slipping her arms around his waist to hug him. "Oh, Belzac, thank you." She could feel him sigh gently, his arms loose around her, and decided not to pull back even though decorum dictated she should have by now.
However, the two quickly stepped away from each other as a servant approached and bowed to them, beckoning them to take their places. Their friends were also being gathered throughout the room so they could follow Lord Diaz to be seated; the Dragoons were to sit at the high table with the lord, though the rest of Vellweb didn't yet know the reason why these people were so favored.
Diaz and his lady had just entered the hall to a fanfare, Lord Tibero behind them, and from around the edge of the room the others came up and proceeded behind them toward the platform as the rest of the guests moved to take their own seats. Feasts like this also served to reinforce rank, as everyone was positioned according to station along the outside of the tables, which were in a U-shape to fill the large space.
This was why Shirley nearly stopped walking, almost tripping on the step as she saw Shynn join the procession next to Syuveil, just behind Zieg and Rose. For a moment she could only marvel at his daring, wondering if the steward, a guard, or even Diaz himself would stop him.
However, the lord had apparently decided the issue wasn't worth pushing, for the young man was shown to a place along the back of the high table along with the Dragoons and Lord Tibero, facing the others below. After all, she reasoned, there was no way to explain to anyone why he didn't exactly belong there, and he did even out the number at the table, which would make serving easier.
Finding her seat was between Belzac and Kanzas, Shirley had to wonder how much of a coincidence the seating arrangements were. It was probably a good idea, though; she was quite sure that the new Thunder Dragoon had no idea how to observe proper ceremony. Kanzas looked ill at ease, but much to her relief sat very still, watching everything and everyone.
As everyone was seated, Lord Diaz and Lady Mille remained standing, waiting for the soft noise of voices to quickly quiet down, and the healer's eyes went wide as she looked at them closely. It hadn't been apparent when she'd arrived, thanks to her cloak, but the green and white gown the lady now wore gave away the gentle swell of her stomach, though it was still mostly hidden by the folds and draping.
She's going to have a baby? Shirley thought, startled, though she wasn't surprised that it hadn't been announced. It wouldn't be a good idea to make the fact Mille was pregnant widely known in times like these, especially when such an heir to the leadership of Vellweb would be a good target for the Winglies.
"I thank you all for coming," Diaz announced loudly, his eyes bright; he loved speeches and ceremony. With Mille's hand resting lightly on his, he lifted them both up higher. "Let us celebrate tonight what we have - what we have made for ourselves. Let us give our thanks!"
He looked to his right, and the young woman bowed her head momentarily in acknowledgment, the ends of her upswept dark brown hair falling over her shoulder. When she looked back up again, she clasped the charm of the necklace she wore with her free hand before calling out, "Goddess Miranda, praise! We give thanks for this meal. We give thanks for our freedom!"
There was a loud echo coming back from the floor of "Praise!" Miranda was Mille's patron goddess; she was a symbol of truth and purity and was very popular among Humans, who said she had been one of them before becoming an immortal.
"Weaver of fate, look kindly on us!" the lord of Vellweb cried next. The plain golden circlet holding down his curly hair shone in the torchlight, and he gazed across the crowd proudly. "Creator Soa, praise! We work for our glory on the path of your great design!"
The returning cry was a bit softer this time. Soa had sown the seed that had also brought forth Winglies, who claimed they were created to rule. Many people had become resentful of that, but, because Diaz gave respect to Soa, they followed suit with their prayer.
"And yet you praise only emptiness," Shirley heard Kanzas whisper next to her.
Afraid someone else had heard it, she grabbed his forearm warningly. "Shh!" she hissed, but it seemed she'd been the only one listening. He only raised his eyebrow, looking over at her as if wondering why she was overreacting. She let go, flushing red, and shook her head silently.
"Let the feast begin!" Diaz shouted out amidst cheers of approval before he and Mille took their seats in the middle of the high table.
At his words, servants began to spread out to the guests, bearing large bowls of water that had been boiled with sage and then cooled. Everyone washed their hands, for not only was food eaten with the fingers, but the large flat bread trenchers and the cups were shared between two diners each, and it was very bad manners to eat with dirty hands.
Drying her hands carefully on the long edge of the tablecloth hanging into her lap, Shirley easily found where Damia sat at the trestle tables below, for the row of heads suddenly dropped lower in one place. The Mininto guard, Matthi, was next to the girl, keeping her attention with some nonstop tale he was telling, and she smiled a little at the sight.
Minintos were rarely found outside of their own villages in the south, and although they did visit Vellweb from time to time as merchants, they were neither formal allies nor vassals of the Human lord - except, apparently, for one. They were also reputed to be mystics rather than swordsmen. She wondered what had brought Matthi so far, and into such a strange occupation. Lord Diaz, of course, had assigned a bodyguard to accompany Lady Mille when she'd gone to Magrad last spring, but he was obviously not around anymore.
"It is odd, isn't it?" Belzac said to her softly as if reading her mind, though he'd only followed the direction of her gaze. "He must be good, though, if Lord Diaz trusts him."
Silent for a moment, Shirley suddenly felt a touch on her hand and turned to Kanzas. "Hey," he started, leaning back slightly to draw her attention to something by a side doorway. "I've noticed a lot of people talking to that man there. What's so important about him?"
With a small sigh, she answered a bit regretfully, "He's had to taste the food, to make sure there's no…"
"Poison?" Kanzas finished with a short laugh. "What a dangerous job."
"It's all watched very carefully," Shirley defended, tossing her head a little. "But there's no sense in ignoring the possibility."
He didn't reply as the trenchers were placed down for every two guests and cut in half, the steward and staff passing on the other side of the high table to bring out the first of the course, as apparently it was deemed safe to eat. There was plenty of bread, large loaves of dark rye and small buns drizzled with honey, and even small dishes of fruit preserves, a luxury in snowbound Gloriano.
The butler and his assistants brought flagons of wine and mead to pour into the hammered metal cups, always serving Diaz and Mille first. Mead was also brought to the tables below, along with ale and beer, even for Damia, as plain water in cities tended to be unhealthy and so fermented beverages were had by almost everyone.
Courses were cleared and new ones brought in as they were eaten; it was more food than many of the guests had ever seen at one time in their lives. Silver platters - the sort Winglies commonly ate from - were carried laden with a variety of meat, from freshly-killed venison to smoked fish and herbed fowl. The last was a whole boar, brought out by two servants on a board and placed in front of Lord Diaz, who indicated which cuts he wanted.
As was customary, men served women and lower ranks served their superiors, so as the platters passed Belzac dutifully carved for Lord Tibero, with whom he shared cups, and Kanzas, trying to restrain his laughter, quite conscientiously did the same for Shirley, who could only frown at his amusement as she endeavored to remain polite about it.
Though the kitchens had been in a frenzy to prepare the meal in time, everything tasted delicious, the meat well-spiced and juicy. The conversation was light, everyone focusing mostly on filling their stomachs.
Zieg, sitting on the other side of Lady Mille, swallowed down a bite before saying, "We're lucky we hadn't left before this, you know. If you had arrived one day later, my lady, we'd certainly be missing it."
"Then I am glad we came in time," she returned with a small laugh, holding a slice of boar daintily.
"And where were you off to, Zieg?" Tibero asked inquiringly.
With a moment's silence and a nearly unconscious glance toward Syuveil and Shynn on her right, Rose answered him with, "Lord Diaz has sent us on an errand, sir."
Nodding, the Fire Dragoon supplied, "We are to…search for something that's lost."
"I see," he answered, ripping a chunk of buttered bread from a larger piece. After a bit of thoughtful chewing, the older warrior said musingly, "I suppose you know where to find it?"
"No," Zieg told his clan elder reluctantly. "Very little idea, my lord."
He turned in his seat, brushing crumbs from his dark-gray beard. "I am disappointed, Zieg. Have you not learned from childhood to look to the stars when there is something you seek?"
The younger man's hazel eyes flew wide. "Oh!" he said, sinking back in his seat and earning laughs from the others. "I forgot about it," he apologized, his face coloring a little. "I was never much good with astrology."
"Tonight would be a fine night," Diaz advised with a smile. "A fine, clear night. Perhaps the others would like to join you."
"Yes, sir," Zieg answered the unspoken command, clearing his throat in embarrassment before hiding it in another bite of fish. The others around the table sounded their agreement, though Syuveil winced when Shynn also spoke up, his eyes pained behind his glasses.
Shirley, paying attention to the others' conversations, reached for the cup of wine without realizing it was already being held. Her hand brushed Kanzas', but when she started to apologize he merely looked at her, stopping her voice in her throat.
He leaned closer and lifted the dull-metal cup for her, and, as if entranced, she wrapped her hand around it as well to guide it to her lips. As she tasted the sour sweetness of the red wine, she could feel his breath against her ear, tension seeming to spread through her along with the warmth of the alcohol.
Belzac desperately cleared his throat on her other side, startling her, and she hastily downed the liquid, pushing the cup away. Kanzas chuckled softly, but her eyes flew to the table, and she refused to look at anyone until the servant came back to clear the meal and set out the last of the feast.
The last course was pastries filled with preserves, and she focused only on nibbling one of these, determined to act normally. Finally, when it seemed like another bite would be impossible, the last of the food was cleared away, the trenchers collected by an almoner who would distribute them to the poor.
And then, slowly, Diaz stood, looking out at the faces of the people below, who waited anxiously for the declaration. "Celebrate tonight," he announced simply. "This night is your own."
Shirley applauded along with the rest of the guests, pleased at how well everything was going and how happy the people were. She scanned around as she pushed back her chair, noticing that the two nobles had slipped back as a rush of people came forward on the floor below.
"Belzac!" Damia cried, pushing her way through the crowd toward the now-vacant high table. The girl was speaking excitedly, gesturing toward the corner where the musicians were.
Sharing amused looks with Shirley, the half-Giganto leaned down to hear her better. "What was that?"
Taking a breath, she tugged the shoulder of her shirt up again and repeated, "Shar, she plays the flute, you know, and she wants me to play some more too! Come listen, will you? I'm nervous!"
"Well, of course," Belzac got out, following after as Damia just as quickly darted back again.
Smiling to herself as she watched them go, Shirley shook her head, following the movement on the floor. These festivities were great excitement for people usually trapped in their houses on such long, dark winter nights as this. The servants had barely cleared the trenchers from the tables before the benches were pulled away and leaned against the stone walls, the long tables themselves pushed to one side of the room to clear the space.
She'd quickly recognized this coming part of the feast, and was planning to melt away like Diaz and Mille when a hand suddenly caught hold of her wrist. "Wait, now," Kanzas told her. "Where are you going?"
"I don't usually-" she began, half-heartedly trying to pull out of his grasp. However, he started down off the dais, still holding on to her, and her eyes flew wide as she realized what he wanted. Astonished, she stammered, "W-what, you don't want to dance, do you?"
"Sure. Come on," he said, tugging at her again. There was a small smile twisting his lips, his eyes somehow different, brighter, than she could ever remember seeing them. "Come on, Shirley. I haven't been alive in so long, I've forgotten what it's like."
That didn't sound quite right to her, though she went on as if she knew what he meant by it. "But - do you even know how to dance?" she tried to stall, reluctantly letting him pull her down the last step to the floor.
"No!" He grinned, chuckling at the sudden expression of alarm on her face. "I'll just do what the others do. Come on!"
Though she put up token resistance, two familiar faces among the dancers waiting for them in the large space made her realize it was useless. "I'm surprised," Rose murmured, raising her eyebrow at Kanzas as they approached. He returned her blue gaze with the same half-smile, inclining his head a bit mockingly.
The Darkness Dragoon was wearing an indigo tunic embroidered with gold, slit on the sides to the hip, a white layered petticoat showing beneath that gave the impression of being made from feathers. Her long hair was worn loose, a golden chain draped across her forehead, and a red silk rose was pinned like a brooch at her shoulder.
Next to her, Zieg wore red, a jacket buttoned tight over a white shirt, its collar opened wide. He gave Shirley a grin, thoroughly enjoying himself. "Good, good!" he praised as they followed the others and took up their positions in rows, men facing women. "I was afraid I'd have to drag you down here myself!"
"No, no more dragging!" she protested, a smile growing across her face as Rose next to her quickly squeezed her hand and dropped it. "All right, but not too long, Zieg. We ought to have the astrology done before it gets very late."
"Right," he agreed, rubbing at the back of his head awkwardly. "Just get it over with…"
A moment later, the music started, the beat of the tambourine sounding out the time. Shirley's gaze flew to Kanzas, who was glancing at the others out of the corners of his eyes, watching to see what to do. He bowed as they did, though one second late. Well, here we go, she thought resignedly, dipping in an echoing bow as the musician Shar's voice rose up in a song about a lovers' meeting.
The dance began slowly as the woman's alto voice filled the hall, backed by Damia's flute; one step in and back and in again. Shirley raised her hand, Kanzas' fingertips pressed against hers as they circled each other. His amber eyes flicked to her only briefly, his jaw set in concentration as they returned to their places. She almost felt sorry for him, but it served him right for wanting to do this when he didn't know how.
As the drum came in, the dancers stamped the rushes strewn across the stone floor, crossing to the left to circle another partner. Shirley returned Zieg's laugh as they spun around each other, feeling Rose's hair hit her arm as she spun with Kanzas to the other side. Back again with a stamp and clap, the women taking a step backward as the men stepped forward and then went back the other way. Both hands raised and touched this time, another spin, and another stamp in time with the beat of the drum.
The onlookers clapped along with the rhythm as the dancers on the floor moved faster, repeating their steps. Kanzas stopped watching the others' feet, catching up with the movements, and she had to smile at his look of pride. "But," she couldn't help but tell him as they met in the center again, "this is just one dance!"
"Doesn't matter!" he returned, smirking as they parted once more. The tempo sped up with the next repetition, leaving them no breath for words, the dancers weaving inward, outward and around. Finally, as it seemed it would be impossible to go any quicker, the last beat sounded, the last word fading away, and the two rows stepped back to bow to each other.
Laughs and voices surrounded them, more people coming down to the floor. "Oh, you can't stop now," Zieg announced, holding out a hand when Shirley looked as if she was going to step out.
"This is the most interesting thing I've seen in a long time!" Rose agreed playfully as she reached up to adjust the chain across her forehead.
Catching her breath and giving her friends a wry pout, she looked at Kanzas in question. He nodded, shrugging, and, with another smile creeping across her face, she joined them for the next dance.
Across the room, Belzac watched them, his expression emotionless as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed. He'd smiled for Damia, had listened to her performance, but inwardly his chest felt tight and the smile strained. He hadn't even been able to chuckle when Matthi had come by and - rather knowingly, he realized now - joked about the meal having needed more Dragon fat.
It wasn't the dancing that bothered him, exactly; he never danced at these kinds of occasions, feeling too clumsy and big to keep up properly. Shirley knew this, and usually she stayed back with him, claiming she didn't like dancing either. Yet he could see how happy she was now, teasing Kanzas as he tried the new steps and then beaming so brightly as he got the hang of it.
This is childish, he thought strongly, hating the way he felt. She's not a toy to fight over. I know she cares. I know it. Kanzas is just trying to provoke me with this stupid rivalry and I'm not going to think about it anymore!
Shaking his head hard, he caught sight of Syuveil standing alone and forced himself to think about his friend's problem instead. The scholar had been in Vellweb less than a year, but almost right upon his arrival he'd met and fallen in love with Lady Mille, who was, as fate would have it, Lord Diaz's new wife. However, both his honor and his respect for the man he'd sworn to serve prevented him from making his feelings known. She had been living in Fort Magrad for several months, lessening the attraction, but it seemed that simply seeing her again was rekindling his feelings for her.
Edging a bit around the room toward him, Belzac sighed to himself. Though he would have counseled Syuveil to look for someone who could return his affection, he didn't want to give advice he wouldn't follow himself. The Jade Dragoon was standing next to one of the ale kegs, a drink in his hand, and the half-Giganto grabbed up a mostly-clean mug from the stack nearby to fill for himself.
"Hey, Syuveil," he greeted, taking a long gulp of the lukewarm ale. The brown-haired man turned slightly to return it, raising his own mug a little. "You don't seem very, what, festive…"
Shrugging, he gave a quirk of a smile in response. "I'm not too fond of these large gatherings, as you know. I guess I just can never get into the spirit."
And, of course, there was the other, unstated reason, but Belzac kept silent about that. "I can understand that right now," he commiserated. Syuveil had barely spoken during the dinner as well.
The younger man waved the wooden mug toward the edges of the crowd. His cheeks were a bit flushed, as if he'd been haunting the keg for quite a while. "Even Shynn's gone off somewhere, now."
Being so much taller than the others, Belzac could easily pick out the dark-haired man where he was engaged in flirting with some attentive woman. No doubt being at the high table helped his status in her eyes, he thought with a mental snort. "You heard about tonight?" he asked as if to change the subject, a bit more quietly now as he noticed other guests coming back for drinks. "The astrology?"
Syuveil nodded slowly, biting his lip, and then knocked back the last of his ale. "I just don't know," he said, drawing it out thoughtfully as he plunked the mug onto the table. Absently, he tugged the wrinkles from his gray-green tunic, brushing crumbs from the swirling silver embroidery that ran up his sleeves. "It's a good idea to help search, but-"
He knew; Shynn would be crushed if he discovered the Blue Sea spirit belonged to another, and Syuveil would be torn between his loyalty to his friend and his responsibility to support the last Dragoon. Things just weren't going well for him lately, were they?
At least Lord Diaz and Lady Mille weren't in sight - then again, that wasn't surprising either, given the lady's evident condition. Though he felt sympathy for Syuveil's situation, he also felt a guilty rush of relief that it wasn't him who was having this kind of problem.
Yet, a nasty little voice in the back of his mind cackled, but he pushed it aside angrily.
Belzac put down his own mug and crossed his arms in front of him. Giving the floor ahead a last glance, he said, "Why don't we start up to the platform? The others will come along soon, and…" Swallowing heavily, he forced himself to go on. "And…well, I think we should do this without Shynn. After all…"
His head lowered in thought, Syuveil finally looked back at the Golden Dragoon, pushing his glasses up again without thinking. "I know," he answered quietly, levering himself away from the wall. "You're right. Hopefully, the answer will be good anyhow."
"Hopefully," Belzac agreed, moving forward to push a path through the crowd. Syuveil followed him, a little wobbly, as they moved close around the wall of the great hall toward the main entrance doors. Though I wouldn't count on it, he appended silently, feeling rather unusually negative.
A dance was just ending as they got there, and he waved across the room toward the others to let them know they were heading up. Rose caught the motion and waved back before turning to her fiancé, threading her arm through his. "Belzac and Syuveil are going to the platform, I think," she murmured near Zieg's ear. "We should go as well."
He nodded, looking at the other two as they broke from the swirl of people to join them. "Tired yet?" he asked brightly, brushing back his slightly sweaty blonde hair. "We're going to start up now."
Shirley nodded emphatically, filled with a pleasant, happy weariness. Though perhaps she would feel even guiltier later, she was determined to not let it touch her now. Rose's own gladness was helping her, and she couldn't help but admire and envy the other woman's strength of will. "Yes, I think I'm quite worn out," she answered, fanning herself briefly with her hand.
"It's not that bad," Kanzas disagreed mildly, cracking his knuckles as he stretched.
"How can you not be tired?" the red-haired Dragoon asked in mock-astonishment, cocking her head to one side. "It must have been nearly an hour!"
He waved a hand a bit flippantly. "Oh, training," he answered vaguely. "More than an hour before I got to rest sometimes, certainly." His harsh voice had faded into a thoughtful mumble, almost as if he was talking to himself. "Had to stand on one leg 'til I thought it would fall off…"
She blinked, a bit confused. "And when did you train?" she asked curiously. Brown eyes flicked to Zieg and Rose, who were starting to leave, before she went on, "I thought you were a bandit after you…you escaped-"
"One year," he answered suddenly, cutting her off. "One year between. A Westlands island near Aglis where…" He shook his head hard. "Never mind. It has nothing to do with anything."
"All right," she returned slowly, feeling the chill now that she'd stopped dancing. She turned to follow Rose and Zieg, but when the other two had gone far enough toward the door, Kanzas reached to stop her, pulling her back toward him.
"Have you forgiven me yet?" he asked quietly, squeezing her forearm.
A bit flustered, Shirley finally caught the thread of his question and answered, "I - there is little to forgive. You spoke the truth as you saw it. As painful as it is, I can't be angry with you for that."
Kanzas looked at her closely before raising his hand to her chin, tilting her face to the torchlight. "I wonder," he murmured, "just what I have to do before you can no longer forgive. Before you shed your…holiness…like snakeskin."
Frowning, she turned, his fingers falling as she broke away. Shirley crossed her arms lightly. "And yet you are still angry with me somehow," she stated, "as I take your meaning."
He laughed softly. "Of course not, Shirley. Without your kindness, you would not be." And without your weakness - perfect. She gave him a hard look, and after a moment he raised his head, pointing across the room. Rose and Zieg were waiting by the nearest smaller doorway, intending to take a path through the palace rather than cut through the busy room toward the main doors as Belzac and Syuveil had done. "I think it's time to go up now."
"Yes," she whispered oddly, a perplexed frown knitting her brows. Was she ever going to understand him? "I think it is."
After a moment's hesitation, trailing her fingers down the white cloth of his sleeve, Shirley took his hand. Kanzas, still looking straight ahead, enfolded it in his larger one as they walked together to leave, the trills of Damia's flute ringing behind them with the music of the summer sea.