Story 7. Dance lesson.
"This figure is called "the promenade". Man and woman move through the hall, along the dance line, while other pairs are dancing on the right and on the left. The pairs that are close to the start point follow you. And one-two, three-four…"
Putting one hand behind his back, Gryvon squeezed Ashka's palm with the other one and made a step forward. For him these dance lessons seemed the most terrible and frightful tortures of all the other lessons. The things that had looked so simple were actually quite difficult and needed as much concentration, he thought, as chemistry or history. These dances he sometimes saw in his dreams after the Sun Holiday, scared him during the first lesson, nearly making leave the room.
"This is not the commoners dancing next to a bonfire, - Ashka scolded during another figure, when Gryvon lost his balance and nearly fell to the wooden floor, - do your best, Apprentice, it's time to cope with this knowledge".
Indeed, whether he wanted or not, it was time. Fourteen years – the age when young Apprentices could start attending the holidays and dance. That is why Ashka clenched her teeth and had to explain the dancing details to her ward. The ward had understood the basic steps more or less, but he couldn't cope with figures and different fine points. That is why the lessons became longer, and Spellbinder's patience was at the end.
"Gryvon, what's happening to you? – Ashka asked after another Apprentice's failure to make a conversion next to the furthest wall. - You're absentminded, tone-deaf, you don't like the dance or is it everything at once?"
"Oh, don't put such a pressure on boy, - Gareth interfered, entering the room. During some previous lessons he had been watching the dancers' progress and tried to look serious that was rather hard sometimes. So the man, giving them some excuses, rushed to perform his duties.
"Regent, weren't you going to the library?" – it seemed his visit took Ashka by surprise.
"My duties may wait a little, - smiling, Gareth came closer to Ashka and bowed, - let's show Gryvon how it looks like. Where did you stop? Turns and going round?"
They moved forward, making the steps synchronically and listening to quite tune Gareth sang. Step, step, hop, turn, step, turn… Gryvon was standing near the wall, biting his lip and feeling like an idiot. Why can't he move like this? Why does he stumble at every step? Why do his feet slide apart? Why does his ginger fairy scold him? Why anyone in this castle, perhaps even the least important guard is able to dance and he is not?
"Gryvon, you're better than them, - Ashka said when the demonstration was over as if she could read his thoughts, - you can do everything. But, Holly Regents, prove it! Don't be a child!"
That moment something blew inside him, something hot and strong. A child? What a nonsense! He's not a child, he is already fourteen! And yes, he can prove if it is so necessary!
"You're better than them" – his magic phrase that always sounded hypnotically. Ashka never said what "them" Gryvon is and can be better than. But the youth felt that it isn't important. The fact of approval, this lenient hint of some hidden qualities of his – this was everything he needed.
Nodding instead of a long ceremonial bow, he squeezed Spellbinder's hand and pulled her closer, turning to start the promenade. Step, turn, step-step, hop, turn, step… Hands changing, conversion. The order of movements that Ashka had been tired of, trying to explain, was clear as never before. Gryvon realized this was the mysterious dance pattern he had heard about. He realized that now he wasn't envying the tall handsome Emerick or even Gareth. That moment Ashka wasn't a furious impatient Spellbinder, she was a beautiful ginger fairy from his childhood. Again. That moment Gryvon was envying himself.
Holding hands, they made a turn, standing face to face.
"Very good! – Gareth who had watched the whole dance clapped his hands with approval. - Now I can see there's a progress".
With his eyes twinkling, he closed the door, saying nothing else. Gryvon, blushing after such an unexpected praise, looked at Ashka.
"When you're angry more sense can be got out of you, - she said smiling, - the lesson is over".