“You won’t find a cure for your dragon curse without my help.”
“How do you know about that?” The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and he lunged forward, fueled by fear, and grasped Fritz by the collar.
“I know more about you than you realize,” Fritz said.
Fritz ran a hand over his face, and it transformed once more, this time thinning and paler, cheeks sharper, ears pointed—an elf outside the feral lands. Erich dropped him as if he’d been burned and took a step back. Should he run, even if it meant losing the dagger? Better than having his entrails ripped out of his gut and feasted upon…
“I wish you no harm; I need you, Erich.”
Icy hands grasped him by the nape, and he swallowed hard, choking on the lump in his throat. They said The Corruption sprang from elven dark magic, and the elves were its master. No human could cure him, but what if an elf could?
“Can you really cure the dragon curse?”
Fritz smiled and nodded.
Trinity help him; he must have lost his mind. “Then you’ve got a deal.”
4
Bees, unbothered by the thick, sticky heat, bounced between wilting flowers, buzzing merrily about the garden. The gurgling fountain mocked Liane as sweat rolled down her brow and stung her eyes. If only she could dunk her head in that cool water. Even beneath the canopy of a maple tree, sweltering temperatures left her stumbling to keep up with the tempo of Dance Mistress Eleanor’s tapping foot. Wiping the sweat from her brow, Liane paused to catch her breath. She should be at the magistrate’s office watching Niklas’ sentencing. Instead, she was flouncing around like a wilted flower in this heatwave.
“Again,” Mistress Eleanor said, clapping her hands together.
Their accompaniment started over, but even their notes drooped and sagged in the heat. Groaning, Liane returned to first position. When would practice end? They’d rehearsed all morning, but even a lifetime of practicing wouldn’t improve Liane’s abilities; she was too inflexible to be a dancer. Court ladies flanked her on both sides and moved into position on Mistress Eleanor’s count. They swept in from the wings of their mock stage, forming a line behind Aristea, who was the principal dancer. As was the case all morning, Liane struggled to keep time and misjudged the space between her and the next dancer, and when they twirled, Liane, a beat behind, accidentally struck the dancer.
“Sorry,” Liane said, and backing up to give her space, she collided with another dancer behind her.
She attempted to salvage the rest of the performance, but Mistress Eleanor’s glare made her forget the next step, and she floundered out of time behind the rest of the group. As the music rose to its crescendo, they surged around Aristea for the final pose. Panting for breath and on the wrong side of the stage, Liane looked forlornly at her fellow dancers, as the last notes of the song faded. Tonight would be a disaster. As if her lackluster performance wasn’t enough, all this exertion was making her scar throb.
“No. No. This isn’t right. Princess Liane, you must float delicately like a cloud on the breeze,” Mistress Eleanor said, extending her hand outward to show the motion.
“I wish a breeze would blow,” Liane grumbled as she fanned herself.
“Please, Princess Aristea, show us again,” Mistress Eleanor said.
Delicate pink splotches colored Aristea’s cheeks, and the sweat glistening on her brow made her glow, rather than look like a bedraggled, drowned rat like Liane. The harpist plucked a few notes, and Aristea twirled in time with the music, arms arched upward and back bent. The silk ribbons tied to her wrists trembled with each movement, capturing the essence of the breeze, effortlessly. Everything was effortless for Aristea. Everyone loved her, and how could they not? She was perfect.
If she were petty and spiteful, Liane might have hated her. But instead, it made her love her more. Aristea’s dance concluded, and as the last lingering notes hummed on the air, Mistress Eleanor clapped uproariously.
“See, Princess Liane. That is the way it’s done.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Then when she turned her back, Liane muttered under her breath, “Why does it even matter? The Avatheos won’t be able to see me from past his veil.”
“Liane!” Aristea gasped, covering her mouth to disguise her heretic giggles.
Mistress Eleanor spun around and narrowed her eyes at them, reminding Liane of the same disappointed look she bestowed on her as a child.
“Why don’t we take a short intermission for some refreshments?” Aristea said to Mistress Eleanor, saving them from being scolded. Her savior.
“As you wish, your majesty,” Mistress Eleanor said with a sour expression.
Linking arms with Aristea, Liane dragged her from their practice stage and toward a shaded bench at the edge of the garden. When they were children, Aristea, Mathias, their younger brother, and she used to climb it. That was before the fevers left her bedbound, and by the time she’d recovered, she was too old for climbing trees. Leaning back, she closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of the breeze on her face.
“I’ve missed this,” Liane remarked.
“I thought you hated dancing,” Aristea teased.
