I try to focus on the food, eating little bits at a time. Pieces of fruit, a handful of berries, a bowl of hearty stew. It’s incredibly delicious—but my stomach churns all the same. While I’m grateful for this much-needed meal, it’s difficult to enjoy it with Feng studying us so carefully. She’s a hawk determining the best time to strike at two skittish rabbits.
Too anxious to sit still, I stand and offer Jyn my hand. Several couples have already gotten up to dance to the beat of the drums, linking arms so that they circle the bonfire as one big group.
“Shall we?” I ask Jyn with an amused grin.
She frowns. “I don’t dance.”
“Because you don’t know the steps, or because you don’t like it?”
“Yes.”
I laugh and drag her toward the line, easily slipping into place with the other dancers. Jyn tries to weasel her way out, but then the circle starts to rotate around the fire as the drums pick up speed. There’s laughter, hooting and hollering. It’s hard not to stumble over my own feet, but that’s the point of the dance—to keep up with the rhythm or fall into a heap.
Jyn looks like she would prefer to be anywhere but here, scowling as she watches her steps. Who knew a dragon could be so shy? As the dance grows faster and faster, every pass around the bonfire more exhilarating than the last, something amazing happens.
Shesmiles.
It’s unlike anything I have ever seen before: a real, wide, joyous, carefree smile that makes her eyes glimmer like the stars. The first, I hope, of a countless many. Her whole face lights up, illuminated not only by the light of the crackling fire, but by a bliss that hums over our bond like morning sunlight. The lightest of laughs rises from her chest as we both lose our balance, thrown from the dance circle onto the soft grass below.
I catch her, Jyn’s body pressed against mine. We’re both breathless, staring at each other in an amused haze of warmth. Her hair is a sweeping mess, her cheeks are flushed, a few flowers are on the cusp of falling from her inky locks. I don’t miss the way her eyes flit down to my lips, lingering for a moment too long—not that I mind.
“See?” I say, just as fascinated by the shape of her mouth and intoxicated by her scent of jasmine. “Not so bad, right?”
“No,” she admits quietly, looking over at the whirling, dancing crowd, backlit by the bonfire. “I suppose not.”
I can’t bring myself to look away. I don’t want to. I’d gladly admire Jyn until the end of time. An intense craving floods my veins, a little voice in the back of my head begging me to kiss her again. When I place my hand on the curve of her hip, she doesn’t move away. Instead, she melts into my touch, her lips slightly parted.
“Sai…,” she whispers.
My hand flies up to comb through her hair, her silky locks slipping through my fingers. In that single moment, everything is right with the world. I don’t want it to end, but—
“Well done, well done!” the village elder says with a boisterous laugh, clapping for the two remaining dancers, Chyou and Ming. The happy couple embraces under the starlight, giddy as can be.
“And now, for the main event!” he continues, gesturing toward me and Jyn as we retake our seats. “To honor our distinguishedguests and the Gods above who bless us with this abundance, please enjoy the show.”
At first, I don’t understand his meaning. In an evening full of food and dance, what other festivities could we possibly look forward to?
The sudden whistle and then crack of a firework overhead is answer enough. Colorful sparks fizzle into the air in a lively display of bright reds, greens, and yellows. Fireworks have been a rarity ever since the emperor’s declaration of war, their ingredients better used for cannons than for spectacle.
I was quite fond of them as a boy, running excitedly through the markets as year-end celebrations took place. I stare up at the skies now, entranced by their luminance, rivaling even the moon and stars.
Beside me, Jyn jolts at the sound of the next firework. She does so each time another is lit, flinching with the noise. Skittish. On the verge of running away.
“What’s the matter, my lady?” I ask her, concerned.
She shakes her head, casting her eyes down. “It’s nothing,” she murmurs, though she flinches again.
“We can leave, if you’d like.”
“No, it would be rude.”
“The noise… It bothers you?”
Jyn chews on the inside of her cheek, squirming uncomfortably when yet another firework—louder and bigger than the previous ones—booms in the air above. “Cannons,” she mumbles, barely audible. “They remind me of the cannons he fired….”
“Cannons?” I echo, frowning.
Her eyes glaze over, becoming distant. Her mind is trapped in a memory I’m not privy to. The only thing I can think to do is reach around to press my palms over her ears. I gently tilt her head up so that she can look at the colorful sparks without hearing them. Thetension in her shoulders melts away, her eyes widening in awe and her mouth dropping open.
