The drumming shifts into something slower, deeper. The Vaythari begin to dance—bare feet kicking up dust, bodies twisting in fluid, hypnotic movements, losing themselves to the celebration. Their skin glistens in the glow of the fire, sweat forming droplets on their brows as they let the beat of the drum command them.
Two women approach Elyssara, their hands streaked in shimmering golden ink. They gesture to Elyssara to stand and remove her leather vest.
“What—What do you mean? Take off my clothing?” She exclaims, voice laced with horror, though she still stands.
She looks over at Seren for solidarity on the matter, but she’s also been approached by other women, and she’s already undoing the laces on her leather bodice, and losing the ties on her billowing sleeves.
“You can’t be serious, Seren!” Elyssara exclaims in shock.
“What?” Seren says indignantly, though her smile is all mischief. “We’re here to celebrate, El. I want to dance for once in my Starsforsaken life!”
“Oh fucking Stars,” Elyssara mutters, and submits to the women in front of her. They grab at her arms, unbuckling her bracers, and immediately move to her vest. I know I shouldn’t look but Stars help me, I can’t look away. That one taste of her wasn’t enough.
My hands twitch at my sides, half a breath away from reaching for her, from stopping them from touching my?—
I have no right.
Not after everything I’ve put her through.
But Stars help me, I want to tear them away from her. I want to be the only one who sees her like this.
I steel myself, knowing that what she does with her body is not my decision, but my hands curl into fists at my side, nonetheless.
The women begin untying the laces on the front of her tunic. She pulls it over her head, flustered and flushed, and presses it on top of the pile one of the Vaythari women is holding for her.
In front of me, stripped bare, save for the undergarment covering her breasts, and the luminous auburn hair framing her face and falling over her shoulders.
Holy fucking Stars. She’s stunning. Regal, like a deity. She has no idea of her own beauty, and that only adds to it.
I drink her in, unwilling to give up the moment I have to take her in like this. Her eyes don’t move from mine, locked in a silent conversation that says a thousand words, and nothing at all. I can’t help but roam her body, tracing every dip and curve with my eyes, locking it away in my mind.
Without a word, the Vaythari dip their fingers into the mixture and begin making swirls, symbols and shapes on her slightly sun-kissed skin from years on rooftops in the Virellin slums.
The symbols glow faintly before sinking into her flesh.
“Runes, El!” Seren’s excited voice cutting through the weight of the moment. “They mean prosperity, love, and protection,” Seren calls over the heads of the women painting her body, too. “Aren’t they beautiful?” She giggles with an innocence that I know Elyssara has protected with her life.
The runes shimmer golden against her skin, catching the firelight in flickers of movement. It makes her look almost otherworldly—like something out of legend. Something untouchable.
And yet, my hands itch to touch anyway.
Elyssara watches in awe as the women mark her body with precise and intentional shapes from the waist up, moving gently around her Lightborne marking, over the soft skin of her stomach, around the swells of her breasts. A smile tugs at her lips, and despite herself and her obvious uncertainty, she is enjoying this.
This is their rite of passage. Their way of marking her as one of their own.
Then, Syphra approaches, and the Vaythari fall silent.
The silence is more deafening than the music had been. The weight of it presses into my ribs, thick with meaning.
Then—
“Zhari!”
The ground trembles beneath the weight of a hundred stomping feet.
With command and certainty, Syphra’s booming voice projects across her people. Though the language is unknown to us, there is no mistaking the power and conviction in her statements, nor the weight of the moment.
Seren’s hushed voice reaches Elyssara and me, “They are proclaiming you as Skaedor’s rightful heir, and the savior of their people.” Elyssara nods in agreement, as if for the first time, she is accepting that this is...right. That she accepts the role and the duty that comes with it.
