When Ben’s song ended, he segued into the next as Catseye matched the rhythm with what appeared to be a well-choreographed dance.
Odd, though, that it appeared to be a dance for two, yet his partner—much like the hat he had doffed earlier—was entirely absent.
She recognized a few of the movements. A dip here. A twirl there. A dramatic pause. He performed every flawless step to the beat of Ben’s music. Around them, other couples joined. A young man and his lady fair. A middle-aged gentleman and his dashing husband, judging by the matching rings on their fingers.
It only took a moment for her to realize Catseye danced with the empty space his wife used to fill.
Hearts could not shatter in a literal sense, of course, but how did hers feel so broken at the sight of him?
She was on her feet before she realized what she was doing. Her stomach bottomed out, sinking deeper with each step toward him. By the time Helspira stood within arm’s length, her pulse throbbed with such force, she feared she may faint. Nevertheless, she tapped his shoulder.
He spun to face her, wide-eyed.
“I danced a lot in Chthonia. It was never under good circumstances,” she blurted out, words leaving her in a rush. “It still leaves an unpleasant feeling in my stomach, dancing, but I think I’d feel even worse if I were to let you suffer through this song alone.”
When he said nothing, did nothing other than blink, Helspira feared her outburst may have been offensive. When he followed her verbal onslaught with a gentle smile, the fear evaporated.
“In that case,” he said, holding up a hand, “we shall go as slowly as you see fit.”
She stared at his waiting palm, his invitation. Pushing through her nerves, she pressed her hand against his.
The chill of his skin was immediate. He must’ve noticed her surprise.
“Apologies.” Catseye retracted his hand and attempted to warm it with a few exhaled breaths. “Poor circulation.”
Another one of his easy lies. A half-truth, at the very least. The exertion of keeping Ben’s soul tied to his bones robbed Catseye’s body of warmth, but despite knowing, she said nothing. He deserved the illusion if it eased the guilt. When he offered his hand again, Helspira pressed her palm against his.
And together, they danced.
The couples around them blurred into the landscape. Though old memories threatened to rob the moment of its fun, she reminded herself this was not like the forced dances of her past, not a provocative performance to ensure her survival by proving her body held worth to her captors. When Catseye twirled her, kinder recollections overpowered the others, and she smiled. “I used to love dancing when I was younger,” she admitted mid-spin. “On quiet nights, when we weren’t running or hiding, and my parents thought I was asleep, I’d watch Da twirl Mum around in the glow of the magma rivers. I never felt safer than when I saw joy on their faces.”
They switched hands, palm to palm, Catseye maintaining consistent eye contact, as the music crescendoed. “They sound like lovely people.”
“They are. And your parents?”
“Oh, they’re great. Swell. Dead. But, you know ... Great.”
The heat of embarrassment flooded her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” She freed a nervous laugh. “No desire to pull the necromancer card and resurrect them, huh?”
“Gods, no. Holiday gatherings were awkward enough when they were alive.”
When the song ended, Benjamin transitioned into another. The slow, minor chord of a more intimate song played, and the couples around them pressed closer to one another. Helspira spied a hint of nervousness in her partner’s smile.
“We can leave this one to the others if you’d like,” Catseye said.
No.
In rare agreement with her impulse, Helspira closed the distance between them with a single step. She wove her fingers through his, relishing the surge of excitement that brought. “I’d sooner die than let Ben’s songs go unappreciated. It’s an alliance between abominations thing; you wouldn’t understand.”
Catseye grinned. “You’ll never find a finer ally. If you wish it, we’ll continue.”
When the side of his face rested against hers, she closed her eyes. Lost in the song, in his fluid movements, in each smooth, effortless step, Helspira nearly forgot Catseye still suffered the sickness of magical backlash, until his pace slowed. Just as she was about to open her eyes and assess his wellbeing, his voice filled her ear.
“You know, when Imri ...” A pause. “After Imri’s incident, I didn’t dance for a year. Didn’t seem right. Still doesn’t, if I’m honest. But the gods took so much from me that night. I decided they couldn’t have dancing too.”
His motions prompted an invitation for her to spin, but he relinquished control to her on exactly how fast and how close her body strayed from his. When she stepped back into him, his low voice added, “I keep hoping if I continue dancing, one day, I’ll fall in love with it again.”
The mild warmth of his breath on her face when he spoke—how did she get so close? And why didn’t it feel close enough? Her heart quickened, and she swallowed to wet her dry throat. “Maybe we’ll both learn how to fall in love with dancing again.”
