He reversed the direction, and I followed, trying to mirror his movements.
“I will teach you how to dance the polhe. It’s not a particularly fast dance, with only five main parts, and it’s danced in pairs and designed to keep you moving at just the right pace to easily converse with your partner. It’s a way to have a private talk in a very public setting.”
“So it’s an excuse for flirting?”
“Single people such as yourself have limited opportunities to interact with other single people their age unless they are chaperoned. This is a way to sidestep that limitation. And that is our next move. We sidestep to the left . . . and to the right. And again, to the left . . . and to the right. Very good. You will not be chaperoned at the joedurar. The invitation is for you alone. You cannot bring a companion.”
I was painfully aware of that.
“During a polhe, the entire gathering acts as your chaperone. If anything untoward were to take place, the perpetrator would be instantly condemned by everyone. There is nothing society loves more than tearing down one of their own when they stumble in a public way. You will be perfectly safe during this dance.”
“What happens if they don’t play a polhe?”
“They will. They will likely play it more than once as well. The first dance at the joedurar will be an exhibition dance, something fast like a sarett. It will be danced by a single pair handpicked by the Chamber of Ceremonies, usually someone young, of good birth, and excellent at dancing. The sarett will be followed by a polhe, then a fast dance since the dancers will have warmed up, then a polhe again. Raise your hand like this, my lady.”
He raised his hand as if for a high five. I mimicked him and we touched our fingers.
“So far this doesn’t seem too complicated.”
“The polhe is an old dance. It’s relatively simple. The challenge isn’t in learning all of the steps, my lady. The challenge is in training your body until the dance is so familiar, you can do it without thinking and with casual ease, so you won’t stand out.”
“So I don’t look like I’m trying too hard?”
“Exactly. The focus should be on the conversation. The dance is simply an excuse to have it. Please don’t look at your feet. Look at me instead.”
My foot hit his. “Sorry.”
“No worries.”
“I’m guessing developing ‘casual ease’ will require a lot of practice.”
Erodel gave me a small smile. It was the same kind of smile Everard had given me when I asked him how much time it would take for me to get good with my dagger.
I surrendered to my fate and concentrated on not stepping on my teacher’s feet.
Dancing for three hours straight was harder than stabbing the straw dummy. At some point, Isadau exited the house and sat on the stone wall around the wine tree watching me struggle. She wore one of Clover’s gowns—mine were too short for her—and her hair, a wavy mass of deep red, fell all the way down to her waist. In the books she was known as the beauty of the Mage Tower, and I could see why.
Erodel finally relented and let me and Ruana have a long break. I stumbled to the wine tree and landed in the chair by the little table. Ow, my legs. Ow, my feet. Ow. Ow. Ow.
Isadau leaned over and stared at my shoes.
“Yes?”
“You don’t have two left feet. Surprising.”
“Ha. Ha.”
I closed my eyes.
“I can kill all of you, you know,” she said. “I can burn this place to the ground.”
“You won’t.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“You’re not that kind of person.”
“You speak as if you know me.”
