"If we treat our guests well, they will be generous in return."
The noise swells immediately as I step back into the room—drums beating harder now, strings racing faster, marking a rhythm I feel through my ribs. The dancers have drawn a loose circle, bodies closing in, fabric lifting and falling with each turn. I thread my way through, setting plates down where I am told, murmuring thanks and nods, careful not to spill.
As I straighten from the last table, a hand closes around my wrist, making me turn.
She stands close—my age, perhaps a little younger—eyes dark and shining, face flushed with movement and heat. Her hair falls unbound around her shoulders, beads and small coins woven into a braid that brushes her cheek when she tilts her head. Layers of colour shift around her with every movement, her bracelets chiming with every breath she takes.
She grins at me, and before I can even draw breath to protest, she tugs. The plates are taken from my hands as I am pulled forward, into the press of bodies, into the open space where feet stamp and skirts whirl. Thegirl speaks, foreign words tumbling over one another in a way I can't quite grasp, but somehow find myself understanding anyway.
A stumble catches me off guard, but balance returns as her hand steadies my arm, the other settling at my waist. She laughs again, bright and fearless, and the sound loosens something tight inside me.
Hesitation lingers. Only for a heartbeat.
I am aware of the room, of eyes, of rules learned and remembered. Yet, everywhere I look, bodies move—hands linked, feet stamping, voices lifted in song. No one stops me. No one scolds. No one looks away in disapproval. The wariness from earlier has melted completely, carried off by sound and warmth and closeness.
This feels… permitted.
The girl squeezes my hands and sets us into motion, guiding me in light, playful steps. I follow at first, stiff, uncertain—then less so. My feet remember things my mind has long set aside, and the rhythm finally slips under my skin.
We spin.
My skirts lift and sway as something bright escapes me. The room blurs—firelight, colour, faces slipping into one another as the girl throws her head back, her laughter rising, hair flying free.
The dance grows faster, louder, a joyful chaos that pulls me fully into it. My breath comes quick with delight, with something not felt in so long I had nearly forgotten its shape.
I spin again, dizzy and smiling, hands clasped in hers, and for these few breathless moments, I am small again. I am barefoot in summer grass, I am climbing trees, I am dancing without counting who might see. I forget to lower my eyes. I forget to be careful.
The room tilts, everything blurring together, sending me tumbling into other arms—firmer than the girl’s, steady as a post driven deep into the ground.
I look up to find the tall, wide-hipped woman from earlier. Her hair frames the face I recognize instantly—eyes lined dark, a presence that quiets the space around her without effort. The instant her fingers touch my skin, her breath leaves her in a brutal gasp, torn from her as if by pain. Her grip tightens, then stills, gaze sweeping my face as if seeing something she did not expect to find.
"Fata[14]…" she murmurs.
My brow furrows. "What—"
She leans closer, her voice dropping low.
"You must be careful," she whispers in that heavy accent that bends my language into something unfamiliar and intimate. "You… in danger. Grave danger."
The words strike colder than anything I have ever heard, making my heart stumble.
"What do you mean?" I ask, but the music swallows my voice. "I don’t—"
Another hand clamps around my arm before I can finish, yanking me backward so violently my teeth click together. Fingers bite into flesh as I am torn from the woman’s arms and spun around, the world snapping back into focus.
Mama stands before me. Her face is pale, her eyes wide and blazing with something close to terror.
"Out," she breathes. "Now."
The woman watches us go, her dark eyes never leaving my face, one hand pressed to her own chest as if steadying something unseen. Mama does not look at her. She pulls me through the crowd without another word, my feet barely touching the ground as I am hauled away from the music, from the light, from the circle where laughter still spins on without me.
The door slams open, cold air rushing in as Mama drag me out into the night. The music dies abruptly, and before I can catch my breath, her hand strikes my face.
My head snaps to the side, pain blooming across my cheek, boots scraping dirt as I stumble back, shock stealing the air from my lungs. For a moment, I can only stare at her, ears ringing, the taste of iron rising in my mouth.
"Mama—" My voice cracks. "What—?"
She leans in close, so close I can feel her breath on my skin.
