Thia was mesmerized. The very ground was alive with the rhythm, both of the drums and the pounding of feet. The strange music steeped into her bones, making her feel as though her entire frame was vibrating. She wanted to leap, to scream in abandon. To pound the earth with her heels until she was only flesh and blood.
Dess’s hand slackened in hers. She turned to him, seeing his features lit with the same ferality. “Shall we?” he asked, his breath a rasp.
She danced.
Twirling away from Dess, she threw her arms out, letting the music carry her. As the Losrohiri man had said, there was no precision, only surrender. She felt the rhythm crash through her and allowed her feet to match it in whatever way they chose. She lost sight of Dess in the crowd as the song consumed her. She tipped her head back and laughed as she spun, drinking in moonlight.
Joy.
This was pure joy. Joy in its essence, joy as it was newly birthed into the world. It was life without fear, without anxiety, without pressure or inhibition. It was freedom.
She danced with her head thrown back, until she forgot herself, until she was nothing but a body eating up stars.
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIA’S FEET ACHED. THE GOLD PAINT ON HER ARMS WAS SMUDGEDfrom sweat that soaked her skin and hair.
Music filled her ears. It was strange but gentle, a haunting lullaby that clung like mist after a rainstorm. Bodies swayed around her, solitary, arms held open to the sky, also covered in paint.
How long had she been dancing?
Despite the pain in her feet, her exhausted limbs, she was alive with an energy she hadn’t felt in years. Her cheeks flushed at the memory of the drums, the chanting, the ferity she’d allowed herself to give in to. She hadn’t noticed the music shift; perhaps it was a recent adaptation, this new, calming tone having returned her to herself. The moon was lower now, the bonfire reduced to embers. Thia searched for Dess, but he was gone. The clearing had emptied significantly—Lythia was also gone, as was the man who had been beside Thia at the ceremony’s start.
She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling suddenly lonely. She glanced behind her, at the stones where the others had sat. Thran had departed, but Oskaren remained, elbows resting on her knees, her dark eyes on Thia.
Thia offered a hesitant half-smile, wondering what the girl was thinking—if she was anywhere near her true self, or if that person was locked far away against the joy of the music. She was only a little mortified at the idea that Oskaren might have been watching her while she had given herself over to it. The thought maybe thrilled her just a bit too.
The dark-haired girl did not return the smile, but neither did she frown. Thia took that as promising and crossed the clearing to where she sat.
“Hi,” she said, when Oskaren was in front of her.
Oskaren raised her chin, skimming the swirls of gold on Thia’s arms and neck, but her face was unreadable. “Faelyn.”
“Where are the others?”
“In search of food.”
“You aren’t hungry?”
She shrugged, and then lapsed into silence.
Thia gulped some air and blurted, “Would you like to dance?”
Oskaren raised an eyebrow. She glanced at the Losrohir and back to Thia. “No one else has a partner.”
Her cheeks heated. “In my land, slower dances are done as a pair.”
Oskaren stood suddenly, and Thia’s flush deepened at their suddenly proximity. The girl’s lips twitched. “In mine as well,” she said, holding out a hand. “Only the Losrohir dance alone.” She bowed, arm still extended. “It would be my honor.”
Thia reached for it. But as her small fingers closed around Oskaren’s larger ones, the girl stiffened, mouth twisting with pain. She released Thia just as suddenly and bent at the waist, bracing herself on her thighs.
“I’m sorry,” Thia said, resisting the urge to touch the back of the girl’s head. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
Oskaren took a deep gulp of air, then another. “I wish I could.”
Thia’s heart twinged. “It’s my fault,” she said. No, it was King Caradoc’s fault. She should have known a simple dance would cause Oskaren pain, that even a hint of lightness would be taken and replaced with agony. The thought filled her with rage. She hated that she needed his help, hated that someone so cruel held so much power. She’d spent so much of her life wishing to be like her mother, only to find out she was the opposite, a creature of small comforts and deep loyalties to Melina’s adventurous daring. But now here Thia was, for the first time since learning the truth, wishing it again, because maybe then she could have done something, broken the spell, given Oskaren just a moment of reprieve, even if it were only for one night.
Before she could stop herself, Thia placed her palm on the girl’s bowed head, rubbing a thumb gently over the slope of her skull.
