A New Princess Read online

  Four others so marked had risen for the dances as well. They clustered together, well behind the more forward array of people who danced as potential dams of children and opposite the line of those who danced as potential sires. Under the full moon its light multiplied dozens of times over by moon-touched torches burning atop wooden poles, the purple cords had the glitter of a brook or river coursing down to the sea.

  On most nights when Escalli danced, those who participated did not break into distinct groups. Rather, everyone formed a single joyous mass tackling whichever dances they preferred or could convince the musicians to play. Anyone might lead who chose to, or follow. What mattered most was joy and music.

  But tonight had multiple purposes.

  To render honor to the moon.

  To farewell spring and welcome summer.

  And to ensure the strength of the people through conception of future generations.

  Honor, farewell, and welcome came first, as was proper. Sire or dam or both or neither, old or young or in-between, the first dances were meant for all.

  Nevertheless, people were forced to sort themselves into two categories for the dances tonight. Any incapable of bearing or siring children might pick a line, but must take the last places.

  Across the green, those who danced as sires this night gathered into a long, twisting line. The order of dances was fixed and would not vary, not for a festival night. A chain dance to start, to let the dancers view each other. Each succeeding set would split dancers into ever smaller groups until all who wished found their match.

  Gisela braced herself to be cut out partnerless by the last set.

  Nevertheless, the sires opposite compelled her gaze. She could pretend, after all, that the last year had never happened and she still danced with her hair streak dyed pink. Imagine anyone opposite was still a possible partner. Even search for the red streaks in sires’ hair that denoted proven ability and acknowledged offspring as though that still mattered to her. Fancy taking a chance on an unmarked sire in hopes he proved a good dancer and virile to boot.

  In the end, what she wanted most this night was a good dancer. Grace, movement, and the alignment of bodies to music.

  The pink- and red-streaked fertile dams whispered and giggled. Their gazes lingered on their equivalents among the sires.

  Gisela skipped signs of fertility and searched instead for sires who moved even though the music had yet to start. Those who lived with an internal beat, or heard the earth’s heart moving far below them.

  In the back stood several who shifted to music they alone heard. The blaze of moon-torches behind them cast their faces in darkness, but she marked their attire—one in an undyed tunic, one in orange, and a last in green.

  Then the drums began. A deep thrum, doubled, tripled, all in a steady progression that quickened. Slow to fast to faster to a cacophony as the drummers deliberately lost the shared beat and each went at their own measure.

  Utter silence when it ended, save for a babe in arms crying somewhere and quickly hushed.

  The council of elders, all eleven of them, formed a procession onto the green. Linked hands in a circle as they gazed outward. Their heads swiveled this way and that as they sought to make eye contact with each and everyone within their field of view.

  Gisela jerked as one, two, three stared directly at her. Dampness formed at the corners of her eyes, quickly blinked back. She would not weep. They had not seen her, not truly; it was an illusion. A set action performed at the start of every festival, to ensure all felt known and included.

  “We gather.” The elders spoke as one.

  “We are gathered.” Gisela whispered the response with the others. To either side, hands slipped into hers. Warm, living flesh joined into one mass greater than the component parts.

  The ritual words flowed over her. Closing her eyes she tilted her head back the better to let the full moon’s light likewise wash her clean.

  Take our sorrow, share our grief.

  Take all bitterness, the better to breathe.

  And sure as full moon follows new,

  Fill us yet with what you choose.

  Mere words, and yet Gisela swayed. Needed the hands holding hers to remain upright, even as she helped her close companions stay on their feet as well. A knot of bitterness remained, tucked in her heart. All the same, she drew a deeper breath, filled her lungs with more air than she had in weeks.

  “Now for the dances,” the first elder spun off and away from the others. Turned tipsy circles until she ended at the far side of the dams’ line and settled into a seat.

  “For the strength of the people,” the next oldest followed suit, although he wound up crashing into the musician’s platform.

  One by one, the others took their turn until the square was empty of all save the most recent to rise to the council. They stretched out their arms to either side and whirled in place.

  “Let the chain dance begin!”

  The drums began a steady beat.

  Dams and sires formed two separate lines, members linked hand to hand as they promenaded onto the green until they met right before the musicians’ platform. There, the leading sire and dam took hands and pulled each other past—to face the next in line. Extending the other hand, they did the same until the leaders reached the third dam and sire. These they whirled around twice in succession.

  Then on.

  Shake.

  Shake.

  Whirl. Not always the third, but randomly whenever the drums gave an extra flourish.

  On and on, as all dancers joined and formed two intertwining circles.

  The beat would continue until some random point after the leaders met up for the third time. This meant those towards the end, such as Gisela and her fellow purple-streaked, would make only two rounds of the other line—assuming the lines were of similar length.

  She absorbed the vibrations of drums and footsteps against the earth through her bare feet. Watched the sires making their progression and enjoyed, just for this one dance, the illusion that any of them she chose might pair with her after.

  A bitter residue in her mouth warned that disillusion and pain would follow, but the dream nevertheless lured her in.

  “Do you see the one in green?” A whistled breath escaped the former dam behind Gisela, the very last in line.

  Easy to guess which sire she meant. Tall and well-built, with wide shoulders suited for hefting heavy loads. Long dark-brown hair pulled back in a braid to show a broad face with a tip-turned nose and warm-hued skin begging to be kissed and caressed. No streak in his hair to proclaim fertility, but neither was it needed to draw the eye. He moved with comfort. Solid and assured, as though certain he’d never trip or fall or let his partner do so either. Unless the dance called for it. Fanciful though the notion was, he seemed to her a well-grown tree whose branches moved with the wind while his roots went deep.

  In all, a most desirable partner. Quite apart from the elegance of his tunic, which clung to his chest, revealing a wealth of muscles, and rippled around his legs.

  “From the court.” His clothes alone proclaimed his difference. Impossible to mistake the splendor of his clothing.

  “Of course.” The other former dam chuckled. “We’ll not have a chance at him later, but there is no ban on gazing. And who knows, one of us may whirl with him in the early dances. May it be me or even the both of us.”

  Gisela laid aside thought of him as the tail end of the dams’ line finally began to step onto the greensward.

  Smiling at every sire whose hand she took, she wove through their line in the winding circle.

  Laughed once or twice as she linked arms when the drums signaled times to whirl.

  Each sire’s eyes flicked to the streak in her hair. Their expressions altered, however minutely. Easy to guess who wouldn’t seek her out after the first dance.

  Yet always, always, some thread of her awareness tracked the sire in green. Counted down the hands and whirls as he drew nearer.
Three away. Two. One.

  Then there they stood, face to face.

  Only a heartbeat, yet every element of their meeting imprinted upon her as though they existed apart from time for that one, long breath.

  He stood a head taller than her. She tilted her head back. A light sheen of sweat dewed his skin, mirroring that on hers. The bright, silvery moonlight leached color from his skin, rendering him in tones of gray. Somehow his eyes retained a glint of color, rich amber that warmed her as they exchanged gazes.

  Her chest rose and fell as she dragged in air. His gaze skipped from her eyes to her lips, down to her breasts and the thin linen covering them, and then back up to mesh with hers. She didn’t look away from his face at all. Her hand stretched out to wrap around his.

  Instead of meeting hand-to-hand, he reached further. Gave an older form of greeting as he cupped her elbow in his hand and supported her arm with his. His tunic sleeve had fallen back. So too did hers as she shifted to match his lead and wrap her hand around his upper arm for the time needed to pass him by.

  Skin to skin, hand to hand, arm to arm. Bright warmth bloomed in her, rushing from head to toe and back again. A shock that made her start. His fingers tightened, giving support. Their heads turned in unison, maintaining eye contact as their bodies passed. Shoulders brushed.

  A second shudder rippled through her, cold and unwelcome, as they had to let go to continue the dance.

  Her breath came in pants, shallow and ill-matched with the beat of the drums as she took the hand of the next in line. Equally tall and well-made, if not so well-dressed, nothing about him stirred her blood—particularly when his glance stopped at the streak in her hair and proceeded no further.

  Without making eye contact of any kind, their hands nearly missed the shake. Skin brushed skin, callous and passing, and then they both moved on to others without caring who they’d left behind.

  She waited until the circle progressed at least a third of the way further before daring to rip a second’s focus away from those ahead to glance across.

  Discovered him glancing back at that same instant.

  Eyes met.

  A spark, unseen, passed between them. Set her blood ablaze with rippling energy.

  Gisela turned away first, heart thudding fast and hard in her chest. She’d have one more chance to touch him—clasp arms or whirl—before the two line leaders met and the dance ended.

  The others who passed between them as she circled her way back towards him became a blur.

  Each time the drums played the extra flourish and she whirled around whomever faced her, her gaze darted off into the distance to find him watching her.

  She counted the moments in breaths, heartbeats, and footsteps until they faced each other again.

  No extra flourish of the drums. No whirl this time.

  Once again, though, instead of hands to hands they matched arm to arm. Watched each other’s face the while. Witnessed the catch in two sets of lungs as skin touched skin, warm and soft.

  Then wrenched away into cold as the dance forced them on.

  When it ended, they both remained on the greensward for the next. The dancers split into three equal groups for this, each one taking a third of those dancing as dams and those as sires. Chance divided them into separate groups.

  His brow wrinkled as he stood in the midst of the sires and dams taking new places for a circle dance requiring smaller numbers.

  By custom she should remain with the third into which she’d been divided. But some shifts always took place, as sires chased dams and dams sires, and those caught in lust ensured they were in position to pursue the objects of their affection.

  She took advantage of one such, making her move with discretion and efficiency. An instant before the music struck up again—this time a flute and fiddle joining the drums—she slipped from her previous group into his. Few noticed, or cared. They’d written her off already as object of interest or competition. Fair enough. She knew her place.

  But she could enjoy his company, presence, and the chance to link arms for another dance or two.

  He was a quick study. When the next dance required division into groups of nineteen, it was he who made the move to remain in proximity to her.

  A still, small, frightened voice within warned that he might be intrigued by someone else and his continued closeness to her mere chance.

  She squashed it, refused to listen. They had made a connection given the way his mere gaze saw and knew her in some deep way. Tremors rippling through her body and blood heated her cheeks. The fancy struck her of being a bird free to flutter and dance on the wind, yet always returning to rest in the branches of his tree as he gave her roots and a firm foundation.

  Under the bright light of day, such a fantasy would dissipate as quick as steam escaped a boiling pot—but the full moon bred dreams and nightmares. She’d lived enough of the latter to allow herself to enjoy the dream this once.

  She laid her hand in his again, and again, and again as they twined through intricate figures. He stumbled a few times at the start, the forms of this dance being strange to him, but he picked them up with speed albeit less grace than before.

  Gave her a smile as he caught a misstep half-made and corrected it.

  For that moment of brightness and as many more as she might drink, no matter how short it lasted, she would not refuse or deny.

  Not when the dancers rearranged into groups of seventeen, thirteen, eleven, seven, and five.

  Nor even when he and she, as part of a group of three, wound their way among other such groups. Him gathering all manner of attention, of course, at the center of their trio. A dam with pink hair clutched at his far side, alternately gazing adoringly up at him and smirking at others as they paraded about.

  He returned only small smiles to the other dams, and none to Gisela—but the heat in his eyes kept her warm no matter how many times someone trod on her toes or bumped her side, whether in jealousy or simple uncaring.

  Or sheer exuberance. This was no time to be holding grudges instead of dreams.

  Yet when that dance ended, she let go her illusions.

  The musicians called for a break, to rest, while the dancers settled on partners for the last set. Partners of two, one potential sire and one willing dam.

  Not her.

  Other dams with hair streaked in pink and red hovered around him. Cooed, oohed, and ahhed. She dropped her gaze away rather than continue to stare. They did no more than she might have, as little as a year earlier.

  Indeed, she’d enjoyed the hunt before. Surveying available partners, taking charge of finding who she liked, and asking them to dance with her, to music or to the beat of their hearts.

  The bitter taste blossomed again in her mouth, but she refused to let her disappointments sour her to the point she frowned on others following the whims of their hearts and loins. Made a silent wish to the moon and earth—powers above and below—that he find a partner truly worthy of him.

  She turned away so as not to watch. Took all of eleven steps away from him, whose name she still did not know, toward the tables bearing the remnant of the feast. A slice of honey cake or goblet of wine would help counter the bitter flavor.

  Except footsteps against the earth—not hers, someone else’s at a swifter pace—reverberated through her. Her heart sped up to match the beat.

  Someone tapped her shoulder.

  “Excuse me.”

  No matter that she’d never heard his voice before, she recognized it anyway. Deep and resonant, fit for a sire of his height and breadth.

  “Permit me to introduce myself.” He laid a hand over his heart and bowed. “I’m Stevan.”

  “Gisela.” She mirrored him, tilting her head back to meet his deep gaze. “How may I be of assistance?”

  “You do not wish to dance again?” Stevan stretched his hands out to either side.

  “Wish, yes, but you see my hair.” She gestured at the streak, without touching the dyed strands.
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  “I don’t dance with hair, but with people.”

  “Has no one told you what it means?” Any number of red-streaked dams watched them with tightened lips. Some shrugged and went on to pursue other partners. A few lingered, although none quite dared venture into the circle of space surrounding Gisela and Stevan.

  “If it marks you as off-limits, then say the word and I will apologize for my intrusion.” He planted his feet firm on the ground, almost palpable warmth emanating from him. A faint musk tinged the air, making it almost sweet to taste.

  “It doesn’t.” She drew in a deep breath. “But—“

  “Then will you dance with me?” He extended a shaking hand toward her.

  Her palm itched to match his. Gritting her teeth, she tried to do her duty. This once, at least.

  “You should go with one of the other dams. Any would be happy to bear a child of you.”

  “That’s not why I’m here.” He bent close, voice dropping yet every word falling clear into her ears. “It’s chance we arrived in time to attend your festival. Or fate, perhaps, though they’re a tricky force to decipher. You’re the one who caught my eye in the dance. The touch of whose hand made every nerve stand on end. The only one who looks at me and sees more than a means for conception.”

  “I’m sure the others see you as more than that.”

  He raised an eyebrow, lips quirking to the side.

  “Some, at least.” She chuckled.

  “If they do, they are going about showing it the wrong way.” He laughed as well, though his eyes remained fixed on her. His hand outstretched, still trembling. His head ducked and shoulders rose nearly to his ears. “All I ask for now is someone with whom to dance this evening. Yes or no?”

  She should say no. Should send him back to see if another one of the dams could catch him even though he had not expressed a desire to sire offspring. Then again, he said that wasn’t his purpose and she believed him.

  And she wanted to join as much of the festivities as possible. To feast, but more to let music move through her body and be a part of the great mass of celebrants. No matter the consequences, she would take what he offered. For this one night, let desire take her where it would.