Part 16 (2/2)

Roca dreaded what Kurj would do to Eldri if he found her here. At best, her son had a controlled animosity for the men in her life. No one could match his memory of his father, Tokaba Ryestar. He considered no man good enough for his mother, especially after Darr.

The closer she and Eldri grew to each other, the more she feared for his life.

11.

Warlords of the Snow.

Roca danced with the other women in an exquisite hall, a room with onion-shaped arches everywhere, all adorned by carvings that resembled frozen lace. Intricate mosaics designed from gla.s.swood covered every surface like stained gla.s.s, but deeper in hue, less translucent. Roca whirled and spun, exuberant, letting herself go as she hadn't done for years. The women wore dresses today, with blue or violet skirts that swirled when they turned.

She didn't understand their speech, but she read their tone, body language, and moods. They drew her into ever more complicated steps, their voices trilling with delight that she learned fast. Although she could handle the gravity better now, she misjudged some of the steps and lost her balance, flailing her arms. Laughing and teasing, the others caught her, making it into a game. They called out with approval when she kicked her leg higher or arched her back farther than anyone else.

Over and over the dancers broke into four pairs, eight women in a set. The patterns were all based on powers of two. In fact, now that she thought about it, everything on Lyshriol came in pairs: two suns, two moons, two sets of two opposing fingers on two hands, two sets of two opposing toes on two feet. She smiled, thinking of Eldri and herself. Two lovers.

The men stood around the edges of the hall, watching, drinking, and laughing among themselves.

Musicians in one corner played drums, reeds, bells, chimes, and harps. Other folks sat at round tables, intent on a game that involved rolling small bubbles of various colors. Children ran through the hall, shaking rattles at one another and bouncing hardened bubbles.

Sometimes a woman in the dance would tease one of the men, waving a scarf at him until he waded in and pulled her out of the crowd, stealing kisses from her. Sometimes he took her out of the room altogether. Roca hoped the men would join the dancing, but they showed no inclination to do so.

Searching for Eldri, she caught sight of him standing under an archway with Garlin and several other men.

He waved, but stayed put.

So Roca danced, abandoning herself to the sheer pleasure of movement. It touched her deep inside, as it had her entire life. Her a.s.sembly duties may have forced her to curtail her dancing, and the grind of the Parthonia Ballet may have dulled her joy in performing, but the love of her art would always be in her heart. This magical time became a warm place in the cold reality of her life, a reality that could all too easily freeze this lovely but vulnerable dream.

Eldri and Roca lay sprawled on his bed, still in their finery from the dance, eating sweet-poms, small blue bubbles that tasted like heaven. Roca gazed dreamily into the fire in the hearth, where gla.s.swood rods burned with red, blue, and green flames.

Eventually she laid her head on the quilt and closed her eyes. Having two sets of visitors in only a few days, first the Bard showing up with his people, then the non-Bard and his party arriving yesterday, had sent Windward into a whirl of parties. It was fun, but exhausting. She ought to rest now; tomorrow they would head back to the starport to see what could be done about this frustrating mess of her being stranded here.

Eldri nuzzled her cheek. ”You are an incredible dancer.”

”You should dance with me.”

”What?” He sounded scandalized. ”Do not make such jokes.”

She opened her eyes halfway, her lashes shading them in a gold fringe. ”Don't men dance here?”

”Of course not. What a question.”

She smiled drowsily. ”You look as if I just suggested you run naked through Windward.”

”Better that than dance,” he growled.

”Really? Why?”

He seemed bewildered by the question. ”That is like asking why a man isn't a woman. A man who dances is-well-female.”

”I think it's s.e.xy.”

”Please do not tell me that men dance among your people.”

”All the time.” She yawned. ”The Parthonia Ballet has more male than female dancers.”

His mouth fell open. Then he snapped it shut. ”No wonder you must come here to find a genuine male person.”

Roca laughed. ”It is just different customs.” She snuggled closer to him. ”But you most certainly are a genuine male person.”

”Come dance for me some more,” he murmured.

A knock came at the door.

Eldri ignored it, pulling Roca against him. Another knock came, louder than the first.

”Bah,” he muttered, letting her go. ”Enter,” he called in his own language.

An older man opened the door, his face creased with lines. As he spoke, his voice sharp, Eldri went rigid. Roca caught little of what the man said, but she recognized the word ”lyrine.”

Eldri moved off the bed, fast and urgent. ”I have to go.”

”What has happened?” Roca asked. She stood up next to the bed as Eldri strode to the tube-narrows that held his clothes. ”What is wrong?”

He yanked out the boots he wore with his disk mail. ”A party of riders comes up the mountain.”

Roca felt the blood drain from her face. ”From Dalvador, I hope.”

”I don't think so.” He swung around to her. ”Not hundreds of men in armor astride war mounts.”

Roca stood with Brad atop the highest tower of Windward. Late afternoon sunlight slanted across them, bringing no warmth. They were in a lookout, an area only a few paces across, protected by merlons carved in the shape of bubble reeds. Freezing wind pulled at their heavy clothes and the hoods of their jackets. It was hard to believe that only yesterday she had stood here with Eldri, watching Brad come up the mountain.

Their new visitors terrified her.

Hundreds of warriors astride dark lyrine were climbing the path, the only viable approach to-or escape from-Windward. Cliffs to the east and west would block the army from surrounding the castle, which meant they could only occupy the barren plain in front of it. However, on the other side of the castle, more warriors were descending the supposedly inaccessible mountains. With her augmented optics, Roca saw men rappelling down the cliffs, anchoring their ropes with spikes they hammered into the stone.

It had shocked Eldri; apparently mountain climbing was unheard of among his people. Until now. Lord Avaril had just invented it.

The men on the cliffs had no access to the castle, but their presence also made it useless for Windward's inhabitants to try bridging the chasmbehindthe keep. If Eldri's people found a way to sneak out the back, the invading army could just as easily break inside. Avaril had thoroughly trapped them.

People were running across the courtyard below, battening, locking, and securing everything. She wished she could help, do anything, but when she and Brad had offered, everyone politely urged them to stay back. They claimed it was because Roca and Brad were incarnations of Lyshrioli deities, the Suns and Night, and as such had to be protected and revered. Roca suspected it had more to do with her and Brad getting in the way because they had so little experience with castle operations.

She studied the ma.s.sive wall around Windward. Several meters thick and many stories high, it was topped by protected walkways, with towers at the corners. Although it differed from castle walls she had seen on other worlds, it served the same basic function, to protect its inhabitants and keep out hostile armies. She prayed it performed its purpose well.

”I need to do something,” Brad muttered.

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