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Kehannis
, singers, and players. Musicians strum ouds and lyres, guided by the
jubilant beat of drums.
I pull out of the crowds, suddenly disoriented. It’s been so long since I’ve
heard drums as music that I instinctively try to translate the beats into orders and
find myself bewildered when I cannot.
When I finally am able to push the thudding to the back of my head, I’m
bowled over by the colors and smells and unadulterated joy around me. Even as
a Fiver, I never saw anything like this. Not in Marinn or the Tribal deserts, not
even beyond the Empire, where woad-coated Barbarians danced beneath
starlight for days, as if possessed.
A pleasant peacefulness steals over me. No one looks at me with loathing or
fear. I don’t have to watch my back or keep up the granite exterior.
I feel free.
For a few minutes I meander through the crowd, eventually making my way
to the dance stages, where I’ve spotted Laia and Izzi. The two were surprisingly
difficult to follow. While tracking them through the docks, I lost sight of Laia a
few times altogether. But once in the Quarter, under the bright lights of the sky
lanterns, I find the girls easily.
At first, I think to approach them, tell them who I am, and get them back to
Blackcliff. But they look like I feel. Free. Happy. I can’t bring myself to ruin it
for them, not when their lives are ordinarily so dismal. So instead, I watch.
They both wear plain black silk dresses, which, while excellent for sneaking
around and keeping slaves’ cuffs hidden, don’t blend so well into the rainbow
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plumage of the throng.
Izzi has let her blonde hair fall into her face, masking her eyepatch
surprisingly well. She makes herself small, barely noticeable as she peeks out
from the curtain of her hair.
Laia, on the other hand, would be noticeable pretty much anywhere. The
high-necked dress she’s wearing clings to her body in ways I find painfully
unfair. Beneath the light of the sky lanterns, her skin glows the color of warm
honey. She holds her head high, the elegance of her neck heightened by the inky
fall of her hair.
I want to touch that hair, smell it, run my hands through it, wrap it around my
wrist and—
damn it, Veturius, get a hold of yourself. Stop staring.
After I pull my eyes from her, I realize that I’m not the only one dumbstruck.
Many of the young men around me sneak glances at her. She doesn’t seem to
notice, which, of course, makes her all the more intriguing.
And here you are, Elias, staring at her again. You twit.
This time, my
attention hasn’t gone unobserved.
Izzi is watching me.
The girl might have only one eye, but I’m fairly certain she sees more than
most.
Get out of here, Elias
,
I tell myself.
Before she figures out why you look so
damn familiar.
Izzi leans over and whispers something into Laia’s ear. I’m about to walk
away when Laia looks up at me.
Her eyes are a dark jolt. I should look away. I should leave. She’ll figure out
who I am if she stares long enough. But I can’t bring myself to move. For a
heavy, heated moment, we are immobile, content to watch each other.
Skies,
she’s beautiful.
I smile at her, and the blush that rises on her face makes me feel
oddly triumphant.
I want to ask her to dance. I want to touch her skin and talk to her and pretend
that I’m just a normal Tribal boy and she’s just a normal Scholar girl.
Stupid
idea
,
my mind warns.
She’ll recognize you.
So what? What would she do? Turn me in? She can’t tell the Commandant
she saw me here without incriminating herself too.
But while I’m still considering, a muscular, red-haired boy comes up behind
her. He touches her shoulder with a possessiveness in his eyes that I don’t like.
Laia, in return, stares at him as if no one else exists. Maybe she knew him before
she became a slave. Maybe he’s the reason she snuck out. I scowl and look away.
He’s not bad-looking, I suppose, but he seems too grim to be any fun.
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Also, he’s shorter than me. Considerably shorter. Half a foot, at least.
Laia leaves with the redhead. Izzi gets up after a moment and follows.
“Looks like she’s taken, lad
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