“Sorry,” he said, his face red. “I didn’t know you were going to go that way.”
“You’re still a terrible dancer,” I grumbled, trying to avoid his feet. Staring at the ground meant that I was no longer able to watch where I was going, and it began to seem that every few seconds I was bumping into somebody. Tem tried to lead me along the same looping path that other dancers followed, but we always seemed out of sync somehow—which was saying something, given the random nature of the dance.
Suddenly, we were moving very fast. Tem had drawn me into orbit around the masked dancers at the bonfire. He spun me around, drew me close, and then spun me away, the movements almost too intricate for me to see. I felt like a leaf caught in a storm.
“Tem!” I gasped, reaching out to grasp his shoulders. “What are you—?”
The question died on my lips. River gazed back at me, a smile on his face.
I stared at him. I hadn’t even felt Tem pull away from me. “How did you—?”
My question dissolved into a yelp as River spun us around so swiftly that the fire seemed to be surrounding us on all sides.
“Stop that,” I said, half gasping and half laughing. “Where’s Tem?”
“It doesn’t matter.” River drew me close, so close I could feel the warmth of his body against mine, and spoke in my ear. “I thought you could use a break from being stepped on.”
“You saw that?” I felt my irritation return, even as my heart thudded at his nearness. “I thought your attention was somewhere else.”
River laughed softly. “Well, I’ve learned to see past the obvious—to the details others miss.”
I flushed as I recognized Tem’s words. To take the focus off me, I said, “Are you calling that girl obvious?”
“I guess so—I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“No, why would you?” I grumbled. “I’m sure wherever you go, beautiful girls are throwing themselves at you.”
“Yes, and it’s a terrible burden.”
I couldn’t help laughing. River drew back, his eyes sparkling. Shadow played across the planes of his handsome face. “Watch this,” he said.
I shrieked as River lifted me into the air and spun me around, simultaneously drawing us deeper into the ring of masked dancers. They swirled around us—the swish of their chubas and the whistle of their swords through the air made me shudder. Behind their masks, the dancers’ eyes were wild.
“They say the people of Jangsa have witch blood,” I said. “I’m starting to believe it.”
“You’re not afraid, are you?”
“Of course not,” I lied. “What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you hated crowds.”
“I do. But I like dancing.” We spun in a circle, so fast that I shrieked again, gripping River’s arms with all my strength. He laughed. My eyes were shut tight—I was certain we would collide with the other dancers, or their swords, or trip and stumble into the fire. But somehow, River darted expertly through the crowd, finding gaps that looked too narrow to fit through, barely brushing even the other dancers’ chubas. He could have been a ghost himself. As he pulled me close again, I wrapped my arms around his neck to steady myself. I could feel his breath against my ear, warm and soft.
“How does that work, anyway?” I said, trying to conceal the pounding of my heart. I was certain River could hear it. “You can’t very well avoid crowds in the Three Cities.”
He seemed to think for a moment. “I didn’t grow up in the Three Cities. The Shara estate is deep in the countryside to the south. It’s a beautiful land—high, grassy plains dotted with countless rivers and turquoise lakes—but isolated. My family rarely ventured as far as the emperor’s court. The feasting, the parades, the endless parties—I didn’t have any of it as a child. It was a different life.”
I considered this. “Do you miss them?” I said. “Your family, I mean.”
He was quiet. “Yes,” he said finally.
“Me too,” I murmured. A sword slashed past my head, but I barely heard it. I was thinking of Father. He would be making his customary nighttime rounds now, striding through the dragonlit village with his long chuba trailing behind him, on the lookout for intruders both animal and human. Unlike some village elders, Father took his responsibilities as protector of his people seriously. Sometimes too seriously. I could remember many nights when I had stayed up late, hoping he would come to my room to tell one of his stories, only to fall asleep disappointed. Sometimes, when we weren’t fighting, I would curl up with Lusha in her bed, and she would open her window and tell me the story of whatever constellation was framed between the shutters. I still did sometimes, though the times when we weren’t fighting were much fewer and further between.
If I became one of the emperor’s explorers, I would spend long periods away from Lusha and Father—and Azmiri. The thought brought with it a stab of sadness—but little regret. As much as I loved Azmiri, I didn’t fit there. I never had. Life in the village was small and quiet and contained, while I craved noise and excitement and wide-open spaces stretched out before me like a blank scroll upon which I could write my own stories.
Perhaps the Elder of Jangsa had been right. After what I had just been through—the grueling trek, the storm, the fiangul—I should have been desperate to return home. But I wasn’t. My thoughts were already racing ahead to the next part of our journey, to Raksha. If I could prove myself to River, I wouldn’t have to worry about my life back in Azmiri. I could have the life I had always dreamed of but never knew how to achieve.
River spun me around again, interrupting my thoughts. We passed between two masked dancers as one drew his sword back and the other slashed his down behind us, through the air we had just occupied.
I laughed. River lifted me into the air, then took my hand and whirled me in a series of intricate circles, so many that I lost count. Finally I grabbed him, laughing and breathless. He laughed too, his eyes alight, and for one breathless moment, I was certain he was going to kiss me. Only then did I notice that the musicians had fallen silent—had perhaps been silent for a while.
I looked around. River and I were the only ones standing by the fire. The others had fallen back and stared at us from the edge of the square. Even the masked dancers had stopped, and stood with their swords at their side. Some had removed their masks, revealing flushed faces. Tem stood with the girl who had been dancing with River, gaping at me. The girl was staring too, her forehead creased with a frown.
River nodded to me, then turned and melted into the shadows. I stood there a moment longer, blinking back at the staring faces. Then I all but ran from the square.
I didn’t return to the elder’s house—instead, I fled away from the crowd, along a road I didn’t recall passing when we first entered Jangsa. It was little more than a footpath, hugging the mountainside over terrain that undulated and twisted. A lantern floated past, but I ignored it.