In the morning, while the rabbit stock was warming, Saoud went to bury the skins. I took my staff and Arwa’s, and led Zahrah through the practice patterns again. She remembered them perfectly, and I only needed to make minor adjustments to her form. I found it was difficult to pay attention to what Zahrah was doing when she was trying to hit me, so I gave her Tariq’s staff, which was heavier, and called Arwa over to take my place.
The girls faced one another and then began the easiest of the staff patterns they knew. I watched them circle, and for a moment I saw them as they might be one day—not moving through the patterns of a staff exercise, but the patterns of a dance. They would wear long dresses, like the ones my mother and Tariq’s father used to make, instead of the tunics they had now. Their skirts would swirl around them like the lightest spindle whorls, and instead of drawing wool into yarn, they would draw the eyes of everyone in the room.
Everyone. Like the king and queen of Kharuf. Like the Maker King’s son, or whoever replaced him if that betrothal was broken along with the curse.
“Yashaa?” Zahrah held up a hand to call a halt, and looked at me with worry on her face. “You look so sad.”
“I was dreaming,” I told her. “It was a foolish dream.”
“I thought we had agreed to dream of foolish things,” she said.
“We did,” I said. “Perhaps this one was too real, too close to what might come to pass someday.”
“What did you see?” Arwa said. I looked at her. Saoud had said I listened well. Maybe it was time to talk.
“I saw you and Zahrah, dancing in the Great Hall in the king’s castle in Kharuf,” I told her. “I don’t remember it perfectly, the hall, but I remember the light, and the way sound echoes through it, getting quieter but never fading entirely. It’s a good place for dancing. Proper dancing, not the staff patterns you’re practicing.”
“That’s not sad,” Arwa said. “That’s wonderful. Were you dancing with us?”
When she spoke, I saw understanding bloom in Zahrah’s eyes. She knew that I had seen the princess again, that I still could not see myself beside her, only behind her.
“He will need to practice,” Zahrah said. “But so will I! Imagine if my parents threw a ball, and the only dances we knew were staff patterns? We will all learn together.”
“Or we can learn desert dances,” Arwa said. “If we have to stay there instead.”
“Someday,” said Zahrah, “I will learn whatever I want, and I won’t be afraid of it.”
“You should eat breakfast first, then,” Saoud called. He had returned and Tariq was ladling out the bowls.
We ate and then struck the tents. We were nearly out of ways to put off leaving when I realized the buzz of the bees had been slowly increasing. It was an odd sound, that buzzing. Even though we had only been in the ruined village for a short time, I still had learned to ignore the sound. It was almost like I only heard it when the bees wanted my attention. Or perhaps when something else did.
“Wait,” I said. “Saoud, we have to wait a few more minutes.”
He nodded, clearly able to hear it himself, and we all sat down in the grass. There had been no dancing in the sky last night, nor any sign that the piskeys had heard what I’d said when I’d laid down the well cover beyond a feeling that they had. Now, in the daylight, we wouldn’t be able to see the golden light of their wings so clearly, but perhaps we might see something else.
“There!” said Tariq, his voice reverent, and I saw.
There were four of them, flying in a stately way that looked like a royal procession. I knew that if they wanted to, they could flit through the air so quickly we wouldn’t be able to count them. They wanted us to see them—to know that they were approaching. Arwa took off her veil and spread it out on the grass before Zahrah’s feet. The piskeys alighted on it, though they did not sit. Instead they leaned on the golden staves they carried, like tiny shepherds—or bee-herds, I supposed.
“Good morning,” said Zahrah. No, it was the Little Rose who spoke to them now. Regal bearing shone in every inch of her. “Thank you for the honeycomb. Our travel fare is rough, and can be tedious after many days on the road.”
“You are quite welcome,” said the piskey who stood the closest to her. “We are likewise grateful for your repair of the well cover. It will be easier for us to manage than the stone one was.”
“You have Yashaa to thank for that,” the Little Rose said. “And Arwa and Tariq. They are wonderful crafters.”
“And you are not, princess?” said the piskey.
“I cannot,” she told them. “If I do, my mind becomes a stronger place for the demon who wants to steal it for its own use.”
“You could spin,” said the piskey. “That would end it for you.”
“It would end it for me,” said the Little Rose. “But my curse would go on, and my people would suffer.”
“The trouble with magic,” said the piskey, “is that even those creatures who make it are bound by it, and the binding becomes so muddled by life and living that it is difficult to unravel.”
“We have noticed as much,” I said. I was surprised that I had the courage to speak at all.