He swallowed hard, and studied her beautiful face with its pale skin, midnight blue eyes, and long black hair that always covered her ears. She was shorter than most dark elves, even though she was nearly as tall as he was. But if she was part human and part elf, it would explain her incredible speed and strength. And it might explain why when she touched his bare skin with her hand, he felt as if he’d been hit by a tiny jolt of lightning.
The room felt as if it was spinning around him. He’d always believed the only good elf was a dead elf. He’d been given the honor of lighting an elven effigy on fire as a child. If you’d asked him a month ago what he would do if he were forced to be in close quarters with a dark elf, his answer would’ve involved his sword and little else.
Now he had to pick up his beliefs, one by one, and examine them for the flaws that surely ran through them. He couldn’t imagine the world without Sajda in it, and he didn’t want to.
“Javan, are they dangerous?” she asked, but it sounded as though she’d already decided on the answer.
He leaned toward her. “They can be. Just like the mardushkas in Morcant. Anyone with that much power can be dangerous, but the queen of Ravenspire is widely regarded as the most powerful mardushka to have ever lived, and she is kind, protective, and acts in the best interests of others instead of herself.”
“So she’s the exception?”
“There’s always an exception. Magic isn’t evil. It’s what people do with magic that counts.”
She looked away.
“Sajda, do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?” he asked gently, and prayed that she knew she could trust him.
She shook her head.
He tried not to let it bother him. Instead, he said, “What else did you want to learn today?”
She met his gaze again. “I don’t know how to meet people without threatening to hurt them.”
He smiled. “That could be a complication in the outside world. When you don’t need to intimidate people in social situations, you’ll want to hold conversations about mutual interests, ask them questions about things they enjoy, eat with the appropriate dining ware, dance when asked—”
“Dance? Why would I want to dance with anybody?” She glared at him.
He laughed helplessly. “You might not. But if you’re at a party or a fancy dinner or one day if you decide to get married, you’ll be expected to dance.”
“I’ll just say no.”
“You can certainly do so, but what if you want to say yes?”
“Why would I?” She shuddered. “Having a stranger’s hands on me and having to move around together?”
There was a humming in his blood, a wild, reckless light burning in his chest, as he said quietly, “What if it isn’t a stranger? What if it’s someone you really want to be close to? And you don’t want to be rude?”
“I always want to be rude.” She grinned at him, and he looked away before she could see how badly he wanted her to agree to what he was about to propose.
“Think of dancing like sparring.”
“Are you allowed to leave bruises?”
He laughed. “You’re hopeless. No bruises, unless you’re doing it wrong. But it’s a give and take, an action and a reaction. You learn the moves, and it flows.”
“I suppose you’re a good dancer.” She eyed him suspiciously, and he pretended to dust the wrinkles out of his prison-issued tunic.
“Best in my class four years in a row.”
“So you competed.”
“Kind of. It was for school, so it was for a grade. I wanted the best grade in the class.” He gave her the same look he did when he was sure he could score against her in their sparring matches. “I’m still the best. You might want to quit before you discover that dancing is harder than it sounds.”
Her brow rose, and the wild light inside him felt like it was consuming him a piece at a time.
“If you can dance, so can I. We both know I move better than you do.” She rose from the couch, her expression defiant.
“You’re going to take back those words in a minute.” He stood and held out his arms, and then closed his eyes when she walked right into them. “Hold my hand . . . not that one, this one. My other hand goes on your waist.”
“Move it any lower and you’ll draw back a stump.”
He leaned his cheek against her hair and laughed. “I wouldn’t dare.”
When he had her in position, he began softly counting a four-quarter beat while he moved her gently into the sweeping movements of the pallestaya.
“Why do you get to make me dip backward?” she demanded.
“Because I’m leading the dance.”
She lifted her chin and gave him a long look. He grinned. “Memorize what I’m doing, and then if you want to lead, I’m happy to relinquish the honor.”
“Fine. I’ll learn it.”
“Fine.” He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face as he spun her out and back in, swayed with his hand resting gently on her hip, and laughed as she hung on by the tips of her fingers and dipped twice as far as he would’ve taken her.
Her face was flushed pink with laughter as she came out of the dip, and she landed hard against him, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her face against his chest.
He pressed his hands against the small of her back and swayed slowly while he prayed for this one perfect moment to stretch on forever.
She pulled back, with a shy, sweet smile he’d never seen from her before. In a flash it was gone, and she folded her arms across her chest. “I won, didn’t I?”
“Won what?”
“The grade. The top prize. I dipped farther and spun faster and—”
“Yes, you won.” He grinned, and she smiled back.
“This was nice,” she said, and then before he could think of a reply, she snatched up the parchment she’d left on the couch and left him behind with the realization that somehow when he hadn’t been paying attention, he’d started falling for Sajda.
TWENTY-SIX
“GET THOSE BEASTS under control immediately, or suffer the consequences,” the warden barked as she swept out of her office, her hair scraped back into an unforgiving bun. “The doors open soon. We can’t have our most important bettors feeling nervous.”
Sajda hurried to comply, the skin beneath her wrists aching as her magic stormed through her. It was Exhibition Day, the day before the third round of the tournament when the betting heated up as the pool of crowd favorites narrowed to those who actually had a chance of winning the entire thing. The guards were escorting the surviving competitors into the arena where they’d be thoroughly examined by members of the aristocracy and merchant class who were interested in paying the warden’s Exhibition Day entrance fee for the privilege of making a more informed bet on the upcoming round of combat.
A shape-shifter howled in its stall, and Sajda snatched a handful of sheep’s guts to toss into its trough before the warden could decide to punish her slave for not feeding the creatures fast enough.
“I’ll finish this row, little one,” Tarek said as he limped toward her, a bag of sheep’s guts dragging behind him. “You go on out to the arena to assist the warden. She’s in a foul mood today.”
“When is she in a good mood?” Sajda asked as she pulled off her leather gloves, hung them from their peg, and moved toward the arena.