First Dance

Zancoda

Autumn, 1350

Ariz peered from between the rose trellises, taking in the distant dancing figures lit by candlelight. Music drifted through the glassed doors and filled the darkness of the garden. Sounds of laughter and conversation seemed to drift on the honey scents of beeswax. He crept closer, keeping to the flickering shadows.

He didn’t belong here.

He couldn’t claim to number among the friends, family or schoolmates of the Grunitos. He hardly even ranked as a rival. Though that hadn’t spared him from being randomly shouldered off of walkways or taunted as he wandered the fairgrounds. Boys too cowardly—or perhaps too intelligent—to lash out against his upperclassman, Hierro Fueres, often vented their anger against Ariz.

If he was caught trespassing he could expect to be dragged out into the street, at best. At worst, Javier Tornasal would rally his gang of friends and followers to beat Ariz into to a pulp and leave him bleeding in the mud. That wasn’t considering what Hierro might do to him if he discovered that Ariz had slipped away from his sick bed in the church hostel to bask in the presence of Sagrada students. Hierro would lay his whip across the punishing wounds he’d already laid into Ariz’s back.

Still Ariz crept closer to the house.

When he reached a small stone fountain he paused and studied the view through the costly panes of glass. It all looked so very beautiful. Friends laughing, lovers flirting and couples dressed in dazzling finery, their smiling faces dusted with gold. Glorious melodies swelled around them in an ebullient stream and the dancers swirled like cherry blossoms in its current. Ariz felt the music’s pull as well. He felt the rhythm bouncing through his feet and swinging around his hips. His cold fingers slipped from his sword belt and tapped the tempo into the night air.

He loved to dance.

Or, he had, before he’d become Hierro’s creature. As a child he’d gloried in mastering all the quick, clever steps and twists. He’d adored leaping high and feeling as if music alone lifted him. He’d taken every opportunity offered to partner anyone who would dance with him. More often than not his mother or his sister had allowed him to cavort around her. After his female relations tired, his uncle and father had both indulged him. His gleeful expressions and wild enthusiasm had always inspired their laughter.

Hierro on the other hand found it entertaining to shove razor sharp tacks in Ariz’s shoes and then then pitch hot coals at him and call that a dance. He’d roared with laughter watching Ariz flinch and hobble as the steel bit into his flesh and embers burned his skin. That experience had taught Ariz not to even sway to music, much less express an interest in dancing.

Or in anything, else.

It was safer to seem dull and disinterested, as leaden in demeanor as Hierro’s beaten, dead-eyed horse. So, he’d sacrificed joy to save himself from agony and for two years he’d simply survived.

But this week he’d found the strength to defy Hierro. Kiram Kir-Zaki, the Haldiim youth whom Hierro had wanted him to thrash and humiliate bore a glancing wound across his forearm and had taken a tumble in the dirt but nothing more. And today Kiram Kir-Zaki had outmaneuvered Hierro and stolen victory from him with just a flash of sunlight across a locket. Despite Hierro’s spell, Ariz had felt something approaching exaltation in that moment. All those hundreds and hundreds of on-lookers gathered in the golden pavilion had witnessed the hell-branded Javier Tornasal and his Haldiim classmate best Hierro. Cheers had roared all around him and Ariz welcomed them, fantasizing that the crowd shared his joy in witnessing Hierro fail.

He could be bested. Someday someone might actually kill the man. Ariz managed a dull smile at the thought. He wondered if he would survive and what it might feel like to live free of Hierro Fueres’s dominion. He could hardly remember anymore.

He permitted himself to sway with the melody drifting across the garden as he drew near to the young men who’d snatched victory from Hierro. From the darkness, he gazed in at this happy multitude of students, friends and relatives.

Ariz’s parents weren’t so wealthy that they could afford to travel far. Instead they entrusted his care to his upperclassmen, Hierro. And of course they expected that his older cousin, Genimo would look after him as well. If only he could have told them how misplaced their trust was. But the brand burned into his flesh kept him silent on pain of death.

A cold breeze rolled over Ariz, penetrating the thin fabric of his school jacket. He shuddered and then winced as the motion cracked half-scabbed gashes running the length of his back. He stilled, waiting for the worst of the pain to fade. Hierro had known just where to bring down his whip to ensure that Ariz would feel his displeasure with every motion.

Ariz frowned. He didn’t want to think about Hierro tonight.

Now he saw only happy faces and music filled the air.

Ariz gazed at the dancers as if they were flames radiating warmth enough to heat his chilled hands. Then he noticed Javier Tornasal, standing apart from the dancers and looking nearly as handsome and arrogant as Hierro. Older nobles briefly engaged Javier in conversation, but his aloof postures and mocking expressions appeared to drive them off after only a few exchanges words. Beside him stood his underclassman, Kiram Kir-Zaki. He looked striking dressed in black and silver, but he also seemed restless, stuck at his supercilious upperclassman’s side. Likely he would rather have spent the evening with his own family, instead of putting up with all these pampered Cadeleonian nobles. Ariz felt a pang of sympathy for the young man and hoped that he didn’t suffer too greatly while living under his upperclassman’s rule.

Kiram’s attention, like Ariz’s own, wandered to the dancers.

Then Ariz caught the glance that Javier stole when Kiram wasn’t looking at him. The affection that lit Javier’s face shocked Ariz. His conceit and reserve seemed to melt away leaving an adoring expression.

Then Kiram turned back and Javier feigned interest in the cuff of his own jacket. He murmured something and Kiram regarded his Hell-Branded upperclassman with amusement. They shared a private smile, clearly enjoying each other’s company. Recognizing their delight in one another, Ariz felt a pang of loss.

Not that he’d ever experienced such camaraderie, much less been stripped of it. But once, years past he yearned so intensely to find this kind of acceptance—friendship—that it had proved his complete undoing. Hierro had never gazed at him with so much warmth, nor would he ever. And he’d seen to it that Ariz wouldn’t find anyone else who might appreciate his company either.

Almost shyly, Javier extended his hand and just touched his underclassman’s elbow. He leaned close, whispering some confidence. They both flushed and smiled. Just watching them Ariz felt his heartbeat quicken with excitement, though fear filled him an instant later. They looked so happy together and that made them so vulnerable. If someone like Hierro ever suspected….

All at once Ariz couldn’t bear to gaze on the two of them. He didn’t want the power to betray them.

Instead he returned to admiring the sea of dancers. Swirling silk gowns and glittering dress coats flashed like bright flowers blanketing wind-swept hills. An air of grace enfolded men and women regardless of age or allure. He noted the infamous libertine, Atreau Vediya’s comely form. The middle-aged matron in his arms blushed as he gazed into her eyes. Ariz noted that Atreau’s footwork was better than competent but he seemed more interested in his partner than his own performance. Likely he’d offer pleasant support and conversation on the dance floor but he wouldn’t relish the intricacy of complex steps.

As the couples swirled past the glass doors, another man captured Ariz’s attention. His grace took Ariz by surprise. Normally, Fedeles Quemanor inspired stares but not the flattering sort that his cousins, Javier and Hierro commanded. His manic gestures, incomprehensible babbling, and wild grimaced grins masked both his beauty and his desperation. People thought him insane—his mind addled as a result of incestuous parentage or some family curse. Those who couldn’t avoid him generally tolerated him as if he were some deranged mastiff that his cousin, Javier, insisted on dragging along with him.

But Ariz knew the truth. He’d read several of the letters that Genimo sent to Hierro. Fedeles struggled in the grasp of a thrall, just as Ariz did—or perhaps even worse. At least Ariz could retreat to his own mind, when his body became a prison of bloody agony. But Fedeles…. The brutal spells that Genimo and Scholar Donamillio implemented offered no retreat or respite. They scoured his mind and soul entirely. Soon they would destroy the man and leave his body a desolate husk.

And yet in this moment, as he spun and bounded with the music, he danced as if he were whole and happy. He moved with such poise and grace that Ariz found himself unable to look away from him. He turned and twisted in perfect time to the music. All the while his gaze lifted far from the woman in his strong arms. Ariz could almost imagine that Fedeles looked out through the glass doors to when he stood, staring back.

Instinctively, Ariz turned as well, spinning with the music and matching Fedeles’ fast sure steps. He lifted his hands and danced on, mirroring Fedeles’s transit around the dance floor, with his own promenade around the fountain. The music swelled. Fedeles danced on and Ariz followed him like a shadow.

He forgot his bloodied back, and empty stomach. He forgot the darkness surrounding him, the cold wind and his broken heart. He gave himself to the music—to the dance.

It wasn’t until the queressa began that Fedeles departed the dance floor. Belatedly, Ariz realized that some argument had disturbed the party. Scandalized voices rose loudly enough for Ariz to hear speculation about the intrusion of some common girl and a possible affair with a nobleman. Fedeles joined his cousin and the clot of his schoolmates—Hellions, as they called themselves. Ariz watched the group of them, curious about how easy and anxious they appeared as they looked to each other and shared confidences. He wondered if he could slink just a little closer.

But then he noted a man and woman edge towards the doors, seeking the quiet privacy of the garden. Just across the lawn servants from the stables came running towards the townhouse with their lanterns held high.

Ariz fled.

But when he returned to his cold bed in the church hostel he felt changed somehow. As if his dance out in the garden had been its own kind of spell, rekindling a little of the happiness he’d thought that himself incapable of ever feeling again. A shadow of hope clung to him. And though no one else could see it, he felt as though he was truly smiling for the first time in years.

Somehow, someday he promised himself, he would see Fedeles Quemanor dance again.