AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“The next one will be slow.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I asked them to play it earlier. Slow dancing is more drifting than dancing, so will you?” He held out his hand as the current song concluded. She placed hers in it and let him pull her onto the floor.
It was a very slow song and the number of dancers, which had steadily been declining as the evening wore on and people grew tired, was renewed as everyone took advantage of the opportunity to, as Numair had put it, drift rather than truly dance.
Part of that drifting was toward each other. The more they swayed in lazy circles, the closer she and Numair came, the space between them diminishing until there was almost none left. She found herself staring at the hollow of his throat, acutely aware of him beneath her hands, of his arm around her back.
The song was more than halfway through before either of them spoke.
“I know I should have been more transparent about where I was bringing you,” he said. “But I’m very glad you’re here.”
“So am I.” Though she couldn’t help but compare the differences between their pasts. In Veralna they were both trapped in similar versions of an unpleasant present, and he had brought her here to show her a different side of himself. One he thought was better.
She had no better side to offer him in return. She had only pain and blood and death, and if she ever told him the truth of it, if he ever saw the truth of it, would he remain at her side? Would he still be understanding then and tell her, We are who we are, or would he choke on the horror of it and run?
He swallowed, and the movement of his throat drew her out of those dark thoughts.
“Would you do something for me?” His hand tensed on her back as he asked, and she tilted her head up to find his face inscrutable. “When we leave here—when we’re back there—would you remember me like this?”
The rawness in the request made it feel like something cracked in her chest. And she hoped he recognized the truth in her words as she answered, “I thought you knew—I always see you like this.”
His breath hitched, his head dipping a fraction toward hers.
The song ended, but they didn’t move. Not until she realized no other song had started, and practically the entire room’s attention was shifting to the entranceway. Reluctantly, she and Numair looked away from each other, following everyone else’s gazes.
Nissa stood just inside the doorway. The fingers of one hand were threaded with Arlan’s, the other with another man’s. Nissa lifted her head in defiance at the silence that had taken over the room. “We’re getting married.”
Numair let out a soft laugh and muttered, “Finally.”
The silence remained a bit longer, and then someone shouted, “Congratulations!”
More followed after that, along with a few inquiries of, “How does that work?” A woman ran up and pulled Nissa into a hug, and then the group was surrounded, the loud clamor of the hall returning.
“So the marriage problem was that she was in love with both of them?” Clare asked.
Numair shook his head. “The marriage problem was that they were all in love with each other, but she was the only one willing to admit it.”
“At least we aren’t the center of attention anymore.”
“There is that. Should we escape while the opportunity is here?”
She nodded, and they retrieved their coats and slipped through the crowd. Clare snuck a glance at Nissa as they left. She was smiling. She looked happy. Clare was, inexplicably, happy for her. Back at the house, Numair paused in front of the door to their room, his palm flat against the wood.
“You’ll have to tell me how I did.”
For a moment, she didn’t know what he was talking about. Then he pushed the door open, and she remembered she’d vowed to sleep in a tent tonight, depending on what kind of flower he brought her, because she was staring at one of the most beautiful ones she’d ever seen.
It rose from a wide planter, its stems and leaves black. The one opened flower in the center was a brilliant, luminescent purple veined with white. Numair stretched out his hand and the six other buds on the plant blossomed, unfurling their petals.
She reached out, gently stroking a petal. “What’s it called?”
“Night’s solace.”
She smiled. “It even has the perfect name.”
“Does that mean I don’t have to ready the tent for you after all?”
