Oh sands, she means it.
Relief washed over Yassen as Ferma shook him.
“Mother’s Gold, you’re just as terrible taking a compliment as her.” She chuckled. “Lighten up, Knight. You’re a king’s man now.”
Yassen managed a smile, though his stomach twisted at the thought. He belonged to no man. He was here to win his freedom, nothing more, nothing less.
“Come, let’s see her dance.” Ferma moved aside and followed him into the studio. It was a large room, bigger than his quarters, with gleaming mirrors lining the walls. A large wooden lotus was carved into the ceiling, and incense burned in a corner of the room, beside a small shrine dedicated to the Phoenix. Ferma took off her shoes, and he followed suit.
“Now, sit here and be quiet,” Ferma whispered.
Together, they watched Elena. She wore a simple cotton kurta and loose pants, her dupatta tied around her waist, silver anklets around her ankles. As she twirled, her braid loosened. Stray curls framed her face, and he felt a sudden, rash urge to tuck them behind her ears.
Along one wall, musicians played the tabla, pakhawaj, harmonium, and sitar. On the other side, the guru, an old woman with bells tied around her ankles like Elena, sang the rhythm and guided Elena.
“Dha tin tin ta dha din din dha.”
Elena beat her feet in time with the rhythm, her anklets tinkling as her bare feet slapped against the wooden floor.Dha din din dha.Elena quickened her pace, her arms long and elegant, her poise smooth and precise. Each stamp of her foot echoed through the room. Each flick of her long braid moved sinuously like the tail ribbons of kites he had flown as a child. Her expression began to change. With just an arch of an eyebrow, a turn of her lip, she translated the guru’s song into movement, into dance. Playfulness blended into passion, passion into celebration. Yassen shivered as he watched. She moved with such grace, suchfreedom. He tracked her around the room, unable to tear himself away because he feared that if he did, if he so much asblinked, he would miss something essential. He was pulled, like the kites in the desert wind—without protest.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Ferma said softly.
“Yes,” Yassen said, transfixed. “She is.”
When the song stopped, Elena turned to face the guru, her skin flushed, her eyes exuberant. But in doing so, her gaze caught on Yassen. Her smile wavered.
He wished he could tell her how beautiful she looked. How, when she danced, she morphed into something more, something ethereal, timeless. But then he immediately chased the thought away. He could not afford to be thinking of her this way.
Elena bowed to her teacher and turned to go.
“Not so fast, Your Highness,” the old woman said. “You need to practice the Phoenix dance.”
“What’s that?” Yassen whispered to Ferma.
“It’s the dance to celebrate the Phoenix, performed by the heir and their partner,” Ferma said.
Elena wiped the sweat from her brow. “But Samson is out of the palace. We can rehearse when he’s here.”
The guru tutted. “He’s an accessory to the dance,youare the focus. You need to practice more than he needs to.” She suddenly turned to Yassen, mouth firm. “You, boy. Can you dance?”
“What?”
“Wait,” Elena said, stepping forward.
“You look strong enough. Come, hurry now. Before fire burns to ash.”
Yassen hesitated, glancing at Ferma. The Spear considered for a moment before giving him a slow nod. “Just follow the guru’s instructions. And leave your weapons here.”
He clearly had no choice. His throat felt dry as he slipped off his pulse gun and slingsword, Elena watching, biting her lip as if to hold back a retort. It was obvious she respected the guru, enough to follow her commands. When Yassen stood beside Elena, she did not meet his eyes, only looked to the woman.
“Now, begin,” the guru said.
She began to sing an old song, one of desert and fire, one Yassen had not heard in many suns and yet he knew the melody deep in his bones. Elena swooped her arms, imitating the wings of the Phoenix, and he followed suit. Twist and turn. Swing, hands outstretched, face toward the heavens as if basking in the heat of the sun.
Except, Yassen could not concentrate on the guru’s song. Nervous jitters ran down his spine as Elena brushed past him, her hair briefly trailing across his forearm. She moved just inches from his grasp, like a leaf flying in the breeze he could not catch. This close, he could smell her sweat mingled with jasmine.
When the guru sang of the two rulers uniting as one like twin flames of the same hearth, Elena finally turned to face him. Her hand was soft, slender. So light in his own. Her gaze met his, and this close, he could see the rich brown in her eyes, like honey and earth mixed. He wondered, distantly, what would happen to a man if he drowned in those eyes.
They spun into the next movement of the dance. Elena gave a small nod, and he grabbed her hips and launched her into the air as she raised her arms, her hair arcing like the crown feathers of a bird. Yassen wobbled, then held still. Pain splintered up his arm, but he ignored it. Only holding her steady mattered to him right now.
