Tara’s words finally register through the haze of thought, and I glance across at her.
“I told you what Lir told me.” I say it a little anxiously. I placed a lot of trust in her and the others, last night. More than I have in anyone in a long time. I do not believe it was a mistake, but that makes me no less uncomfortable. “Thedraoicannot be trusted. Ruarc or otherwise.” Still not sure I believe what the others said about my eyes turning black, but even if they were right, I have no desire to learn how to use Will.
“It will be Lir, or someone he trusts. He and my father sent you here, knowing this would be the outcome.” No doubt in her voice. “They alone can help you. You must join them. Leave with them.”
“What?” I come to a stop. Shocked at the suggestion.
“You are not a warrior, Leathf hear. You are a skilled fighter. A loyal friend and reliable partner in battle. But not destined to one of theBródúil.” She says it kindly but firmly. No insult in tone or intent.
“You don’t think I’m good enough?” I’m dazed. I thought tonight we had made a connection, as a group.
“I think you are interested, not committed. When Pádraig showed you that you are not helpless despite your arm, you listened. But you did not hound him for more.” She gestures. “Do you know why we call you Leathf hear?”
I roll my eyes, and indicate my missing arm.
“No. It was never about that. I am smaller than most. Conor is slower, Seanna weaker. Fearghus is more prone to poor decisions and Miach is overconfident. Most are disadvantaged in some way, and yes—some more than others. But that does not make usless.” She leans over and gently taps my heart. “The half that is missing is here. You have never been fully present. Fully engaged. Fully committed. And I understand that, now. You have always fought. Here, you do not have to.”
I feel a flush make its way up my neck to my cheeks. Anger or shame, I’m not sure which. “I was never going to be good enough to compete with you, though.”
“This isn’t like your school. Your Academy. You don’t have to want to beat us, here, Leathf hear,” says Tara. “You have to want to protect us.Thatis what is required to succeed.” She sighs. “Do not take it personally. The name is meant to be a warning; a man is known by his failings until he is known by his actions. Just because you are not right for a place does not mean you were never meant to be there. But war is coming. And I need whoever is at my side to be someone who could be nowhere else.” She sees my expression and laughs. A surprising sound, but a genuine one. “Do not mistake me. There is no shame in this. No dishonour. Not all are meant for this life.”
I feel suddenly cut off. Adrift. Betrayed, though I know there’s no intent there. “I see.”
“I will tell Pádraig to speak to thedraoi. You will show him the spear. Tell him of what has happened. And you will depart with him.” She claps me on the back. Her expression nothing but genuine. “We will miss you, Leathf hear. Truly. And we will see each other again. There is no need for sadness at the parting.”
I nod numbly. We keep walking, slowing a little so that the others can catch up. They’re laughing and making jokes. I try to join in, but my mind keeps drifting.
Tara is right. I have been here in mind but not in spirit, an observer as much as a participant.
I have to make a choice.
XLVI
I LEAP AND SPIN AND STALK FORWARD WITH AS MUCH FEline grace as I can muster, raising my arms and gazing upward in intent supplication as my hips sway. The steady beat Ahmose is providing wavers, and I falter to a stop that feels even more ridiculous than the movements, breathing heavily. Ahmose is watching with a worrying mixture of dismay and restrained laughter.
I glare at him. Then Netiqret. “There has to be another way.”
“There is not.” The austere, dark-haired woman is at the desk in the corner, scratching something onto papyrus. “The celebrations are our only opportunity to gain access past the inner courtyard of the temple for the foreseeable future. I have an invitation that will get me past the Overseers, without them seeing my face. You do not.”
“Surely I can just control the ones I need to get past.”
“I already told you: there will be several assigned to each door. Given the limitations of how you can use your ability, it’s not feasible.” Not even bothering to glance up from her writing.
I fix my skewed clothing and glower to the air in front of me, but don’t argue. I finally had to explain that I need physical contact with any iunctus I want to instruct, and that I can control only a couple at a time. That’s at least had one benefit, though: once I admitted that the scarab medallions I was wearing improved my ability, Netiqret provided me with one of the two she owns, without hesitation. “But you’re certain that there will only be one checking the performers.”
“Overseers are stretched thin during the Return. There will only be one. And you have already proven beyond doubt that you cannot play a musical instrument.” She finally looks up, fixing her gaze on me. “Which leaves dance.”
“You can do it,” says Ahmose encouragingly, his generally dour demeanour for once absent as he moves me gently aside. He seemed genuinely delighted when he first heard the plan. The man, as it turns out, has a zeal for such performances. “You have to remember that dance is about letting go, as much as control. It is about freedom and joy and open expression within the steps. This one in particular is a celebration of life. Commit to your movements.Delightinyour movements. Do everything with zest!” He clicks his fingers and claps his hands and dances to the rhythm he’s creating, smooth and sinuous, leaping and pirouetting. Then he stops, bows and backs away, gesturing for me to try again.
Vek.
I danced as a child, back on Suus. I know I did. I can picture my parents swaying together. I can picture the sun setting and a crowd on the beach at some celebration or other, laughter and music and everyone moving in rhythm.
But the Catenan Republic had little use for dance, and so neither have I these past few years. Not to mention that these Duatian dances are wild. Passionate, almost animalistic. They follow forms but there are leaps rather than steps, whirls rather than bows. None of the stiff, precise formality I for some reason expected, when this was first raised a month ago.
Ahmose begins his staccato clapping rhythm, humming a few animated notes as he does so, and I start again. Step and step and spin and pause andleapand sway. Gritting my teeth into a smile as if I am enjoying the entire ridiculous process. Fifteen seconds of movement, Ahmose’s enthusiasm audibly dying in the background, before I stop again and face their assessment.
“Ka-sheut.” Ahmose rubs his face. Glances at Netiqret, who he seems to have bonded with over this experience. “He’s like a child’s puppet.”
