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“No. I know you do none of this lightly. If you and the elf have enough courage to seek peace, no one should mock you for it.” Her nimble fingers work another blossom into my hair, then another. She purses her lips, looking thoughtful. “I fear for you, though. I think you do not see your own folly.”
A frown tugs at my mouth. “What is my folly?”
“You appeal to our tribes’ ways to protect the elf, yet you challenge those same traditions whenever you see fit.” She ruffles the folds of my white skirt.
I bite my lip, forcing myself to consider her words more carefully than I want to. Her insight stings, but Lirana is my oldest friend and I know she never speaks flippantly.
“Every decision I make, I make for our people,” I say at last. “I’m not going against our ways. I’m calling on the tribes to remember why the breath of life was first given to us. We’re meant to be more than warriors.”
“Yes, but you are also setting yourself against the Seamother, and perhaps against all our people. And you forget that even if Keliveth somehow wins the challenge, he must convince his people to agree to a peace treaty as well. It is a lot to ask of two peoples who have been at odds for so long, and I fear it will not play out as you want. What if you cannot be both an Atathari and a Dalzana?”
“You sound like the sea,” I say. Frustration tinges my words, directed not at Lirana but at my own divided heart. “I can only give you the same answer I gave the waters today—I don’t know. I only know I cannot cast aside a chance to mend our world, no matter how it rouses my mother’s anger.”
“Then may the Creator favor whom He chooses. I only ask that you weigh the cost of your choices.” Lirana places one last flower in my hair and steps back, looking with grim satisfaction at her creation. I reach up and gently run my fingers over the flowers, feeling the way the stiff petals crest my head in the shape of a tiara. Though the blossoms are feather-light, the weight of what they symbolize sobers me all the more.
Lirana shakes her head as she watches me. “You could still choose to swim on an easier current. Arcorlan would be a strong mate for you, and he has your mother’s favor. He’s handsome. He’s a matchless warrior. The two of you would unite the tribes over more than half the globe. He’s everything the Seamother’s daughter should desire.”
A flush creeps over her face as she speaks. My frustration evaporates as I suddenly understand her a little more. “You be Arcorlan’s mate, if you like him so much.”
Her eyes go wide, then she gives a hiss as she turns away and starts walking toward the beach.
“I don’t mock you,” I say as I walk after her. “You’re a warrior of valor, worthy to catch the attention of a chieftain’s heir. It would be good for him to have a mate who possesses more gentleness than I do.”
“Arcorlan came here for you.”
“No. He came here to seek a stronger brotherhood between the Atathari and Fethani. I don’t think he desires me any more than I desire him.” I pause. “He’s very bad at dancing. Tonight, you should teach him.”
Lirana doesn’t reply, but a spark flickers in her eyes and a shy smile plays on her lips.
Firelight and sweet woodsmoke beckon to us as we near the edge of the tree. The tide has gone out, and the wet sand of the beach shines like a sheet of silver under the light of the full moon. All along the wide stretch of sand, smoke rises from the festival fires tended by the elders of each tribe. The chatter of voices carries to the star-filled sky, and the air smells of fresh-caught fish and early spring flowers.
A clamor breaks out beside one of the bonfires. I sprint the last few paces to the edge of the wood. Two figures are embroiled in a fight, silhouetted by flames as they deal vicious strokes with their staffs. My heart leaps to my throat as I recognize Keliveth and Arcorlan.
Arcorlan towers over Keliveth and fills each blow with deadly force, but Keliveth dodges quickly, relying on speed rather than strength. He aims his blows carefully, trying to sweep Arcorlan’s legs out from under him or dislodge the weapon from the stronger warrior’s hand. Good-natured shouts ring out from the crowd gathered around them, but it takes me a moment to realize Keliveth is smiling.
I let out a shaky breath. They’re only sparring. Still, I have to force myself not to rush over and intervene as Arcorlan sweeps his staff toward Keliveth’s head with enough force to shatter bone. Keliveth ducks the blow and lashes out with a quick strike of his own, hitting Arcorlan behind one knee and sending him staggering. Keliveth lunges forward to deal a finishing blow, but Arcorlan is ready, and before Keliveth can shift his course, Arcorlan’s staff strikes him across the chest. Keliveth hits the sand hard and groans as Arcorlan snatches the staff from his hand and holds it up with a yell of triumph.
The onlookers burst into cheers. Arcorlan grabs Keliveth’s arm and pulls him to his feet. Keliveth grins up at his opponent and gives him a friendly whack across the back of his shoulder. I’m too far away to catch their words, but they’re both laughing by the end, and all the gathered Atathari and Fethani warriors with them.
I stare in astonishment. Arcorlan has coldly ignored Keliveth for the past six days. How did Keliveth now manage to befriend his most powerful rival in a matter of hours?
Beside me, Lirana folds her arms, looking thoughtful. “If nothing else, your elf has courage.”
More than is good for him, at times.Still, admiration swells within me. I don’t voice the suspicion aloud, but I’m sure it is no accident Keliveth sought Arcorlan’s friendship. He might hate political games, but he still knows how to choose allies.
I raise my rune-lantern and step out of the shadows of the tree. The gathered onlookers glance up at us, and their expressions shift as they set eyes on me. Me and my white dress. Some hiss and whisper, others murmur in concerned and wondering tones. Arcorlan tilts his head and studies me with a quizzical expression. Nearby, Veltuk lets out a sharp laugh and his tribesmen jeer in echo, but I let their scorn roll off me.
However, the disdain of another drives a spike of fear through my heart. My mother stands just outside the ring of firelight, a looming figure barely visible. I can’t see her face, but livid astonishment radiates from her.
My steps falter for a moment as every gaze bores into me. Then I force myself to stand taller. I picture my crown of flowers glimmering in the moonlight, and I draw strength from the ancient tree at my back as I walk out onto the beach with my chin raised and my heart pounding.
Then Keliveth catches sight of me. Everything around me fades. He stares in awe. In his gaze I feel radiant and strong. Vaguely I’m aware of the others crowding around us, leaving just enough room for Keliveth to make his way forward to meet me.
He is radiant as well. He’s discarded the last of his elven robes, wearing only a loincloth like the rest of the men. Lines of midnight blue paint swirl across his bare chest and arms in wavelike patterns, and he wears lengths of cord braided with shark teeth and smooth gray shells around his neck and waist. His long dark purple hair is braided back on one side of his head in the complex woven pattern often worn by the Fethani men.
Standing on the beach, surrounded by the tribes, he looksright, as if he was always meant to be here among the maraseyas instead of in the stone halls and towers of the star folk.
“You look perfect,” he murmurs, his smile still dazed as he takes me in. He traces my jaw with gentle fingers.
