Hatam-Ile, 17th of Seventhmoon 3045
Eighthday dawned cloudless and scorching hot. Ren’i slept all the way until noon and no one came to rouse him, which was exceptional. He’d given his consuls orders that the summer festival day was to be a holiday for everyone, and he was happy with his decision once he exited his tent. The sun seemed to be beating down on them more heavily than in weeks, and the nape of his neck was already damp with sweat when he walked past the tents of his Guards towards the camp kitchen.
The silence of the camp was broken only by the chirring of grasshoppers and the snores emanating from the tents. Most soldiers had accepted the akheri advice with more eagerness than Hamr, for the camp was unusually deserted, and apart from those few who were on guard duty there was hardly anyone outdoors. The flap of Yurau’s tent was open, its owner dozing on the bedroll with an open book on her face. Luwai was stretching on the floor of her tent. Sava, the most experienced of the Guards, sat in front of their tent oiling their equipment. Like Hamr, they were Meril-Anian, and the heat did not bother them. Ren’i nodded to them as he passed.
The kitchen located near the consuls’ tents was tall and airy. The air inside was cooler than outdoors, and Ren’i sighed in relief as he stepped in. All tables but one stood empty. Captain Hamr was sitting close to a water barrel, a map spread out in front of him.
”Some hour to get up, this,” Hamr huffed.
”Good morning to you too, captain.”
Ren’i emptied his glass thrice before the feeling of thirst eased. He knew he must be hungry, but could barely force himself to get anything down. He watched from the sidelines as the captain doodled routes on the map with a scowl on his face.
”Must you work even while eating?”
”The enemy takes no days off, your highness. Someone around here has to stay vigilant at all times.” Ren’i heard the reprimand in the captain’s voice and elected to ignore it. ”Speaking of. You’re not seriously planning to attend that claptrap festival tonight?”
Ren’i did not ask where the captain had learned about the festival. The invitation the Kishans had received had made for a popular discussion topic around the camp, though Ren’i and his Guards had kept their mouths firmly shut.
”Yes, captain, I am, and it’s not claptrap. Surely you remember that even Hol Saro celebrates the full moon of Merenos today.”
The captain grunted. ”You’re going there at your own risk. I have a meeting with the consuls.”
”As you wish. I’ve given permission for the soldiers to participate if they wish, but I doubt there are that many who will.”
”I don’t understand this obsession of yours for fraternising with the akheris. You could put them in their place with two words and the army ensures your will be obeyed.”
”No, captain,” he said firmly. ”Forget about it at once. They have not offered us any insult, and I want them to be treated with respect.”
”This diplomacy nonsense is messing with your head.”
Ren’i flashed him a lopsided smile. ”Intricacies of modern politics, my good captain. I am my father’s son, after all.”
He finished his breakfast in silence and decided to take a nap after getting back to his tent. What little sleep he had managed to catch had been fitful, and Ren’i felt the first throbs of an emerging headache on his temples. He’d kept waking up constantly, drenched in sweat and with the taste of iron in his mouth, and the same dream had repeated over and over when he’d succeeded in going back to sleep.
Ren’i rose, left his used dishes in the washing tub and filled his waterskin. He was about to sneak off and wish the captain good-day when Hamr glanced at him from the corner of his eye and said, ”and do remember to be careful, your highness. Don’t let amusements dim your common sense.”
Ren’i sighed again. ”Don’t you ever do anything just for fun?”
”I already am,” Hamr said and pointed at his map, perfectly sincere.
The sunset-painted skyline was still bathing in hues of red and purple when the first evening stars appeared and Kauarin rose above the horizon. Ren’i tied his hair to a bun at the nape of his neck with blue ribbons, just like Ruan tended to do with his hair during Hol Saro’s summer festivals. He had a feeling that the outcome wasn’t very convincing without a mirror or Ruan’s sleight of hand. The thought made him laugh, then sober up.
Merenos’s return to the night sky landed usually around midsummer and filled Kishan cities with celebrating people. It was customary for Kishan weddings to be celebrated past sundown, and no night was more popular than the full moon of Merenos. It was believed to be a lucky time for all important events in its rarity.
Tonight, the streets of his hometown would be packed from the old town to the gates of Mire, and Hol Saro would not sleep until dawn’s first light touched the horizon. He remembered Chuja and Nahere’s celebration two summers ago: the wine, the turquoise glow of Merenos, the fireworks, the dance that went on all the way until the small hours of the morning, and the moment they realised the happy couple had snuck off to be alone somewhere between speeches and dance performances. Ren’i had waited for dawn on a balcony in the harem with Alara and Maral, watching the sky turn from black to forget-me-not blue, forcing the last stars back into hiding. He could no longer recall where he’d slept and with whom, or if he’d woken up alone in his own bed, but he did recall the night, the night and all the loved ones that he’d shared it with.
He pulled on a one-sleeved tunic in a shade of blueish green over his undershirt, attached the first-knife in its ornamental scabbard to his thigh, and pushed the memory off his mind before it turned into homesickness.
Nearly all tents of his Guards stood empty, their lanterns doused; further away only Ferei, Faeter and Luwai were playing cards by the entrance of Luwai’s tent. Ren’i followed a familiar route out of the camp and across the plain, and noticed the swaying lights of multicoloured lanterns even at a distance. The decorations hanging from the trees and bushes could have been vines had there not been metal ornaments that chimed in the breeze hanging from them. They sounded like wind chimes, Ren’i thought.
The ever-growing sound of music guided him towards Hatam-Ile, the hollow echo of drums reverberating from every stone and fence post. The same music echoed far from the east, and he knew that the celebrations reached every community in the region tonight.
Merenos rose from the western skies, Quan in close pursuit. He saw the glows of both moons overlapping with one another over the desert as he approached the river, now that trees were not hiding them from view. Merenos hovered so close that he could make out its craters with the naked eye. Even with its scars the moon was as beautiful as a turquoise marble. Its soft light had inspired artists and poets through millenia, not dimmed even by the moon sharing its name with the apostate god, the betrayer among his brethren.
Laughter came from the river. Lanterns had been brought on the piers, their light making the water’s surface shine, and the swimming spot was packed to the brim with families and their children. The city gates had been brightly illuminated. Candles and torches were everywhere, and an enormous sea of flowers had bloomed around the statues, though the summer-scorched nature was dry and barren in many places.
Ren’i traversed packed streets, letting the music guide his feet. The thrumming of drums was drowned out by the sounds of string instruments and accordions, and a joyful cacophony of different melodies drifted out through open windows as the citizens celebrated and played music in their homes. Lanterns painted the streets in a rainbow of colours, and the air was sweet with the scents of food and perfumes.
A large bonfire had been erected in the centre of the square, burning with tall flames that sent sparks flying in the air. Some of the seats were occupied by musicians. Ren’i saw the harpists in the front row adjusting their positions when there was a short pause in the music, and a moment later they initiated a new, even faster beat that sent their bows whizzing back and forth. The instrument was unusual – it hung from the harpist’s shoulder with a leather strap, and the bow danced lightly across four strings, but the sound resembled no other string instrument Ren’i had ever heard before. It blended gleefully together with the accordion’s sounds and gave the music a beat that beckoned to a dance.
Many were doing just that, others sitting and eating in small groups close to the numerous food stalls scattered around the square. Flowers and colourful lanterns adorned low tables, stools and even merchants’ extra supply boxes. To Ren’i’s surprise not all faces in the crowd were akheri: some soldiers had indeed accepted the invitation and shown up in their civilian clothes. He was quite sure he spotted Yurau and Linnee immersed in conversation with Blueleaf and two other akheris.
He let his eyes wander across the square. He hadn’t even expected to see Hawk at the party, but he still felt a vague stab of disappointment upon not finding his face among the celebrating locals. Some tiny part of him had hoped that alcohol might convince Hawk to relax enough for them to shake hands and forget their disagreements, even if just for the night.
”Ren’i! Good to see that you could make it,” a familiar voice greeted him.
Ared stood near the bonfire, the chief’s three-coloured cloak hanging from one shoulder. He had changed into a simple blue-striped tunic, double-breasted in akheri fashion, and skin-tight trousers that hugged his slender form. He lifted his hand in greeting as Ren’i approached.
A pack of shrieking children came stamping between the legs of celebrating citizens and nearly collided with Ren’i, who halted as they blocked his way. The children ran giggling around him in circles, waving their toy streamers. The streamers reflected the golden light of the lanterns, and around them was a swarm of those same glowing insects that Ren’i had seen when bathing at the river. Some of them buzzed around his head, making the children laugh.
”They fancy you,” one of the kids tittered.
Ren’i tried to trap one of the bugs between his hands, with little success. The children lifted their streamers as high up as they could reach and waved them until they attracted the attention of the fireflies again and left Ren’i alone. The children took off, a cloud of flies buzzing at their heels.
Ared was grinning ear to ear when Ren’i finally reached him.
”You wouldn’t happen to want an akheri name?” he asked. ”Firefly would suit you well.”
”I think I’ll pass for the time being,” Ren’i said. He looked around, smiling. ”What a party. I don’t know how you’ve managed it at this time of the year, but you’ve turned the whole city into a meadow.”
”As it should be. In the ancient times the festival was meant to tempt the rains and the blooming season to start.” Ared watched with some amusement as the children did another lap around the bonfire. ”My sister told me that you helped with the preparations.”
”I think I was mostly just in the way. My cooking skills are questionable.”
Ared laughed. ”Don’t judge yourself before you’ve had a taste. Come, let’s get something to eat. I’ve been sitting in council meetings for days and I’m starving.”
They claimed an empty spot on the lowest row to themselves, between akheri youngsters and some taivashi soldiers, and watched others celebrating while they ate. The only utensil akheris used while eating was a spoon and Ren’i found himself growing accustomed to the thought of eating with his hands quickly, aided by the chief’s example. The flavours differed from dishes Ren’i was accustomed to, but every single one was more delicious than the last. Even vegetable-based dishes had a rich, meaty tang to them, and there were tens of different types of bread, dark, white, some soft as clouds and others flat, crispy little things that crunched between his teeth. He didn’t get to try more than a bite here and there before Ared was already offering him something new to try.
Though Merenos had risen high and the sky was starry bright, the bonfire spread its warm glow across the square and kept the participants warm. The musicians had initiated a slower melody that had attracted lots of dancing couples, and Ren’i watched Silverbrook and Nightsong drift past them, arms around each other, completely lost in each other’s eyes. He waved at them, but neither noticed.
”I wouldn’t bother if I were you,” Ared said between mouthfuls. ”I doubt they’ve eyes for anything but each other before sunrise.”
”For how long have they been married?”
”Fifteen years or so, if my memory doesn’t fail me. Though they did confess one another years ago before holding the ceremony.”
”Confess each other?”
”Well, yes. You know.” Ared fixed Ren’i an odd look when he just stared back, a blank expression on his face. ”You don’t know what it means?”
Ren’i shook his head.
”I thought there were akheris living in the north, too… Well, let’s see if I can explain.” Ared cleared his throat. For the first time ever he seemed at a loss for words. ”It is admittedly a little difficult to explain. Confession has become a rare event nowadays. My sister and Silverbrook are the only couple in the past twenty years in Hatam-Ile to have confessed.”
Ren’i frowned as he thought. ”What, so you don’t confess your feelings to one another around here or something?”
”No, that’s not what I meant. The word ’confession’ is confusing.” Ared spun the glass in his hands. ”Simply put, those who are confessed are soul mates. It’s said that soul mates were intended for each other long before birth – that fate brings them together no matter what. It’s a most ancient form of magic, older even than your gods or the soil of Melkem itself.”
Nightsong’s arms were tenderly wrapped around Silverbrook’s waist as they swayed slowly to the music. The rest of the world may not have existed at all for how they were gazing at each other.
”Not everyone has one, a soul mate. Most of us marry or select our partners without confession. Silverbrook and Nightsong, too, have also been wedded traditionally, though it’s not really considered necessary,” Ared went on. ”Confession is a bond stronger than wordly laws, transcending time and space. It’s in the law of the desert. When partners confess one another, well, that’s that.” He snapped his fingers. ”They are as one in the eyes of our people: nothing or no one may try to tear them apart.”
”Poetic.”
Ared chuckled and picked up another piece of smoked pheasant from his plate. ”I know, I know, it sounds like a fairytale. It’s become so rare that not even all akheris believe in it anymore.”
”But you do?”
”I believe what I see with my own eyes.” He gestured at his sister. ”And there’s no room for doubt in my head when I look at them.”
Ren’i admitted that they looked so thoroughly lovestruck that for a moment he wanted to believe, too. In Kishan culture the concept of soul mates mainly existed on the stage; the pull of destiny and doomed romances were popular themes even in taivashi entertainment. Lady Nahere’s best-known piece of work, a poetic epic spanning more than a thousand pages exploring the all-consuming romance between Tari and Khuus that had crossed worlds and entire ages, touched upon similar topics. The most renowned poems from the epic were so earthly in their descriptions of the love scenes, though, that just thinking about them made Ren’i feel embarrassed.
”Well, soul mates or not, but even I can see that they make each other happy,” Ren’i said.
”As it’s supposed to be. Their bond is a result of a mutual decision.” Ared took a sip from his glass. ”We have a saying that confession is denied thrice and chosen four times. Should two people – or three, or four – be soul mates, choosing the confession is still a choice they must each make for themselves. They have to want it whole-heartedly.”
The taivashi may not have had the same custom, but the way Nahere and Chuja looked at each other was very much how Silverbrook and Nightsong did, too, even Ren’i could see that. For crying out loud, he was certain he’d looked at Alara much the same way himself when he’d still been young and inexperienced, and had believed first love would last a lifetime. The thought brought a lump in his throat and he washed it down by draining his glass in one go. The bittersweet akheri wine burned in his mouth in ways that left a pleasant, floaty feeling in his head.
He was clearly not the only one. The soldiers sitting nearby, both in their white civilian outfits, were laughing among themselves and emptying their glasses when a pair of akheri ladies approached them.
”Excuse me,” one of the women said, smiling broadly. ”My friend and I were wondering if you’d like to come and dance.”
The soldiers glanced at one another. The paler blushed lightly upon meeting the woman’s smile and managed to say, ”I don’t know… I don’t think I know the steps.”
The women giggled.
”It’s not as hard as all that. I’m sure you’ll learn.” She reached out a hand.
The other soldier glanced at Ren’i, and Ren’i finally recognised who it was. Sava looked completely different without the breastplate and the helmet, and their mid-length hair had been artfully woven into thin braids conforming to their scalp, which accentuated the features of their dark, handsome face. The long, pointed taivashi ears were clearly visible.
Ren’i raised his glass at them and winked. ”I wouldn’t make them wait if I were you. You don’t get an offer like that every day.”
If Sava was surprised, they didn’t let it show. They emptied their own glass briskly and stood up. ”A Kishan musn’t disappoint their commander. Lead the way.”
Ren’i and Ared watched as the soldiers let the women pull themselves in the midst of dancing pairs. The dance differed greatly from formal Kishan dances, which involved large amounts of stiff military movements and hardly any direct touching. Both soldiers looked thoroughly flabbergasted as the ladies took them by the hand and instructed them to hold on to their partner’s waist.
Sava, usually so serious, seemed struck with child-like shyness with their new friend and didn’t seem to know what to do with themself. The akheri woman was eyeing them in ways that left nothing about her intentions unclear. Sava was good-looking in ways that had always attracted attention regardless of gender, though they usually shrugged it off when on duty, much like all the other Guards. People like them were called by the Daqanese word merjilei – merjil-like, not a woman, not a man –, and Sava was tall and robust by nature.
”Will you look at that,” Ren’i laughed as the song ended and the ladies pulled their partners into a new fast-paced dance resolutely. ”You learn all sorts of new and exciting things about your subordinates here.”
”You’ll come and dance, too.”
Silverbrook and Nightsong had approached them. Silverbrook sat down and stole Ren’i’s plate and all his leftovers without batting an eye, quite deaf to his protests, but Nightsong extended a hand at Ren’i and smirked.
”Thanks, but I don’t dance,” Ren’i said.
Her smirk widened. ”Oh, yes, you do. My wife wants a rest, so you’ll get to come and stand in for her, seeing as you’re currently idle.”
”I would have thought you’d rather ask your brother.”
”It’s unbecoming for the chief to dance,” Ared said, feigning seriousness. Ren’i was almost sure that he’d made up the rule just now, because the look he exchanged with his sister had both of them smiling.
”Is that all right with you, Silverbrook?” Ren’i looked at her inquiringly.
Silverbrook shrugged, cheeks already stuffed with food. She was holding her side with one hand while eating.
”Well, I guess I should set a good example for my soldiers,” Ren’i said and got to his feet. The wine had been stronger than he’d anticipated, for he felt the ground rocking underneath his feet, but the sensation wasn’t unpleasant. He gave Nightsong his most theatrical bow. ”It would be my greatest honour to share this dance with you, noble maiden. If you’ll allow me?”
Nightsong nudged him in the ribs, but her eyes were smiling. ”You jester.”
They managed to find an empty spot on the other side of the bonfire. Ren’i tried not to see Sava staring as Nightsong guided him by the hand and demonstrated how they were supposed to hold each other. Ren’i kept fumbling with his steps and was sure that he must have stepped on Nightsong’s toes more than once, but she didn’t mention it, sweeping him into a dance with determination. He was quick to realise why Silverbrook had needed a break; Nightsong twirled him around at such force that he was already out of breath after the first song.
The world spun around its axis as the music rose towards the skies and the faint light of the stars. Everywhere he looked were smiling, laughing faces. His gaze swept across the square as Nightsong swung underneath his raised arm, long, black hair flowing freely, and Ren’i found one face in the crowd that wasn’t smiling. He recognised the piercing stare even at a distance.
Nightsong crashed into him, and Ren’i realised he’d stopped in his tracks mid-movement.
”What is it?” Nightsong asked. She followed Ren’i’s gaze and rolled her eyes upon noticing what he was looking at. ”Oh, of course. Typical Hawk.”
Hawk met Ren’i’s gaze without batting an eye, and Ren’i knew that Hawk knew he’d been spotted. He was sitting alone at the farthest edge of the square, so far away from the bonfire that its glow barely illuminated his face, but Ren’i saw his brown eyes so clearly that they could have been face to face. As clearly as in the healer’s room days ago, in the golden evening sunlight. Ren’i felt his feet moving as though on their own.
”How long has he been here?” Ren’i managed to ask.
”All evening,” Nightsong said. ”I’m surprised that he even showed up. He never does.”
Ren’i had stopped listening. He fixed the hair attempting to escape from his bun and said, ”please excuse me. I’ll go greet him.”
Hawk lifted the tankard to his lips and drank, never taking his gaze off Ren’i for a moment. He had no sense of rhythm whatsoever for akheri dances, but there was something in the way he carried himself that seemed to draw Hawk’s eye. It was too late to make his escape when Hawk realised he’d been spotted. Ren’i was already zigzagging between other dancers towards him, a stupid grin playing on his lips. It was hard to believe that the same man who handled a sword with all the bravado of a professional could be so clumsy in something so mundane as dancing.
The contradiction was amusing in its own way, Hawk admitted that much to himself.
”Hi,” Ren’i said. He hated how breathless he sounded.
Hawk lifted his brows, but did not return the greeting.
Ren’i cleared his throat. ”I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
If Hawk were perfectly honest with himself, he’d not planned to participate at all. He had not celebrated after the passing of his parents ten years ago, but somehow he’d found himself braiding a green ribbon into his hair, just like his father had tended to do for festivals, and had let his feet follow the call of familiar music. The flames in the bonfire reached towards the heavens and reminded him of the flames in his dreams. Something – perhaps the music, perhaps the bonfire, perhaps the night itself – had drawn him in like a moth, just as surely as the fire in his dreams did, and he couldn’t turn away even if he’d wanted to.
”Did you want something?” Hawk asked bluntly.
Ren’i smiled, ignoring his tone. The music flowed through him; he felt the beat of the drums and the accordions in his blood like the beating of a second heart. It seemed to whisper its encouragement right in his ear.
”Why are you cooped up over here all by yourself? Isn’t this supposed to be a joyful occasion?” Ren’i spread his arms. ”You ought to be dancing just like everyone else.”
”I don’t dance.”
”That’s what I said, too, but your cousin decided otherwise.” His grin widened. ”Or don’t you know how? I think I’ve got it figured out now. I could teach you.”
Hawk had just taken a sip from his half-empty tankard and felt himself choking on the drink.
”Are you trying to suggest that…” He saw the answer in Ren’i’s eyes. Hells be damned, he was completely sincere. ”You’re not serious. Me? With you?”
”I’m not that bad.”
”Go to hell.”
”Oh, come on,” Ren’i said and laughed from the bottom of his heart, which made the corners of his eyes crinkle with joy. Something in his laugh took Hawk’s breath away, if only for a short moment. ”If Quan and Merenos can bury the hatchet for one night and celebrate together, shouldn’t we do the same?”
”You can stuff your hatchet you know where,” Hawk snarled.
He stood up so suddenly that Ren’i took a step back automatically. Hawk didn’t make it any further than that before noticing they had attracted an audience.
The same children that had surrounded Ren’i before stood in a line behind him, whispering to one another. It seemed they finally reached a decision of some kind, for they pushed a small, brown-haired akheri girl in the front as one.
”Um, excuse me,” she said in brisk tones and tugged at Ren’i’s trouser leg.
The perplexed look on Ren’i’s face vanished and turned into a warm smile when he noticed where the inquiry had come from. He crouched down in front of her, hands on his knees.
”Hello,” he greeted her. ”Can I help you?”
The girl chewed on her lower lip. She didn’t look older than six. ”Um, is it true, what the grown-ups are saying about you people? Are you really a demon?”
”That I am.” He tilted his head and pointed at a long, pointy ear. ”See?”
”And is that your real hair?”
”It is. Try it, if you don’t believe me.”
She stepped closer. She hesitated for a second, then grabbed a hold of Ren’i’s ginger hair with both hands when he bent lower. The other children gasped audibly. The girl seemed satisfied, for she was giggling when she let go.
”Way real,” she called out. Now a couple of other children dared to step closer, too.
”May I try, too?”
”And me!”
Ren’i laughed, and to Hawk’s amazement allowed the children to inspect his hair and ears patiently, without rushing them once. Hawk could tell from his expression that the kids weren’t always particularly gentle, for he twitched everytime one of them pulled too hard, but he said nothing and made no attempt to reprimand them.
”Wow,” one of the kids, a boy with his head full of curls, said in wonder.
”I told you he was the real deal,” the girl from before said pompously.
”Show us magic tricks,” the boy said. ”Mama says that demons can do tricks with fire, just like in fairytales!”
”Yeah, show us tricks!” the girl shrieked. The other children joined in, each pleading more eagerly than the one before, which attracted lots of glances from nearby adults.
”Listen, now. It’s rude to speak to guests like that,” Hawk intervened. ”He’s here to celebrate, not perform. Besides—”
”That’s all right, Hawk. There’s no harm in curiousity,” Ren’i interrupted him. He turned back to the children, who were still staring at him expectantly, and said gently, ”I don’t think your parents would appreciate it if I accidentally set something on fire and burned all the food. You have to handle fire with care.”
”My sis toppled a candle once and set our curtains on fire,” one of the children said somberly.
Ren’i nodded. ”Yeah. We probably don’t want to ruin the party by doing something like that.”
”It doesn’t have to be anything big,” one of the older children said, sounding hopeful.
”They sometimes exaggerate things in fairytales. It’s true that many demons knew how to work fire magics in the ancient times, but the skill is rare nowadays.”
The brown-haired girl looked disappointed. ”Don’t you know how?”
”It’s a bit more complicated than that.” Ren’i gestured at his naked left arm and the flame tattooed on his shoulder. ”We still carry the fire with us, just in a different form. Many of us do so on our skin, just like I do.”
”Does it burn?”
Ren’i laughed once and shook his head. ”No, it doesn’t burn. You may touch it, if you want to.”
Hawk started. He knew that Kishan tattoos were sacred, that they avoided physical contact with strangers – he’d witnessed with his own eyes how Ren’i jolted everytime Onniar, Ared or any other akheri so much as brushed against him. Ren’i had practically squirmed the whole time Nightsong had been trying to teach him to dance.
Ren’i let the children touch his tattoeed skin, inspecting curiously, small fingertips tracing the outlines and the shading of each image.
”Does it hurt?” the girl asked.
”No. It’s just an image.”
One of the kids waved their streamer, bouncing impatiently on their heels. ”Show us something small at least, please!”
”Something small, eh?” Ren’i screwed his face into an expression of utter concentration, brows furrowed, stroking his chin as though considering the matter with all his might. The children stared at him with bated breath. Ren’i snapped his fingers. ”You know what, I might have just thought of something cool.”
”What is it?” the children all intoned together.
”You’ll see in a bit. Step back, this is going to require some space.”
The children sprinted away as one flock. Ren’i got to his feet and began searching through nearby storage crates as though looking for something. He started when Hawk put a hand on his shoulder.
”What are you planning?” Hawk asked, lowering his voice on purpose so that the children wouldn’t hear.
”Just a little show. Don’t look so concerned, it’s nothing dangerous.” Ren’i winked at him. ”You have any torches around here?”
Hawk wrinkled his nose as he caught the bitter whiff of kheru wine in Ren’i’s breath. ”You’re drunk.”
”No, I’m not. I had three glasses of wine, that doesn’t count.” He grinned at the look on Hawk’s face. ”You may kick me again if I’m not a man of my word, I promise.”
The children’s excitement had attracted attention from other party-goers, and many of the adults had now realised that something was going on. Hawk saw his cousins eyeing them from the other side of the square. Ren’i pulled his tunic and undershirt over his head, tossed them on the nearest bench, and took off his boots. Strands of hair had come loose from his bun thanks to the children’s careless handling. They flowed down his bared back, and Hawk’s eyes lingered on the tattoo that covered the left side of his upper back entirely.
Ren’i touched his throat, just like he’d seen Hamr, Ellerram and many other taivashi do a countless times before, and gathered his ashay. He’d never succeeded in strengthening his voice with its power before, but something in the company, the music and the wine had the blood thrumming in his veins in encouraging manner. His father had once said that ashay demanded self-confidence from its bearer, and Ren’i couldn’t recall feeling so self-confident in ages. He released his ashay and felt the familiar tingling beneath his skin, speaking in clear words that his attempt had been successful.
He took a deep breath, grabbed a torch in both hands and cleared his throat.
”Dear revellers,” he spoke, voice strengthened by ashay. Even those dancers who hadn’t paid any attention to the children’s fussing stopped to look. ”As thanks for your generosity – and upon the request of the youngest party-goers – I would like to show you something special. I would ask you to step a little further back for security reasons.”
He re-entered the Circle of the Nine Moons, stopped in front of the bonfire, and lit the torches one by one. He glanced at Hawk once over his shoulder, grinned broadly at him once more, and assumed a familiar position that his feet would have recalled even in his sleep: one foot in front of the other, knees slightly bent.
”This,” he said, and lifted the other torch above his head, ”is the Kishan Spring Dance.”
An audible murmur rose from the crowd.
Ren’i let his eyes close for a second as he inhaled deeply, then began to move. He was no dancer, not anywhere near Alara’s skill level, but the movements of the Spring Dance had been instilled into his muscle memory over the course of those hundreds and hundreds of hours that he and the 25-year-olds of other highborn families had been forced to spend practising for their coming-of-age ceremony. Preparations started a whole year before the festival, and they had practiced daily. The performance had to be flawless; they represented their families in front of the empress and the entire capital, they danced in Quan’s footsteps, the privileged and chosen few. Their teachers had made sure that no errors were tolerated from anyone, least of all the heir to the throne, who was meant to dance in the front row, robed head to toe in the colours of fire.
Ren’i pushed the thought off his mind and let his body fill in the gaps in his memory. Left foot always started, the right foot followed. The hand that should have grasped the handle of a knife moved the torch to the beat of his steps. The flames followed the patterns his hands traced, spinning faster and faster, making it look like the fire was dancing through the air.
Hawk hadn’t even noticed that he was holding his breath, watching Ren’i dance. Gone was all that uncertainty and clumsiness that had hindered him with Nightsong. The prince did not move with grace but with force, his movements collected like a soldier’s, and the glow of fire quivered on his skin, bringing the images etched on it to life.
The orchestra had put all other instruments away and started to play the drums to the beat of the dance, pace slowing then quickening as Ren’i spun the burning torches faster. Hawk sat back down. He wasn’t the only one whose eyes were glued to Ren’i. Every single pair of eyes, akheri or taivashi, watched his every move without daring to blink.
The Spring Dance was a ritual that everyone on Daqan knew, but one that only very few ever got to witness with their own eyes. The Square of Three Swords was open only to the citizens of Hol Saro, and even among them only the luckiest few could enter during the Spring Festival. The Hytherners would never see it.
Ren’i smiled, lost in the rhythm, and fire danced wildly in his eyes as his feet moved to the beat of the drums. He tossed one of the torches high up in the air, twirled around, then caught it in the air before it could hit the ground, which had the children screaming in admiration. The loosened ribbon in his hair finally gave in, the bow coming undone and letting his hair loose. It flowed behind him with every move like a sea of flames, and for a short moment Hawk could see what he would become. He was emperor, fire bearer, flesh and blood of the demon gods – just as confident, dangerous and beautiful as a forest fire.
Ren’i finished his dance with a challenging strut, mimicking the way Alara had ended his own months ago, and bowed deeply, hands outstretched.
Some seconds passed in utter silence, as if the spectators had not immediately realised that the dance was over. The children started clapping, breaking the silence, and others followed. Ren’i straightened and tossed the burning torches in the bonfire, letting go of his ashay. Hawk saw his chest gleaming with sweat, rising and falling from the extertion, but there wasn’t a hint of exhaustion on his face.
Ared had stoop up and applauded visibly together with the others. Ren’i bowed again, smiling from ear to ear. Hawk did not join the applause; when he’d regained his composure Ren’i was already pulling on his shirt and the clapping had ceased.
Ren’i smiled again when he noticed Hawk’s eyes following him, and Hawk turned his attention back on the tankard. He’d had too much to drink. Ale always made him feel strange.
”That was a kind gesture, Ren’i son of Oerei,” a woman’s voice said.
Ren’i spun around, recognising the voice at once. The door to the elder’s house stood open and many of the elders stood on the square. The gray-haired akheri woman was standing close to the bonfire, looking Ren’i’s way expectantly. Ared left Nightsong and Silverbrook on the seats and hurried to her.
Ren’i hastened to pull the tunic over his undershirt. He was suddenly uncomfortably aware of the fact that he was drenched in sweat and not at all presentable. Ashay had left a light headache in its wake that drummed against the back of his skull and made focusing on anything difficult. He hoped his legs weren’t shaking visibly as he hurried towards Ared and the elder.
”Respected elder,” he said and gave her a light bow.
”I don’t think I’ve properly introduced you yet,” Ared said. ”Ren’i, this is Nemeken. She is the spokesperson of the council of elders and the most long-lived akheri in Hatam-Ile.”
”Just say that I’m fossil if you want, Ared,” Nemeken said dryly, but the corners of her mouth were twitching. She sobered up almost instantly. ”The council has reached an understanding. The decision was not easy, but we are all in agreement that the severity of the situation demands exceptional measures. I assume you share this view with us.”
Ren’i nodded. In his peripheral vision he saw Hawk approaching and stopping just within earshot.
”Though the decision will be met with resistance, we see no real alternatives to what you’ve proposed,” Nemeken went on. ”Will you give us your word that our people will be treated with the same respect as your own, if we are to unite our forces against the Liqari threat?”
”I do,” Ren’i said, his expression serious. He placed both hands on his chest and bowed deeply. ”I swear it upon my honour.”
Hawk gnashed his teeth, hands balled into fists, but did not interrupt. He’d known deep down that they had no alternatives – the elders would not drive them from their homes unless there was no other way. If the threatening drought and the wasteland drawing ever closer had not gotten them to desert the land they’d called home since ancient times, there was nothing else that could convince them to do so now, either.
Nemeken could not see the look on his face, but she seemed to sense Hawk’s thoughts, for she said, ”we do have our conditions, however, that you must agree to.”
”Tell me,” Ren’i said.
”You will keep the war away from our cities as you’ve promised. If the Liqaris manage to push through the desert, you will defend our people and our homes as if they were your own. If our homes are damaged, you will aid in the rebuilding.”
”Agreed. What else?”
”Your soldiers will assist us in feeding Hatam-Ile and our other cities, including taking part in the hunting. Those who join the army will have full upkeep, but we do not want any civilians to starve because of the war.”
Ren’i bowed again. ”It will be as you dictated. We’d best have a written copy of the agreement made as soon as possible, signed by myself and everyone who has had a hand in the decision-making.”
”Why?” Hawk demanded, voice stern. ”You’ve already given your promise. We’ll hold you to it, whether you want it or not.”
Ren’i gave him a bleak smile. ”If I die on the frontlines my consuls will take over. A written contract ensures that all our decisions will be honoured even after my passing.”
His words were followed by silence, broken only by the slow-paced song the orchestra initiated.
”So be it, then.” Nemeken crossed her arms. ”Gather your officers. We will meet in the elder’s house at sundown. This is only the first step. Do not think that the road ahead will be an easy one.”
She turned to leave. Ren’i exhaled slowly, trying to gather his thoughts. Her words had washed the impacts of alcohol and adrenaline off his head as effectively as a dip in a winter-cold lake.
”One more thing, Nemeken,” he said. The woman stopped. ”What changed your mind? You said one needs to earn his honour in the desert, but I haven’t earned anything so far, to my knowledge. I failed in the test you set for me.”
Nemeken did not smile, but the amusement in her voice was palpable when she said, ”all is not always the way it seems. He who accepts his defeat with grace is not entirely without honour.”