Book 1: Brutality

Dance

29

"Dance is the hidden language of the soul" ― Martha Graham

~Trigger Warning~

The New Year revel arrives. Valindra and I both don our clothes and I can't help comparing how different this is to the last revel I attended. Instead of an intricate gown that needs a maid to put on properly, I slip on my simple moonlight dress.

The live white flowers Valindra embroidered into the fabric, using my designs, breathe out their scent at my every move. I dress Elora in a similar outfit, admiring the sparkle of light on the designs I embroidered.

At the same time, Valindra puts on her gown of green leaves and gold sunlight and dresses Lindor in a little red vest over black trousers.

Then, instead of being handed into a coach, we place our babies in their carriers, swing them onto our backs, and climb up the ladder to the tree-way.

I bring my knife and salt with me, hidden in the folds of my dress. Just in case.

The Red Branch village is alight: fireflies gleam in woven cages and pixies dash to and fro, leaving trails of multicoloured light behind them.

Everywhere, goblins are dressed in their best: feathers and flowers abound, with embroideries of light and fabrics of leaves. Music rings out in intermittent bursts.

The Red Branch being the major power in this valley, lots of other faeries are attending too, with even the water hags hulking, weed-covered, in the village square. They bar mossy teeth at me; I lift my head and pass by.

It costs me to pretend I'm all right.

Inside, I'm shaking. There's a pain in my abdomen, like Barathalion is tearing into me again. His hands on me. I close my eyes against another hideous flashback. Focus. I open my eyes and force a smile to my lips. Barathalion is far away. No one here is going to hurt me.

Valindra and I bow low to Edhelel, who is enthroned on a chair of branches, swathed in cloth of autumn leaves. "Good evening, ladies," she greets us, smoke from her pipe wreathing around her head. "Joyous New Year."

"Joyous New Year," Valindra replies, and I sign it too. "May you and your tribe continue in power and prosperity," Valindra says, and I agree.

"And you two as well." Edhelel takes up a cup of mead in a toast. "May you remain happy and powerful together."

Valindra hesitates a moment. "May it be so," she says at last. "But should we pay tribute to the trees now, Edhelel?"

"Actually, we were waiting for Albia before we got started." Edhelel turns to me. "Albia, can you wait by the Knot? We all have to renew our contract with the trees tonight by shedding some blood. You can heal everyone as they do so."

I nod and curtsy, secretly grateful to be given a task that will keep me occupied and give me an excuse not to party.

I stand by the Knot, that center of tree goblin power, and heal each goblin and goblin ally as they all nick themselves and let the blood dribble onto the tangle of branches. I'm very busy at first, as everyone wants to get this part over with so they can go party.

I heal them as fast as they go by: goblin men, women and children, and their assorted allies. Even Valindra, though she grimaces in distaste—she hates it when she has to avail herself of my power—and Lindor, though he shrieks. But he soon cheers up as the music starts and the dancing begins.

Oh, no. Music. Of course, the goblins play music all the time, but not like this. This is festival music, bright, beautiful, irresistible and utterly horrible.

Memories creep on me like a disgusting tide: stumbling off drunk with Barathalion. His awful whisper. Raked across the ground. The ripping violation. I close my eyes.

No. No!

"Albia?"

I open my eyes to see Gael. Alone of all the goblins, he doesn't seem to have dressed up: his bark clothing is a little neater than usual and there's a line of gold embroidery on his shirt, but that's it. His red eyes are grave. "Are you all right, Albia?"

I nod, take a deep breath, and gesture at the Knot. As he cuts himself and gives his blood to nourish the trees, Elora begins to complain. I swing her around in her carrier, jigging her in my arms.

I heal Gael's cut arm in a quick, businesslike flash of light. I hesitate, looking at the Knot, now stained black with blood. Taking out my steel knife, I carefully nick myself, letting my own blood splatter onto the Knot.

Then, with great reluctance, I do the same to Elora, with a copper knife. Just because she's a newborn doesn't mean she gets out of it, but it still hurts to hear her shocked, pitiful wail.

I heal her quickly and comfort her, holding my cut arm against my side. Do you have any bandages? I manage to sign.

"Still can't heal yourself?" But he says it kindly. He takes out a leaf from his pocket. "Here. It's a heart-tree leaf. It'll stop it getting infected."

I nod and take it from him, applying it to the cut. It adheres and seems to reduce the pain.

Gael watches. "Well!" he says at last. "You've been here a whole year now, Albia. How are you liking it?"

I like it fine, I say truthfully. Here. I hand him a sweet-jasmine flower from my hair. In payment for the leaf.

He holds it in his claws, delicately. "Sweet-jasmine," he muses. "Whose scent induces mild euphoria. Yes. It is repayment." He tucks it in his buttonhole, where it blooms like a pale star. "Would you like to dance, Albia?" He gestures at the square, where the musicians are warming up for another number. "Valindra can look after Elora."

I freeze, looking at his offered hand. I should accept. It would be so rude not to. But all I can see is Barathalion. Barathalion, who offered his hand so. Barathalion, who danced with me a year ago. Barathalion, who led me off into the dark—

Gael sighs, dropping his hand. "All right. I will take no offense." He starts to move away.

Startling even myself, I dart forward, still clutching Elora, and tap his shoulder. He turns to me inquiringly.

One dance, I say and, before I can change my mind, hurry to drop Elora off with Thistleweft, who's sitting this dance out.

I rejoin Gael in the square, and we stand ready, holding each other's hands at arm's length, and then the music begins.

~Fun Fact~

'Dreamt' is the only English word that ends in the letters 'mt'.

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