Snowblind {complete}

Wet - Chosen

'How could you have given into such promptings?' Chowa hissed. 'Have I not civilised you at all?' Lanna remained silent. Chowa's rants could go on for over an hour.

'The sword maidens are as gossipy as Haven Islands fishwives,' Chowa sneered. 'Half of them report directly to the Ninth. They are her eyes and ears.'

Lanna winced; she had thought them all honest women, above the intrigue of the palace. Humiliation waited for her error in judgement.

It was Frez who provided a straightforward answer.

'If the Ninth wishes you to dance, then dance.' His generous lips quirked up. 'Dance with pride. It may be educational. This could be turned to your advantage. Very few here have so fixed a view of the world that they wouldn't take an interest in something new.' He tilted his shaggy blond head and sighed. 'Emperor forgive me for saying so, but Misra Ceseed-no-Rilar seems to be blinded by her need to maintain her position. This is not a wise act on her part.'

Lanna's heart hammered. She had no wish to dance for the Ninth and her spiteful comments.

'Also, if you add some of the chosen dance...' He left the statement hanging. Lanna's eyes widened and her cheeks coloured. The chosen dance was for a woman to perform to her selected man. Lanna had learnt the steps but never performed for anyone.

Women practised for weeks before their bonding night. It was whispered that the women who kept their chosen past the age of their children's dependency were particularly good at the dance. Lanna thought her mother must have mastered it, though the thought made her a little sick. No one wanted to think of their parents rutting.

'What about the thunder?' she asked, ignoring the suggestion. 'The storm dance needs thunder.'

Frez grinned at her weak excuse. He reached under a workbench and brought out a porcelain bowl used for mixing acid. Then, from the shelves at the back, he pulled down a length of soft calfskin used for polishing copperware, stretched the skin over the bowl and fixed it in place with gut. He tapped the surface and a pleasant tone vibrated from beneath his hands.

'I'll provide the thunder and you bring the lightning,' he said with a chuckle.

Lanna groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose while Chowa rolled her eyes and muttered something about maintaining professional distance from work colleagues. It sounded half-hearted to Lanna's ears.

So, Lanna attended Ceseed, with Frez behind her. She still felt nervous and intimidated by the idea of dancing for the Ninth. When they reached the large wooden doors of the First's chambers, Lanna again admired the intricate flower carving that represented the import of the woman within.

The doors opened and white stone greeted Lanna's eyes once more, contrasting sharply with the dark furniture. Ceseed may be a grasping fish-humper, but she had taste. The brilliance made Lanna's eyelids twitch. The sheer volume of bodies prevented her from seeing most of the room. Women filled the area, most kneeling on the floor while others perched on the edges of tables, leant against shelves or lounged on cushions.

Heart hammering, Lanna's head swam. Her feet felt rooted to the spot in terror.

She wouldn't dance for these women. She couldn't. Her every instinct prompted her to either flee or kick Ceseed in the shins, then flee. Her eyes flickered again, her emotions pushing the bounds of what her mind could take. Wouldn't it be wonderful if she suffered a convulsion before half the residents of the flower hall?

Lanna gave a small whimper.

'Steady,' Frez murmured in Southern. 'They want you to refuse; they want you to run. Don't let the she-ox have her way – your actions here reflect on us all.'