Prince of Traitors

Owin

I live in a small house separate from my parents and sisters, and Jasper sleeps on a bedroll on my floor. He's stayed close to me in the two days since we arrived, as the Navaarim are still wary of him. Our scouts haven't seen any sign of more soldiers in the woods, so my father deems the area safe. And so, the tribe readies for Winter's Day.

Hunters and gatherers are out in the forest in full force, bringing in as much game and plants as they can, and the farmers tend to their small plots, harvesting the last of the crops and raiding the granaries for the festival's feast. I don't really feel at home until I've helped my mother prepare for Winter's Day.

As the shaman of our tribe, she is closest to the goddesses. She hears their voices, and our prayers. She is the one that imbues both into the small strips of fabric that hang above our streets, so we feel the presence of the goddesses around us all the time.

The festival falls on a cool, clear night. The bonfire in front of the maypole is lit, the flames licking high into the night sky, lighting the village in a softly flickering orange glow. My heart is full as my tribe gathers. Some people play fiddles and lutes and beat lilting rhythms on drums as others dance and eat and laugh around the fire.

I'm in a dress that Mum had had made while I was gone. It's a deep green the color of emeralds, falling almost to the ground. There's a slit in the skirt that runs up to my thigh, and it's cinched around the waist, hugging my curves. The neckline curves low between my breasts and falls off my shoulders, billowing into loose, long sleeves that tighten at my wrists. It's comfortable and made of a soft fabric. I leave my freshly washed hair loose, and it falls to my waist in soft curls. I examine myself in front of the looking glass in my little house, feeling prettier than I've felt in a long time.

Jasper and Kieran are waiting for me outside, quietly talking amongst themselves. They both look handsome in their clean shirts and jackets. Kieran's hair is braided back at one side, the rest hanging loose down to his shoulders. Jasper has shaven his face and washed his hair, and tied it half up. It falls almost to his shoulders now, a deep burnished gold.

"There she is," Kieran says. "We've been waiting forever."

I stick my tongue out at him like a petulant child. "You didn't have to," I say with a laugh. "Did you at least get me something to drink?"

In response, Kieran holds out a carved horn cup of dark red wine with a wink. I take it from him take a long drink, holding up my skirt with my free hand and stepping toward the bonfire with the boys.

I glance at Jasper over my shoulder. "You're quiet," I say. "You okay?"

He laughs a little. "I'm just not really sure what to do with myself, I suppose," he says. "I haven't been to a party like this since my birthday."

"Oh, I doubt a Navaarim party is anything like you've seen before," I say. He grins. "Drink. Eat. You'll be fine."

Dancers twirl around the bonfire, some alone, others in pairs. I recognize their movements—the stories of the goddesses written in the sweeping motions of their dances. The attack two days ago has been forgotten, our morale recovered. I sip my wine delightedly as Kieran, Jasper, and I are each served a plate of venison, vegetables, and bread under the roof of the meetinghouse. The meal is savory and fills not only my stomach, but also my soul.

Nimia runs up as we sit by the bonfire, wearing a simple blue dress. "Jasper!" she says. "Come dance with me!"

He blinks in surprise. "I... don't know the steps." He glances at Kieran and me in turn, hoping one of us will save him from dancing.

"There are no steps," Nim says. She grabs his hand and pulls him to his feet. "Come on!"

Jasper laughs and goes with my sister. She grasps both his hands and they turn around the bonfire to the rhythm of the music. I smile at the scene, and Kieran stands from his seat beside me. He lowers his hand to me.

"We can't let them dance by themselves, can we?" he says. I smile up at him and take his hand. He leads me over to the bonfire and we join the twirling, quick dance, my skirt lifted in my hand as Kieran holds the other one.

Like Nimia told Jasper, there are no real steps to the dance. Kieran and I dance to the rhythm instead, to the rise and fall of the lilting melody, and his arms are instantly familiar around me. We swirl and sway around the bonfire, following no specific pattern. The music carries on for several minutes before the musicians finally end the song with a flourish, and the tune is replaced by cheers and whistles from the tribe.

I go back to my cup of wine as a new song picks up. Jasper joins me, having escaped from Nimia while she continues dancing with Kieran. We sit at a table at the edge of the meetinghouse, facing the bonfire and maypole. He's gotten his own cup of wine, and even snagged two jugs of the stuff.

I laugh as he fills my cup. "Impressive."

"I guess your tribe wanted to thank me for helping to clean up after the attack," he says. He taps his cup gently against mine and we both take a long drink. He fills our cups again.

"How are you doing here?" I ask.

"It's—different," he says. "Honestly I wasn't sure what kind of reception I'd get."

I shrug. "We're not as savage as you once thought, are we?" I ask.

The prince laughs. "Not at all. Though I still don't know much about you, even after these few days with your tribe. No one will tell me what this festival is about."

"Mmm," I begin. I down my wine and Jasper pours me some more, finishing off the first jug before we start on the second. It's beginning to warm my insides, making my head buzz pleasantly. "This is Winter's Day. We give thanks for a good harvest, and pray to the thirteen for a short winter."

"The thirteen?"

"Our goddesses," I answer. "They created the whole world. Each of the thirteen is responsible for specific things. The mountains, the water, the animals, everything. They had adventures all over the world, and fought monsters that tried to conquer the land that they created. We don't have a written history, so we tell their stories through our dances."

Jasper looks at the bonfire, where a woman twirls by herself. Her body tilts backward, her arms stretched overhead and her silver hair flying. "What story is that woman telling?" he asks.

I watch the woman's dance for a moment, tracing her movements with my eyes. "The story of the moon," I say. "She's one of the thirteen. She watched her sisters as they created the world below. She was always so proud of them, but she had a problem:

"She was always separate from them. She could watch them all she wanted, but she couldn't join them down below from where she kept guard over them. She wanted to be with her sisters, so she dug moonstone from her own flesh, sent it down to the earth below, and used it to create the first Navaarim tribes."

Jasper smiles as realization crosses his face. "The silver hair and eyes."

I nod and grin at him. "Exactly. We're borne of the moon, and we return to her when we die." I look up, and his eyes follow my gaze up to the stars flickering above.

He laughs a little. "Our dances are never so interesting," he says. "They have steps, but it's not like they tell the stories of our Saints or anything like that."

I drink some more of my wine. "Teach it to me."

He peers at me. "What?"

I stand, the buzz from the wine making me feel impulsive. "Teach me a dance. One of your Odrendi waltzes or something."

"Really?"

"Yes, of course," I say. "Unless you're scared, Your Highness."

Jasper laughs and stands, downing the rest of his wine. "With this much wine in my belly, I certainly am not," he says.

I take his cup of wine from him and set both of them on the table. With a wide grin on my face, I grasp his hand in mine and pull him away from the festival.