The Gold in the Dark

Chapter Twenty-Three

Tia stalked through the academy hallways back to the girls' dormitory. It was only when she was raising her hand to knock on Wynna and Alindy's door that she realized she wasn't looking for distraction, but just for precious silence. Her own room was out; Selitta's aura was poison. So she turned right around and made her way back to the studios, praying Roge had gone.

He had. She slunk into an empty studio. The sunlight beaming from the windows overhead bathed the room in a deepening golden light. Only when she had shut the door with a firm click did her quick, angry breaths grow ragged. Her vision swam with moisture; all she could see in the long stretch of mirrors before her was a hazy figure of a girl, spine bowed and hands hanging awkwardly. The girl looked exhausted, defeated.

And that, at least, was something she knew how to deal with, even if it did nothing to fix the sadness and anger and confusion twisting together in her head. So she stared straight into the mirror and willed her reflection to straighten its spine and cast off its weariness. The familiar instructions sprang into her head at once. Watch your elbows. Energy all the way through your fingertips. That's better. Stop slouching. Remember the back of your neck. Align your hips... Better. Now bend the knees, straight down, feel the floor support you... The wooden floor of the studio creaked as if in anticipation, eager for her poised form to spring off, to leap, to fly. She paused there, motionless, feeling the energy of the pose rush from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head. She was a band ready to snap. A muscle at the side of her mouth twitched in a last vestige of sadness, and she willed it to relax, to be calm. The floor creaked again.

She sprang.

The dance enveloped her. It comforted her like a warm blanket in a room at midnight and soothed her like an artist reaching for a favorite paintbrush. Unthinking, she moved in whatever way felt right, flickers of her beloved Queen's Fair dance surfacing here and there amongst choreography of her own spontaneous invention. Slow then fast, playful then serious, she let the dance come out as it pleased until she was light and hollow. A thought flickered through her head for a moment: I am a vessel—a cup, about to overflow. And then the furious pull of the dance spun her away from thought and feeling.

Eventually the dance slowed and finally halted. Her reflection in the mirror was wide-eyed, wild. She could hardly remember why she'd come into the studio in the first place. She just wanted to cling to that strange, glorious feeling, like she was a cup both bone-dry and at the same time so full that the surface rose just a hair over the brim. All it would take was one drop to spill over.

The odd feeling ebbed away as soon as the wound on her hand throbbed. Right—now she remembered why she was here. Her muscles were trembling and sweat was streaming down her spine, but she didn't care. She wanted to find that delirious dancing trance again, so she bent her knees and leaped into the air.

A split second later she landed and felt a terrible, wrenching pain in her right ankle. She staggered and collapsed to the ground, the studio floor groaning beneath her. Her ankle felt hot from within, and as she touched it with trembling fingers she felt a shiver of worry as a small tendril of fire licked further up the leg towards her calf. As purple shadows suffused the golden glow of the late afternoon light and the air in the studio grew chilly, Tia stayed there on the floor, rubbing her ankle and stretching it this way and that, willing the embers of pain inside to subside. After a while she judged it to feel a bit better, and she slowly walked back to the dormitory, gritting her teeth with every right step.

She was sure it was nothing that wouldn't be fixed with a good night's rest. Probably she wouldn't even remember it happening tomorrow.

~

But when Tia dragged herself away from dreams at the clang of the sixth hour bell, she shifted positions and felt an undeniable twinge. She gingerly swung her leg out of bed and tried to put weight on it. Pain bloomed from her ankle up her leg, and she let out a groan. She clapped her hand to her ankle; a throb of heat greeted her fingers. The skin was puffy and swollen.