Page 96 of Fate's Wicked Oath

As we ate, our elbows brushed from time to time, and I found that I didn’t mind. The food and the alcohol and the warmth of my new shawl settled some of my strife, allowing me to see the party through new eyes and appreciate it for what it was: a celebration of what the town held most dear.

There was a reason I kept myself apart from such niceties. For more than two decades, I’d built an armor of ill-tempered detachment, hardening myself against the risk of more heartache. But what was life without things to love? What was the point of armor if all it guarded was a hollow heart?

After we’d finished the candies he bought—blackberry jellies with mint—Faren brushed the sugar dust off his fingers, stood, and offered a hand.

“What now?” I asked, dubious.

“Now, we dance.”

“I don’t know how to dance.”

“Yes, you do,” he said, urging me up. “I’ve seen you fight. It’s basically the same.”

He nudged me in the direction of one of the bonfires, where musicians were singing another crude yet jolly tune—something about a fair maiden’sflowercoming into bloom—and dancers were hopping and twirling around the blaze.

“Sword fighting is not the same as dancing,” I protested, but Faren had taken hold of my wrist and was yanking me toward the commotion.

“It’s footwork,” he said. “Just follow my lead.”

“If this were sword fighting,youwould be followingmylead.”

“True, but in this one single instance,Iam better than you.”

He lifted his arms, creating a shape that I must’ve been required to mimic or mirror. I glanced around at the other couples, but they were moving too quickly for me to make sense of the starting pose.

“Take my hand,” Faren said, tipping his palm up in offering. In the light of the bonfire, his tan skin glowed gold, and for some foolish reason, I was tempted.

“Must we—”

“For once in your miserable life, Mariana, would you dare to enjoy something?” he admonished. “Take. My. Hand.”

With a growl, I did, squeezing his knuckles harder than was necessary.

“Come closer,” he ordered, “and rest your other hand on my shoulder.”

I did that, too, nails biting into his shirt.

He was immune to my physical protests. “Now, match my footwork.”

Without warning, he placed his palm in the center of my back, drew me flush with his body, and spun us into the fray.

The world became a blur of shadows, smoke, and firelight, with only Faren in focus. Couples whirled around us, sleeves and body heat whooshing past me, close but never colliding. I was clumsy, dizzy, but I was also smiling as we galloped around the flames. Itwaslike sparring, in a way: two bodies revolving around one another, responding to each other’s steps. The difference was that we moved in partnership, and I didn’t feeldefensive; there were no consequences when I misstepped, no winners or losers.

My hair streamed and my skirts billowed. Faren released me for a twirl, spinning me round with our joined hands, only to pull me into his arms again, our chests colliding. Laughter bubbled out of me as we picked up our pace, matching the thudding of the drums. My magic hummed with the warmth of my exertion and the thrill of Faren’s nearness, and prickled where the cold night air stung my cheeks.

We danced and danced. Two songs, three. Gradually, my graceless footwork became quicker and more confident, and I didn’t have to think so hard to intuit Faren’s movements. And Fates damn him, he was right: I was enjoying myself.

Eventually, the musicians’ notes cascaded into a slow, meandering ballad. Some folks walked off, while new couples joined the light of the bonfire, holding each other close. I was about to break free from Faren when he scooped me nearer, fitting me against his considerable frame. One hand remained on my back, respectfully high, while the fingers of his other twined with mine. He guided us into a predictable box step, and as he held me flush against him, my hand on his shoulder, I felt as if I were floating.

His breathing rocked me, calming as our dance slowed.

“You’re having fun,” he said, his voice vibrating through my sternum. “When do you think you’ll use that dagger you brought?”

“Depends on how much you tease me for having fun.”

“I have no interest in teasing you tonight,” he murmured—then inhaled quickly as he seemed to realize the innuendo. “Actually, that’s not exactly—”

I squeezed his hand—hard. “These musicians are getting to you.”