Chapter 13
The dance floor is, as Cara said, completely empty. Elves mill about the edges, conversing, not even swaying to the music.
I lean into Daerios and whisper, “Do elves dance?”
“Sometimes. But only at formal celebrations, and it looks nothing like the bumping and grinding that humans do.”
“I do not bump and grind,” I scoff.
“That’s not what the Fire Elves at the Rui tell me.”
My neck reddens. I know exactly which night he’s referring to: last year, after the Freshman Formal dance, the Rui opened their doors to the whole campus, humans included.
I may have taken a few pulls from the flask of a human boy in my history class.
And I may have ended up dancing on a medieval-sized wooden table in the club’s dining room. With said boy.
I just didn’t know Daerios had heard about it.
Out in the middle of the floor, the prince and I turn to face each other. Music turns and lilts in the background, a guitar and wooden flute. We’re alone other than Cara and Berendir, who are flailing about, performing what could be a dance but looks more like a pair of drowning kangaroos.
Daerios extends a hand. “Well?”
“I don’t know any Elvish dances.”
“What do you know?”
I smirk. “How to bump and grind.”
“I think that might be a little jarring for this crowd. What about…” He steps closer, this time lifting both hands. “A waltz?”
“You waltz?”
“I do indeed.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“A waltz is far easier to teach than an Elvish partner dance.”
I meet his gaze, considering. “Fine.” I raise my hands, settling them into his. Though his skin is still cool to the touch, the same warmth spreads along my palms, trickling up my elbows. I stifle a small sigh. “Teach me.”
“With pleasure.”
Waltzing turns out to be far more fun than I imagined. Daerios leads me around the space, and I keep my eyes on the floor, mimicking his steps. It doesn’t take long to pick up the rhythm. After a few minutes, the band changes songs, but Daerios sweeps us right into the next.
By now, I understand the dance enough to look up from my feet.
Unfortunately, I forget that this will lead my eyes straight to my partner’s, which, though far above mine, are almost as close as they were back in that upstairs room.
Though I catch it for only a moment, his gaze is intent, as if he’s been studying my face as I danced.
His focus sends shivers through my whole body.
But the expression melts quickly away, leaving his usual mask of detached amusement.
“Getting the hang of it?” he asks.
“Actually,” I say. “I think I am.”
With that, he picks up speed, weaving through couples, whisking us around the floor.
I startle; I hadn’t even realized other couples had joined us.
As Daerios speeds up, I struggle to keep up with him, at times fumbling, but he always carries me through.
I glance back down at the floor, mesmerized by the pattern of our feet.
“You dance well,” Daerios says.
I look back up and glare. “You lie.”
“I don’t. In fact.” At the crescendo in the music, Daerios moves his hands down to my waist, scooping me up and spinning me in a tight circle. “I think we make quite the duo.”
I laugh, the sound brassy and loud, echoing over the band’s music. I can’t help it. Up in the air, above Daerios, above everyone, it doesn’t seem to matter what noises I make. I can just let go.
When he sets me back on the ground, we glide right back into the steps. By now, I’m breathless and panting, but I can’t wipe the grin off my face.
Surprise twinkles at the edges of Daerios’s eyes. “Is that a smile?”
“Of course not,” I say, grinning madly.
He leans down, shoulder folding into my chin, lips barely grazing my ear as he switches into Lukkarin and whispers, “Careful, Kallister. People might start to think you actually like me.”
I inhale.
His scent is a shock. As an elf, I would expect it to be bright and fresh, all flower blossoms and morning dew.
Instead, he smells… old. Not in a dusty, nursing-home way; his scent is rich, complex, musky, like weathered oak or aged red wine.
Like the gathering of knowledge and the passage of years.
“How old are you?” I breathe.
He leans back. “What makes you ask that?”
“Just wondering.”
He bites his lower lip, and despite myself, I find my eyes drawn to the movement. I dart my eyes back up almost as soon as they lower, but it’s too late. He grins with knowing.
“Well?” I ask.
He hesitates, then says, “As of next month, I am one hundred and sixty-three years old.”
My stomach bottoms out. “You’re what? B-but…”
“But I look nineteen? Trust me, I know. Elves have very long lifespans.”
“How long?”
“Tough to say. Most elves who die do so in battle.”
I’m entranced, now. “So, you’re… you’re immortal?”
He shrugs. “We can’t be certain.”
“Well, who’s the oldest elf you know?”
“That would be my father.”
“How old is he?”
Another pause, this one longer. Finally: “One thousand and forty-four.”
“One—” I sputter, briefly losing my footing. Daerios catches me, effortlessly guiding me back into the dance. “Is that a joke?”
“Not even close.”
“But how can one stand to live so long? Wouldn’t you get sick of it?”
A shadow passes through Daerios’s eyes. “Father certainly hasn’t.” Then his features soften, and he adds, “You find things to live for.”
“Like what?”
“Family, for one. Or love. Or vengeance.”
“And you?” I ask. “What do you live for?”
He watches me for a long moment. Too long. Then his eyes leave mine, tracing the crowd around us. I hadn’t noticed, but the other couples all loop about in strange circular dances I can only assume are Elvish.
“I live for…” Daerios starts, then pauses. He seems to weigh his words. I wonder if he’s deciding whether or not to tell the truth. “I live for diversion.”
I crinkle my nose. “Diversion?”
“Yes.”
“Say more.”
His eyes return to mine. “There are quite a lot of minutes to fill in one hundred and sixty-three years. Berendir and I—we decided early on that the best way to stay sane is to have as much fun as possible.”
“Ah.” Now I understand. “You mean to cause as much trouble as possible?”
“Your words, not mine.”
“But would you disagree with them?”
“In some ways, I would.”
I snort. “That’s the biggest lie you’ve told me tonight.”
Daerios pulls us to a halt in the middle of the dance floor.
A couple nearly spins into us, but at the last moment, they change directions—elven reflexes.
Daerios doesn’t release my hand or shoulder.
Instead, his grip tightens, eyes digging into mine with the same intensity I saw when I caught him watching me dance. “I have never lied to you, Kallister.”
“That’s a lie too.”
Daerios shakes his head. “I might choose my words carefully, but don’t we all? Does not everyone have secrets to protect?”
More than you know.
He releases my shoulder, using a finger to trace the rim of my collarbone. I don’t look down. I’m scared to see his skin in contact with mine. Scared of what it will do to me. “I will never lie to you,” he whispers.
I swallow. “I’ll hold you to that.”
We stand like that for the rest of the song, eyes locked, Daerios’s finger lingering at the end of my collarbone.
My chest heaves up and down. As the intensity in his gaze deepens, as something unfamiliar flares at its edge, heat blossoms at the base of my pelvis.
It’s heavy, growing, like the spreading of vast wings. I’ve never felt anything like it.
I step backward. I need to get away from Daerios. Far, far away. “I…” I flounder, searching for an excuse. Any excuse. Finally, I settle on, “I need to find Cara.”
And then, before Daerios can protest, I spin on my heel, skirt ruffling, and disappear into the crowd.