Chapter 21 #3
Pyetar was staring down at her carefully; his face was flushed, and he wore only a shirt tucked into his trousers, the sleeves rolled back above his elbows.
She quickly sat up straighter.
“You look like you’re having fun,” Pyetar said sarcastically, lips tipping into a smirk.
Like she needed him to point that out.
“I just got here.”
“You look like you’re ready to leave already.”
Iryana bristled. “No, not at all.”
“You don’t seem like the celebratory type.” His eyes narrowed. “Hoping to run into my brother?”
“Hardly. I am here to let loose, like everyone else.” She shrugged, gesturing out to the crowd.
“I find that surprising.”
“Well, you hardly know me.”
“Still, I can’t imagine you dancing.”
She laughed dryly. “Me? You’re about as joyful as a stone tower.”
He shrugged. “But I have danced tonight. You have not. Although if your idea of letting loose is just getting drunk, then I suppose you must be having a fantastic evening.”
Why was he always such a pain? He was uniquely talented at making her mad.
She narrowed her eyes at him and took a deep swig from her flask. Then Iryana stood, stepping closer to him. Pyetar watched her with an entertained look in his eyes.
“Well, it’s a bit hard to join in when you’re blocking my way,” she pointed out, hands on her hips.
Pyetar quirked a brow and stepped aside. “Go ahead then. I won’t stop you.”
Iryana shot him a glare as she moved past, filling her flask from one of the large barrels. She watched as the musicians began to start playing, and her bravery dwindled.
With a curse, she drained half the wine, welcoming the fire that moved down her throat and strengthened her limbs. She clipped the flask to the leather belt around her waist and moved toward the dancers.
A quick glance behind her showed that Pyetar was still watching, probably expecting her to chicken out. Iryana swallowed, hoping to settle the nerves in her belly, because she would not let him win.
The fiddler started the base tune that always went with one of the more popular dances, and everyone seemed to recognize the dance instantly. The soldiers formed a circle, and Iryana found herself herded toward the middle of the line, and then they all clasped hands.
“Iryana!” Vaneshta cheered as she saw her from across the circle.
She offered an overly enthusiastic smile in return, hoping to hide her nerves.
Her arm jerked as they all began to move, and Iryana sucked in a deep breath. It had been years, but her feet somehow remembered the steps.
It was a song danced mostly on one’s toes, moving into the center of the form and then backing away as the circle turned.
The trills played by the flutist urged their steps bigger, the circle spinning faster.
The steady beat of the drum sent energy through Iryana’s veins, slowly loosening the grip on her throat.
She felt like she was floating, flying even, lost in the hopping, skipping, spinning, swinging.
Time slipped away as the song and dance changed again and again, and she even found herself laughing when they came to a dance she didn’t recognize.
A nearby soldier had to talk her through the steps as she was dragged around, stumbling to keep up.
It was fun. Why had she waited so long to join in the dancing? She couldn’t remember. And anytime her flask went dry, she found someone offering a replacement.
She was solidly drunk.
“Did you hear about all the dakii moving into the area?” the dancer ahead of her in line shouted over the music. “Heard we haven’t ever seen so many passing along the mountains. Hopefully, they don’t come further west.”
Iryana smiled and nodded.
She had seen large groups pass along Yuresh Valley before, but as long as they didn’t pick up a scent of the post, they typically kept moving. The brigade would have to lie low for a week, so maybe she would have more time to train.
And to recover from all the drinking—she hadn’t drunk so much in a long time.
In the back of her mind, she wondered if she was still playing the part or if she was actually having fun. That voice was easily silenced by another stream of honeywine down her throat. She felt too good to let herself worry. She was always worrying.
The song switched into a partnered dance, and the warehouse became a chaotic mess of arms and legs as dancers grabbed onto someone for the song. Iryana felt herself tucked against a warm chest, one large hand splayed across the arch in her back, another holding her hand.
When she looked up to greet her partner, she sucked in a small gasp as she found Pyetar looking down at her with a slight frown, as if also surprised they had ended up partnered. She hadn’t even realized he’d joined the dancing.
“Captain,” she greeted; a slight slur to her words.
They began to twirl around the room, and Iryana laughed at the oddity of it. She was dancing with Pyetar. Never in a million years would she have predicted such a thing.
Pyetar’s face somehow grew even grouchier.
She found it hilarious. “I told you I could have fun. You were wrong. Admit it!”
“It’s not that. I just… This is the first time I’ve seen you actually smile.”
That wiped the smile off her face instantly as her stomach flipped, and she hurried to change the subject. “Well, I don’t see you enjoying yourself very often either. You’re always brooding. Or threatening violence. Or doing violence.”
“I don’t brood,” he argued, his face a complete contradiction.
He looked around them, perhaps nervously, but Iryana was far too drunk to tell.
Iryana laughed more freely than she had in years. “You’re doing it right now.”
Pyetar just shook his head at her, but the corner of his mouth tipped up.
Iryana let herself relax as they spun the around the room again. His grip tightened ever so slightly, and Iryana felt her head getting lighter.
He wasn’t so bad like this, uncomfortable and flushed. Just a man doing what he had to, to survive.
“Pyetar,” she whispered, leaning her head against his shoulder so her mouth was close to his ear. “Pyetar.”
“What?” he sighed.
“You don’t really want to hurt people, do you?”
Surely he would answer her—Iryana was convinced he would even though he didn’t trust her. They each knew enough of the other’s secrets to get them killed, which was better than trust.
He stiffened. “No, but some people deserve it. My brother’s new men—I don’t mind keeping them in line.”
“Thought so.” She sighed. “You’re still an ass though. And I will never forgive you for being mean to my grandmother.”
“Your grandmother is a fearsome woman; I think she can take it.”
Iryana chuckled. “You’re telling me.”
“I still don’t understand why you—” he shook his head. “Nevermind.”
Even in her state, she knew she didn’t want to answer the question, whatever it was. So she let it go.
Closing her eyes, trusting Pyetar to lead her, Iryana focused on the music. She didn’t hear music very often, and she wanted to appreciate every moment, but then an argument began drowning it out, and Iryana couldn’t help but overhear.
“But Major, shouldn’t we be patrolling extra to keep the dakii away from the duchess’s posts?” Iryana heard one of the younger soldiers asking. It took a moment for her to connect that they were talking about the increased dakii in the area again.
Iryana opened her eyes and shook her head slightly, trying to pay attention. Her head was so foggy.
Darish shrugged, a scowl squishing his face more than usual. “The settlements don’t care about our safety out here. They can take care of themselves for once.”
She was making it harder for Pyetar to spin her around, trying to focus on the conversation.
“They won’t keep paying protection money if we don’t protect them,” the young soldier argued back, but his words sounded unsure.
“How will they know how much we’re helping? And if they don’t pay, we will make them regret it.”
Iryana realized her fingers were digging into Pyetar’s arm.
An older soldier grunted and added, “When everyone knew Istri was lost to the dakii, the earls and barons and duchesses and whoever else hid themselves away, but did they allow us to join? No!”
More and more partners abandoned the dance, listening to the chorus of voices calling their agreement.
“That was a decade ago, Byorsh,” another soldier cut in, patting his shoulder as if to calm him down.
Byorsh pulled away. “So? We became soldiers to protect the people of Istri, and when we were being ripped apart, held in front of the fleeing cities like a shield of meat, they refused to let us in.” He spat on the ground and swayed slightly.
“Deal with the dakii, they said, while the civilians and nobility hid.”
Darish nodded at this. “We have to worry about ourselves now. Like the general said, the rest of Istri has abandoned those of us actually fighting the dakii.”
“They let the guardians in though.”
Iryana didn’t know where the voice came from, but she tensed, waiting for them to realize she was there. Remember what she was.
“The guardians have always been the people’s favorites,” Byorsh growled.
Pyetar’s hand squeezed hers as they came to a stop at the edge of the dance floor.
Iryana swayed, but luckily he hadn’t removed his hand from her back entirely. She was tucked against his broad chest, peeking around his shoulder to watch. There were enough people standing between them and the arguers to stay out of notice. Iryana didn’t have it in her to shrink out of sight.
She was beginning to feel sick, the honeywine churning.
“And now we have the metal wells.” Darish held his hands out and addressed the rest of the soldiers, who all shouted their agreement.
Iryana swallowed at the reminder. The metal wells. Everything she was doing was for them.
“This is supposed to be a party!” one of the fiddlers cried out before diving into another tune, the other musicians quickly joining in.
Pyetar met her eyes, and she thought for a moment that he was going to say something. But then Pyetar released her and stepped back, and the world slowed for a moment.
He quickly looked away from her, looking around the room as if he had forgotten something, but she had no idea what.
She was cold without him against her, and her skin tingled where he had been touching her. The sensation surprised and confused her, but her head was spinning and she couldn’t focus.
Before she could think on it, her hands were grabbed by someone new and she was whisked into the next dance, her uncomfortable thoughts melting into carefree merriment.
When there was a break between songs, someone tugged on her sleeve, and Iryana spun to find the soldier who’d been passing her notes from Hadima. He slipped a sealed letter into her hand as he passed by, disguising the movement with a drunken stumble.
Another one? The man disappeared into the crowd. She watched him suspiciously, but Hadima had said she had it under control. Whatever she was paying him had to be significant.
Iryana slipped away from the dancers.
The last time Hadima had risked sending her a message, it was to tell her that their uncle wouldn’t be able to fight for months, but that he was stable.
Her heart was beating unnecessarily fast as Iryana found a private enough corner behind some boxes to open it.
Quickly unsealing the letter, Iryana stared down at the wrinkled paper. It must have been shoved in that man’s pocket for days as he waited for the right opportunity to pass it on.
She rubbed the pages with her fist against her knee to smooth them out and then squinted, trying to force the words to form from the black swirls covering the page.
Things aren’t going well… hard to find a gap in watches… haven’t gone on a hunt in weeks… but poisoning didn’t work… tried everything… we should meet… we’re going on a hunt with the full moon in a few days… we’re trying, Iryana… stay safe…
It became harder and harder to pick out the words as she read. A nagging feeling kept tugging at her. What day was it?
Iryana stumbled out of the warehouse, the cold air slamming into her.
Her head tilted back.
The perfectly round, bloated moon hung above her. Mocking her.