Chapter 6 #2
He smirked, but it soon faded. “Finally, a king was appointed to govern us. It lasted for a time, and then we were unruly again. The mortals cried out, and so, after generations of this, the king made a bargain with a mortal queen. He gave her the key to great magic. A bargain. The mortals would dance, a special kind of dance, on the night of the full moon, and the door between realms would be sealed. The seal would weaken every thirty days, but the dance would close it again. It was the intent of the king to teach his people a lesson. A discipline. Six years the bargain was to last. Long enough to teach his people to behave.”
His tone turned hard. “The mortal queen betrayed him. When the six years ended, she did not break the seal. She kept dancing. She kept her people safe and our people locked away. The king was patient. He waited. But his people were not. Eventually they turned into shadows, crying out against the mortals, and their kingdom fell into decay. They fell into hunger, then, at last, into an endless slumber. And there they remain.”
He sank into the telling of the story as though it were a burden he alone carried.
I stared at him, the curve of his shoulders, the gauntness of his face, the weariness in his eyes.
Was he the king who’d made the bargain, been betrayed?
Here in the shadows, in the floral decay and flickering candlelight, it was easy to believe his tale.
Hollow Ones. Not demons. A lesson meant to be taught. A betrayal. A mortal queen.
Except—
We had no mortal queen. Not for decades.
Old families governed through councils and votes, the Sacred Palace no longer a home for royalty but for the dancers.
I should not believe his beautiful tale, nor the words that spun from his gilded tongue.
If any of it were true, I needed to validate it at the Hall of Records.
I weighed my words carefully. “If all this is true, what would you have me do?”
He picked up the quill again. “Dance a new dance, one that I will teach you. You must teach it to the other dancers, and during the next full moon, release us.”
“Terms of a bargain usually include a benefit for both parties.”
That smirk again. Faint. Almost rueful. “The dance is killing you.”
My hand went to my throat. “That is the sacrifice of a Rift Dancer.”
“To dance to death? I think not. It is an honor to lift magic from the soil, to bless your city with it. But that is not what you’re doing. You’re using your soul to seal the rift, to feed something else. Someone else.”
“It is an honor,” I repeated.
“That’s what they tell you.” He set the quill down, his emerald eyes hard as flint. “You’re like the warrior who goes to battle, to lay down their life for their family, their country. That is honorable. But if the cause is a lie, the sacrifice is pointless.”
I rose. “I’m not sure I should accept the terms of your bargain without confirming the truth.”
“I’m afraid you won’t be able to leave until you sign.” He pushed the parchment toward me.
I hesitated.
He sensed it and rose, stepping back deliberately, distancing himself from the desk.
I leaned over the parchment, reading quickly. But he had explained in full, there was nothing new on the document.
I stood, reluctant to sign. “Why me?”
“A question I’ve wondered myself.” He took one step closer. “But you’ve felt it too.”
“Felt what?”
He approached, and the warmth of him reached me, the sheer intensity, making me want things I’d never wanted before.
Rift Dancers never married, never left the Sacred Palace to enjoy the kind of relationships the people did.
There was a time when we could choose, and most of us, orphaned, alone, chose the dance over starting a family.
I’d never once regretted it, until now, and it made me deeply uncomfortable.
He stood so close I felt the heat of his breath brush my cheek, but I did not step back.
When he placed his hand over mine, I gasped.
I felt him, as though he were part of me yet outside me.
The hunger in his bones, the desperation, the hope bleeding out of his heart, the thump of his pulse, the longing in his soul.
And something else, strange and almost effervescent.
It fizzed within him, the same sensation that rose in me sometimes when dancing, but far stronger.
I closed my eyes, struggling to withstand his touch. Aware I was slowly losing control.
His voice came low in my ear.
“Tell me, do you feel that?”
“I feel it.”
He didn’t move, but neither did I.
There was something dangerous about his touch, yet familiar, almost comforting. And within it I recognized a vulnerability.
“Will you give me two days to confirm your tale? Then I’ll return and sign your bargain?”
Disappointment cut through me, sharp like a blade.
I opened my eyes as he let go.
Those green gems shone only inches away, searching me for truth or lies.
“One day. You’ll need to sign in blood, promise to return.”
“Or you’ll woo me here with your music?”
“Yes.”
I considered. “Sign and you’ll free me?”
“You have until tomorrow night. Same time. It doesn’t matter what you do, or don’t find; you will come.”
“I will.”
Stepping back, he took up a fresh piece of parchment and scrawled across it. Then he pricked his finger with the tip of a knife and signed, turning the parchment to me.
I hesitated only for a moment, reading carefully, then I followed his example and signed.
Pain laced through my chest, and I pressed a hand to it.
“It’s the magic,” he explained.
“I have one question before you release me.”
“Ask.”
“You’ve given me your title, but what is your name?”
“Airen.”