Chapter 19
Nineteen
“Where were you last night? Did you hear anything? When did you notice the blood?”
I sat in a stunned haze, in front of Commander Tiberon again. Someone had taken me to the pools, helped me scrub the blood off my feet and hands, helped me dress, and braided my hair back. As though I were a child, one of the young ones. And now I sat in his office again, eyes watching, judging.
“I was asleep in bed, locked in.”
“And you heard nothing?”
“I was sleeping.”
“No muffled cries, no signs of struggle?”
“I already said I was asleep.”
“Pardon me the questions; I am trying to be thorough, to understand what happened. Do you know why anyone would target the Warden guarding you?”
“No. I have no enemies.” At least, not that I knew of, but I was to be replaced.
“When did you notice the blood?”
“I already told you. When I woke?”
Betta stepped forward then. “Sacred Mother will be here soon.”
Tiberon nodded. “You are dismissed, Gazelle Dakari, but I suggest keeping to groups, staying with others. It might be that there is a plot against your life. We can’t be sure.”
Once again, the atmosphere in the palace had shifted, charged with fear.
I wanted to leave; I wanted to run down the steps and flee.
Something had to change. We couldn’t live in this horror, in this death, wondering who among us would be next.
It was with luck that none of the dancers had been targeted.
Morning prayers lasted longer than usual before we went to the dance hall because it was tradition. It was expected. Death could not stop our rituals.
The floor was wide and long, and we lined up, warming up, stretching. Above us were balconies, where the Wardens kept watch, the Vestals stood against the wall, the Rift Mother usually there to guide us, Betta standing in her place. For now.
But today as I walked in, a weight settled on my shoulders. A new figure stood on one of the balconies, clothed in white, wearing a veil as though a bride were approaching her groom.
Sacred Mother? Was she here to watch us dance?
I closed my eyes, trying to focus, but it didn’t help.
All I saw were dark pools of blood, spreading, reaching for me, trying to bring me down.
My limbs shook as I took two deep breaths in and let them out.
Reminding myself to stay calm and focused.
I thought of Betta’s words and weaved my way between the girls, stopping to touch their shoulders, encouraging them, steadying them.
“This too shall pass. Give yourself to the dance. It’s okay to be frightened. We will find a solution.”
Over and over, I repeated the words, like it was a mantra to myself.
Soon. This would be over. The murders would be solved. A Rift Mother would lead us, and we’d enter a new era.
Betta stepped forward after we finished warming up. “Dancers, there’s been a change. All of you will go down to the amphitheater to dance; take your time, enjoy the fresh air while we cleanse the palace. Gazelle, you will stay behind.”
I paused, sure I’d done something wrong. The dancers flitted away, a flurry of rustling skirts and whispered voices.
I remained while Betta stepped closer. “Sacred Mother is here to observe. She’d like to see you dance the ritual. Dance, and do not let your mind wander nor dwell in assumptions. Just. Dance.”
Alone, I moved to the middle of the floor and rose on my tiptoes. I lifted my arms above my head and slowly began the dance.
The ritual was seared into my memory, planted into the marrow of my being.
Even without music, I felt it within my soul.
I’d danced it so many times, my muscles remembered the movements and fell into it.
Except this time, it felt harder, as though there was a resistance in the air surrounding me, in my blood.
My limbs felt heavy, as though weights were holding me down, as though someone had tied rocks to my ankles and wrists.
It took physical effort to lift, to move, and it didn’t feel like flying; it felt like dragging my soul through the mud.
Perhaps it was because of the nights I spent practicing with him. Doing the opposite. Instead of dancing the seal I was focused on opening, moving up and outward. I’d trained myself to do the reverse and now, moving back into the sealing, was harder than before.
I gritted my teeth, forcing myself through it, as my heart pounded.
My vision went dizzy, and that tingling itch welled up inside.
Mid-dance, it overcame me, and I dropped, bent double, coughing and shaking.
Overcome. I was sweating, sick with fever, yet I forced myself upright. Trying to taper down the attack.
I rose, continued, forced myself to finish. Feeling as though I might collapse.
“Again.” A sharp voice rang out.
It shouldn’t have been hard to do it again, to dance the ritual over and over again.
I reminded myself that if I couldn’t do this, I’d be replaced. I’d lose my place as Lead Dancer; I’d be reduced from a position of excellence to nothing. I’d enter servitude, watching the dancers, my feet flat against the ground, no longer flying.
Closing my eyes, I lifted my hands and did it again.
And again.
And again.
Each time was harder, and by the fourth time I was on my knees, coughing up blood. Sweat slicked my entire body, and it hurt. It hurt to move, to dance, to grit my teeth and force myself through it again.
And no voice came this time; no one ordered me to continue. Perhaps Sacred Mother knew I was past my depth. I knew I’d been a disappointment. I knew I’d lost. I could make excuses, I could beg. But it wouldn’t be worth it. There was one motto here: either do or don’t, and I’d failed.
When my vision stopped spinning, I wiped the blood on my dress. Ruining the light, gauzy fabric. Then I stood on trembling limbs as slippered feet approached.
Sacred Mother stopped three paces from me, dressed in elegant white silks, her slippers jeweled with gold. Bracelets hung off her arms, necklaces hung heavy around her throat. She lifted her veil, baring her face.
Her face was smooth, and she appeared young, with high cheekbones and rich brown skin.
But it was dark eyes, old and ancient, that held the weight of her true age.
She looked like one who had lived a thousand years yet kept a young woman’s body.
Her fingers were long, covered in rings, but there was a hardness about her mouth, one hard line on her forehead, as though she’d been angry once and had never been able to erase that stain.
The emotions within me that warmed for Airen went cold now, as though a blade of ice was pressed against my spine. I was too weary to hide, but every instinct I had within me warned me to run. And I couldn’t say why, but there was something very, very wrong with Sacred Mother.
“You must be Gazelle Dakari. The legendary dancer.” Her voice was melodious, intoxicating like a song, yet hard as diamonds. “I’ve heard of you, but I’m not quite sure what I saw just now.”
I bowed my head, staring at the winking gems on her shoes.
“Ah. Deference. Nothing to say for yourself? No protests?”
I swallowed hard, throat raw from coughing. I lifted my head, my neck slick with sweat. I’d never done such a terrible performance before. “Sacred Mother, I can do better.”
“Can you? Five times I watched you dance just now. You did not do better. Which begs the question. Is this what you want? To dance?”
“Yes. I want to be Lead Dancer. I want to continue in my role.”
“And what will convince me that this is true? Since I just watched you dance and fail, over and over again. Five years you’ve been Lead Dancer.” A cold smile came. “It’s a wonder the demons aren’t ruling the city.”
Her words stung. I had nothing to lose. I found some strength and pushed to my feet. “I have danced for five years, without fail. More recently I’ve had a momentary weakness, but I will recover.”
“The full moon is in twelve days. What makes you so confident?”
“I am the best. I’ve done it hundreds of times. It will take time to train someone new.”
Sacred Mother lifted her chin, studying me.
Then she reached into the folds of her gown and pulled out a vial.
“Take this. One sip. Then dance again.” Her dark gaze did not waver.
“I am aware you are the last of a powerful bloodline of Rift Dancers. Lead Dancers. I would prefer to keep you dancing while others train. There are ways you can remain, but you will have to work harder to prove to me you deserve this. Now. Dance.”
The last of the bloodline. My thoughts went to the scroll. Did she know? The cold in my chest pulled tighter, but obediently, I took the vial and drank, one small sip that burned all the way down.
Something spread across my body, a mix of warmth and something else that made my heart beat fast, numbing the pain. I felt as though I was outside of myself, the way I sometimes felt in hours I could never account for. I took the pose and began again.
And again.
And again.
My limbs felt both weightless and heavy at the same time.
I felt like I was both watching myself and part of the dance.
The muscle memory was there, but it was hard to see, as my gaze went red at the edges.
Whatever she’d given me allowed me to complete it.
I danced for her, a private audience, and when I was done, my limbs wouldn’t move at all.
I surrendered, lying down, in a pool of my own sweat and blood, and I thought I wouldn’t rise again.
My pulse was too fast; everything raced. My hands, when I lifted them, seemed to move at a slow speed. I wiggled my fingers; I couldn’t feel my toes. Deep down inside, I wondered what she’d given me. I’d tasted nothing like it.
Dimly I heard a voice. “Bring her to my chambers.”
I was lifted, carried, and then I passed out.