Chapter Ten #3
The other musician faltered at the sight of him, fingers missing the correct strings.
Helspira held her breath, watching Catseye discreetly catch the attention of those who gawked.
With two fingers, he pointed to his eyes, rotated those two fingers back to the crowd, dragged his thumb across his throat in a violent, sweeping motion, and donned a fake smile, while making the gesture to clap—the unanimous, unspoken signal for ‘I will annihilate every last one of you if you do not applaud this man’s talents. ’
They didn’t seem to believe him until his hands followed the careful movements required to cast a spell. One whispered word later, his palm lit with a sickly green glow.
They clapped rather quickly under the looming threat of magic.
Eyes closed, Helspira lost herself in the melody, while Catseye took tottering steps backward and slumped onto the retaining wall.
“I’m glad he went out there.” Helspira opened her eyes to see how Ben’s song had slowly turned the audience’s horrified expressions into genuine captivation. “I know all too well how nerve-racking public scrutiny can be.”
“Irritates me to no end that they require threats before appreciating his talents,” Catseye rasped. “Benjamin is one of the finest musicians I know.”
The fatigue in his voice made her turn to inspect him. She gasped at the sight before her. “B’yehnz, are you all right?”
“Hmm? Never better.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“Am I?” Frowning, Catseye pressed a finger into his upper lip. He pulled his hand back to view the blood, though he appeared to have trouble focusing his gaze. “Why is it always the nose? I have other orifices that can bleed. On second thought, perhaps I should be happy it’s always the nose.”
“Here.” Helspira reached into her leather armor and proffered the handkerchief he had given her in Vinepool. “I had to return this to you anyway. Don’t worry; I cleaned it.”
He accepted it with a gentle hand, somehow managing a grateful smile from behind the cloth that soaked up his blood.
As Ben pulled in a larger crowd, either by the quality of his performance or genuine curiosity, Helspira studied Catseye with concern.
Cecil had rarely used his body’s energy to fuel his spells, but on the rare occasions he did, he never appeared to suffer the ill effects of magical backlash to the same degree.
“Why is the recoil so much worse for you?”
“It’s not.” He wiped the last speck of red from his skin and cleared his throat. “I just don’t have much left to give, so it looks worse by comparison.”
Her gaze flitted to the ground. “I can’t imagine how high a price you’d have to pay to cast a spell that defies death itself.”
“Death and the gods,” he mumbled. “Dionus, the god Benjamin worships, clamors for his soul daily. Greedy bastard. He’ll have Benjamin for eternity once I’m dead. Don’t see why he can’t just share him for the next decade or two.”
The disguised torment in his voice filled her with pity. “Was it worth it? Everything you did?”
In the wake of his obvious pain, Catseye smirked.
“Are you kidding? Look at him.” Reverence brightened his tired eyes when he glimpsed his brother-in-law.
“Anyone who’s met Benjamin can see I got the better end of the deal.
On that matter”—he stood, knees quivering, as he leaned his scythe against the retaining wall—“I can’t leave him out there alone, so if you’ll excuse me.
” Catseye doffed an imaginary hat and headed into the crowd.
When Ben’s song ended, he segued into the next as Catseye matched the rhythm with what appeared to be a well-choreographed dance.
Odd, though, that it appeared to be a dance for two, yet his partner—much like the hat he had doffed earlier—was entirely absent.
She recognized a few of the movements. A dip here.
A twirl there. A dramatic pause. He performed every flawless step to the beat of Ben’s music.
Around them, other couples joined. A young man and his lady fair.
A middle-aged gentleman and his dashing husband, judging by the matching rings on their fingers.
It only took a moment for her to realize Catseye danced with the empty space his wife used to fill.
Hearts could not shatter in a literal sense, of course, but how did hers feel so broken at the sight of him?
She was on her feet before she realized what she was doing. Her stomach bottomed out, sinking deeper with each step toward him. By the time Helspira stood within arm’s length, her pulse throbbed with such force, she feared she may faint. Nevertheless, she tapped his shoulder.
He spun to face her, wide-eyed.
“I danced a lot in Chthonia. It was never under good circumstances,” she blurted out, words leaving her in a rush. “It still leaves an unpleasant feeling in my stomach, dancing, but I think I’d feel even worse if I were to let you suffer through this song alone.”
When he said nothing, did nothing other than blink, Helspira feared her outburst may have been offensive. When he followed her verbal onslaught with a gentle smile, the fear evaporated.
“In that case,” he said, holding up a hand, “we shall go as slowly as you see fit.”
She stared at his waiting palm, his invitation. Pushing through her nerves, she pressed her hand against his.
The chill of his skin was immediate. He must’ve noticed her surprise.
“Apologies.” Catseye retracted his hand and attempted to warm it with a few exhaled breaths. “Poor circulation.”
Another one of his easy lies. A half-truth, at the very least. The exertion of keeping Ben’s soul tied to his bones robbed Catseye’s body of warmth, but despite knowing, she said nothing.
He deserved the illusion if it eased the guilt.
When he offered his hand again, Helspira pressed her palm against his.
And together, they danced.
The couples around them blurred into the landscape.
Though old memories threatened to rob the moment of its fun, she reminded herself this was not like the forced dances of her past, not a provocative performance to ensure her survival by proving her body held worth to her captors.
When Catseye twirled her, kinder recollections overpowered the others, and she smiled.
“I used to love dancing when I was younger,” she admitted mid-spin.
“On quiet nights, when we weren’t running or hiding, and my parents thought I was asleep, I’d watch Da twirl Mum around in the glow of the magma rivers.
I never felt safer than when I saw joy on their faces. ”
They switched hands, palm to palm, Catseye maintaining consistent eye contact, as the music crescendoed. “They sound like lovely people.”
“They are. And your parents?”
“Oh, they’re great. Swell. Dead. But, you know ... Great.”
The heat of embarrassment flooded her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” She freed a nervous laugh. “No desire to pull the necromancer card and resurrect them, huh?”
“Gods, no. Holiday gatherings were awkward enough when they were alive.”
When the song ended, Benjamin transitioned into another. The slow, minor chord of a more intimate song played, and the couples around them pressed closer to one another. Helspira spied a hint of nervousness in her partner’s smile.
“We can leave this one to the others if you’d like,” Catseye said.
No.
In rare agreement with her impulse, Helspira closed the distance between them with a single step.
She wove her fingers through his, relishing the surge of excitement that brought.
“I’d sooner die than let Ben’s songs go unappreciated.
It’s an alliance between abominations thing; you wouldn’t understand. ”
Catseye grinned. “You’ll never find a finer ally. If you wish it, we’ll continue.”
When the side of his face rested against hers, she closed her eyes.
Lost in the song, in his fluid movements, in each smooth, effortless step, Helspira nearly forgot Catseye still suffered the sickness of magical backlash, until his pace slowed.
Just as she was about to open her eyes and assess his wellbeing, his voice filled her ear.
“You know, when Imri ...” A pause. “After Imri’s incident, I didn’t dance for a year. Didn’t seem right. Still doesn’t, if I’m honest. But the gods took so much from me that night. I decided they couldn’t have dancing too.”
His motions prompted an invitation for her to spin, but he relinquished control to her on exactly how fast and how close her body strayed from his. When she stepped back into him, his low voice added, “I keep hoping if I continue dancing, one day, I’ll fall in love with it again.”
The mild warmth of his breath on her face when he spoke—how did she get so close? And why didn’t it feel close enough? Her heart quickened, and she swallowed to wet her dry throat. “Maybe we’ll both learn how to fall in love with dancing again.”
Another one of his damnable, charming smirks appeared. “I think I’m starting to already.”
Time seemed to slow and go entirely too fast at the same time.
When the song faded, and the polite clapping of Everferd’s townsfolk brought her from her reverie, Helspira missed the chill of Catseye’s touch as he released her from his gentle hold.
The last sliver of sunset lit the river stone streets in orange streaks, and several people tossed coins Ben’s way before mumbling awkward thank-yous.
“There’s an inn ’round the corner,” came Catseye’s voice. “I’ll secure us a room. We’ll head to Theodore’s at first light.”
It seemed cruel for the day to have ended already.
Helspira recalled precious few moments where she had tasted true freedom: the first time the sun had caressed her face when she and her parents had touched Siaphara’s upper soil, and today when she had enjoyed the cultural delights of mankind without fear of their judgmental gazes.
Alas. Eventually all good things came to an end.