Chapter 63 Elena #2
Elena slipped between attendants and foreign aides, the end of her gold-and-orange sari fluttering in the breeze.
Yumi, Sesharians, Tsuani, Jantari, all people of the kingdoms celebrating the brokering of peace.
She tried to find Daz but found the general nowhere.
Lights sparkled above with the warmth of distant suns.
People chattered, laughing loudly, drinking freely, but somehow, even on the eve of victory, their happiness could not budge the dark weight that had settled in her stomach.
She avoided the food, too sick to eat. She instead wandered to the musician’s stage just as they began to play another tune.
A flute began the first notes, followed by a deep, steady drumbeat.
Elena turned as she saw Sesharians forming a circle.
The others pushed out to watch, and Elena had to crane her neck to see as someone started a song.
It was Tanmay, the deckhand, singing in a low, throaty voice.
Laughs sparked up and around the circle as people linked arms and began to kick.
Suddenly, Visha appeared at her side, tugging her forward.
“No, no, I don’t want to—” Elena began but she was pulled in.
She found herself skipping along in rhythm with the drumbeats.
The beat quickened and they went in, then out, again and again, turning in a large circle, twirling in place.
The circle widened. More confused people were pulled in.
More laughter filled the courtyard. Despite herself, Elena giggled as a Karvenese aide kicked so high he almost knocked his knee into his nose.
A warm, hearty flush crept up her cheeks, and for a moment, she forgot the kamarbandh biting into her flesh.
More people began to sing. She knew only a few Ambari words, but she found herself shouting them all the same. Beside her, Visha laughed.
“You’re off-key!”
“You’re off-beat,” she shouted back.
Visha grinned, and when the circle drew back, she spun to face her.
Elena clapped her hands against Visha’s, then laughed as Visha kicked back into the circle.
In the middle of the floor, Tanmay balanced a drink on his head.
He shimmied his hips, turning in place and eliciting hoots from the crowd.
Elena wet her fingers and blew a whistle.
He chortled, then panicked as the glass began to slip.
Elena bit back a roar of laughter as he tried to regain his balance, and then she was swept up in the circle again.
They began to kick higher, skip faster. Her cheeks burned from grinning, sweat beading down the back of her blouse as she spun to the quickening rhythm.
She twirled, clapping her hands with Visha again, and then turned to clap the person on her left.
In her flush, Elena did not recognize him until she felt his familiar calloused fingers against hers.
She startled. Samson held her hands for a beat longer.
Elena felt time slow, the music and the laughter seeping out until she heard only her racing heartbeat, his sharp, sudden intake of breath.
His throat quivered. The others danced around them, but Elena stood rooted to the spot, her hand in his.
His eyes on hers. When his long fingers grazed her palm, she felt the air tighten, as if a string connecting them both had been struck with the bold resonance of a sarangi.
There was a heat in his eyes, one that made her feel flustered and annoyed and ravenous. His voice was a low hum in his throat.
“Dance with me,” he said.
She should not. She should put as much distance between her and him until the appointed hour. She should tear her eyes away from his and forget the look she had seen in them, forget the feelings it had elicited within her.
But Elena felt her hand closing around his, and she allowed him to lead her into the center of the circle.
Samson’s hand slipped down to the small of her back, his touch light, barely there.
The other hovered right above the nape of her neck.
Elena swallowed. If he touched her neck, would he feel the sudden rush of heat that overtook her body?
Or did he already sense it, flaring within her ribs?
The music slowed. He spun her out, and when she came back, she turned inward.
His arm looped around her, and she could feel the warm contours of his muscled chest against her upper back.
Elena twirled out to face him. In the warm glow of the lights, his eyes were softer, like a sea soaked by the sun.
Resplendent, beautiful. But they are cursed, she reminded herself as they drew apart. A warning from the desert.
Elena danced around him, her hand trailing across his chest, and she tried not to notice how it suddenly gave under her touch, how his hand trembled as he drew her closer. Was it just the drums, picking up the pace, or was that her pulse, jackhammering?
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, his voice oddly hoarse.
“I have not,” she said, though she felt something within her tighten with the lie. “I just have other matters to attend to.”
“I can tell when you’re lying,” he said, and her blood thinned.
No, she thought sadly, desperately, you cannot.
“I shouldn’t have pushed,” he said. “Seshar will be there for you whenever you choose to visit. I will be there.”
“Is that a promise?”
He met her eyes. She had the sensation that perhaps she had asked too much, given away too much in that question, but it was too late to take it back now.
“For you? Of course, my rani.” He leaned closer, and her breath hitched as she felt his tickling her ear. “Meri rani.”
Meri rani. She shivered at the sound of ancient Herra rolling off his tongue. He drew back, and Elena saw a soft, almost hopeful smile flickering across his lips.
Stop it, she chided herself. Do not give him hope. He deserves nothing from you.
Elena turned, half looking for an escape, half wanting to hide her face so he could not see her crestfallen expression. Her fingers slipped from his.
“I have to go,” she said.
“Elena, wait.”
But she hurried away, hot guilt bubbling up her throat like bile. She could hear him calling after her. She did not turn.
Elena broke into the cool expanse of the hallway, and she took a deep, shuddering breath. Tears cropped her vision. Angrily, she wiped her eyes. What a fool she was. Weak, sniveling. Focus, she berated herself. The beach, she needed to take him to the beach.
Elena glanced up at the moons, full and brilliant in their ivory throne. It was not time yet, but perhaps Farin would not mind if she was early. She could bear it no longer.
When she heard footsteps behind her, Elena steadied her breath. She did not turn as the footsteps faltered. She did not turn as she felt his hand on her shoulder, gentle, kind. Samson walked around, facing her.
With his ring finger, he gently wiped the tears from the inner corners of her eyes. She watched as he sucked on his finger.
“There,” he said. “The salt of thine is the salt of mine. Your grief is my grief.”
“Sam.” Her voice trembled under the weight of his name. “Please.”
He watched her face closely, his voice quiet. “Are you running from me because you have chosen not to become my queen?”
She opened her mouth to speak, when footsteps at the other end of the hall made them both turn. Jaya froze when she saw them.
Elena spotted something metallic in her hand as Jaya gave a nervous laugh and flipped off her hood, striding forward.
“Good, I’ve been looking for you two,” she said. “I have a favor to ask.”