Page 63 of Minor Works of Meda

Oraik grabbed me around the waist, and it was all I could do to keep up with him. I placed my palms on his shoulders and stumbled after the giant. When we had danced on the barges I’d had the advantage of a crowd hemming me into one small space, which more or less took care of footwork, and a drunk mind. Now there was a bonfire roaring ten feet to my right, and wild cavorting music, and villagers turning past so swiftly they seemed to blur.

Oraik’s hands were tight on my hips, but gentle. I let him guide me and stared at my feet lest I trip over him. Soon we were flying as fast as any of the others. When I stumbled, he didn’t let me fall, but dragged me up through the air. He never slowed. Despite all odds, we never crashed, either.

I looked up. He smiled at me, his eyes softening.

“Better, right?” Oraik asked.

“Maybe,” I said, not willing to admit to anything more than that. He pulled me closer and then let go with one hand. Suddenly I was spinning away from him and back in. I yelped. He straightened me out and we took off racing around the fire again. I stumbled after him, feeling more like an ungainly goat on a lead-line than like his partner.

I couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to dance with Kalcedon that way. Probably he’d laugh at me if I asked. Just then, I longed to hear him laughing.

“Thank you for letting me come here,” Oraik said in my ear. “I know you didn’t want to stop.”

“How’d you learn to dance like this?”

“Nikkos. Here, try this move.” He spun me out and around again, but this time I didn’t end up facing him. My back was to his chest, my arms crossed over my front, his hands on mine. He pulled me and we spun together.

It was fun, for a moment, until I turned and came face to face with the savage heat of the fire, roaring like a beast in front of me. And there was no Oraik to look at, no tall broad shoulders blocking my view.

My knees buckled. He grabbed and stopped me from falling, and I turned and fell into him as something in me crumbled.

“I can’t,” I gasped.

“What’s wrong? Talk to me,” he said. But I pushed myself up and stumbled away, nearly crashing into two different dancing couples who veered abruptly to avoid me.

“Meda, wait,” Oraik called from behind me.

“I need air,” I mumbled. “Clean air.” I emerged back onto the street, and immediately felt some of the sick panic melt away. I didn’t feel good, but there wasn’t a giant bonfire raging in my face anymore, or two dozen couples spinning in circles around me. The briny air was free of smoke, and it was quieter.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you to do that,” Oraik said behind me. “I’m sorry.”

I rubbed my forehead and leaned against one of the houses.

“You should go. Enjoy yourself.”

I didn’t actually expect him to, but Oraik gave me a look and then walked back into the town square. Well, of course he did; he was just looking to enjoy himself, and could I blame him? I’d proven more than once that afternoon just what miserable company I made for. I didn’t want to hear the music and the laughter and the clapping. I didn’t want to smell the fire. I stumbled down towards the water.

Maybe Eudoria was right, and my dreams really would always be out of my reach. Yes, I’d befriended a prince and started to unravel Tarelay’s secrets, but in the end I was just a spiteful, weak girl better suited to an assistantship than the Temple. I didn’t have power, and I couldn’t smile on command, and evidently, I couldn’t even make it through a single dance without losing all bearing. Even if the Temple Order let me in, maybe nobody would like me there, either.

I was at the docks now. I bent my head back and stared up at the sky, where a handful of stars shone valiantly through the shimmer of the Ward. With less magic built up than there had ever been, perhaps I was seeing the sky the way it really looked, no star hidden behind the mask of magic. Twenty or so glimmering points. All the mysteries of the world on full display.

And then I started to cry. Pitiful, honking sounds escaped my lips, and snuffles worse than any pig’s. I wanted Kalcedon next to me, to tell me I was an overreacting idiot with a face like a beet’s. I wanted Eudoria there, to cluck her tongue and put on a pot of sage tea and tell me that tomorrow would be clearer. Worst of all, I wanted my mother, and I couldn’t help but remember Cliantha telling me she couldn’t leave hers. I’d walked away from home without ever looking over my shoulder, hungry for all the things I’d never had, and it was probably clear to anybody who knew me that I was a heartless, wretched thing. I was worse than a faerie.

“Meda? Is that you? What are you doing all the way down by the water?”

“What?” I mumbled, the word nasal through my stuffy nose and tears. “Oraik? What’re you doing?” I wiped my wet eyes and looked at him, a big shadow approaching in the darkness.

“I… oh, you miserable dear. No, we can’t have this. Not today.” He was wearing my bag on his shoulder. He shrugged it off. “Tell me you have a handkerchief in there. My hands are full, or else I’d look.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled. I squatted down and pawed through my bag until I found one, blew until my nose was clear, and hiccupped.

“Did I step on your toes? Or was it learning that you weren’t my first dance partner?”

“Is that a joke?”

He sighed and crouched down in front of me.

“Of course it is, my little witch. Could you please do me the favor of laughing, so I feel like less of an ass?”

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