Page 10 of Caged By Dance and Desire

A Lebanese-Irish American dancer with sleek auburn hair and light rosy brown skin, she glanced unhappily toward the corner of the room. I followed her gaze and took in a trio of Fae—obviously not dancers from their dress—conversing quietly and watching everyone.

Coralene sniffed. “You're always being judged, mortal, especially when you aren't expecting it.”

Sheignored them, but then she would. She was Fae, though not Cassanian from what I'd gleaned, and the two other Fae almost seemed to avoid her. The rest of us slicked our hair into buns, but she wore hers in a blue-black drape to her waist. Easily the tallest of us and the most slender, she should in theory be a shoo-in. . .but she danced almost like she was bored at times.

Taima glared at the Fae female. “You would know. And you don't have to sleep your way to the top. The best of nepotism.”

Winter blue eyes glanced at Taima dismissively. “It's the opposite. It's well-known the High Lord prefers mortal pets. Her obsession with human dance forms benefits you more than it does me even if I am the naturally superior dancer.”

I wouldn't necessarily call her superior in anything but attitude, though outside of the studio she was friendly enough. Inside, gloves came off. No one minded. But if Fae had a certain leg up in terms of inherent grace, flexibility and strength, that didn't necessarily give them automatic technique and style. They still had to train as hard as the humans.

“You can master the Cassanian moves and sequences that require power though,” I said.

Moves it was rare a human could master even at the lower levels because it required a touch of magic they referred to as an affinity.

Or at least that's what they said. I wasn't entirely certain of the truth, since in secret I'd already mastered several of the lower level supposedly affinity required variations, and was working my way up to the medium difficulty moves. A secret I was keeping close to my chest to prevent sabotage before the showcase. When I took the stage in front of the High Lord, that's when I’d allow everyone to stop underestimating me.

I smiled. In rehearsals I danced well enough to justify my preliminary slot, but not quite well enough to earn any special attention.

The Fae variations must be anything a human with a bit of talent and perseverance could master though, since I could, but maybe Cassanian dancers put out the rumor that it couldn't be done to keep an edge over their mortal counterparts. It wasn't as if their immortality made them above ambition and petty deception.

There was no time for thinking when rehearsal for the opening number began. The ballet mistress cycled through groups of five dancers. Since no one had been chosen for the opening number, the rehearsals were also auditions.

A slender, middle-aged human woman with medium yellow-brown skin and curly brown hair contained in a ruthless French braid, Adoncia Vargas evaluated us with gimlet hazel eyes, trained us with iron efficiency, and remained unbending to any attempts to gain her favor. She’d been mistress of the company for thirty years, ten years after immigrating to Casakraine and, rumor had it, meeting and falling in love with a High Fae.

I danced with two women I didn’t know well, Taima, Samuel, and Xavi, a Scandinavian man with an attitude that always struck me the wrong way. Maybe because the first week of the rehearsal season, I’d shut his down his come on hard, shocking him. Pretty boy like that was used to getting his way.

He could be a classic prince from Swan Lake with his short buttercup hair, milkmaid complexion, and chocolate brown eyes, a tall, chiseled physique with legs that looked damn good in tights. It did nothing for me though. I wasn’t here to get embroiled in company romance drama. After he’d seen me dance enough to know I was better than him, his bruised ego had morphed into active hostility. A shame pretty could be so ugly.

“Step, two, three, four, five, six, seven. . .” Vargas’ voice was a soothing drone beneath the tinkling flute and piano accompaniment.

Centering myself in the music, half my mind on her voice, I flowed. Others were better technical dancers. Certainly more lovely, and Coralene defined ethereal when she chose. But I danced with my heart, with my joy, with my sorrow. Xavi was also a powerful dancer, but he strutted. I seduced.

I danced to draw others in, their energy food that filled the endless, greedy, black well inside me that needed them to survive.

“ . . .arabesque one, two. . .sauté. ..good, doves. And one. . .and four. . .eleven, twelve, and. . .”

“And let’s take it again from the line up and go on to the girls’ duo. . .and lift that back leg up. . .try not to go through that fifth position. . .”

“Good. Next group.”

I blinked, coming out of the daze. “Dancing with you is draining,” Xavi muttered, walking past me. “You clod like a heifer.”

I ignored him, returning to my spot on the barre.

“Samuel! Hasannah, Coralene!” Vargas called.

I stopped. She flicked her fingers impatiently and we lurched into motion, approaching.

“Our guests would like to see the second number. Front and center.”

The Cassanian guests watched the three of us as we took our places and Mistress called out the piece to the pianist. Good. Medium difficulty choreography that would showcase us nicely, but not risk injury. She was playing it safe while trying to give us an opportunity to shine.

I risked giving them a quick glance, my gaze caught on one of the men. He stood, one hand clasped loosely on his waist, watching me. I took my place, waiting on the music.

Chapter

Four

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