Page 153 of The Iron Flower

“Oh, all right then,” I say, relenting with a smile.

I pull out the crimson violin, tightening and rosining the bow as the rest of the group pushes aside some of the log seats to create space. Then I launch into the happiest tune I know—an old Gardnerian folk dance. My playing is soon accompanied by boisterous clapping and drumming on wooden stumps, my friends laughing and whooping.

Rafe quickly teaches Diana the dance that goes with the music. She only has to see it once to immediately master it, and the two of them set off, the steps perfectly executed. Quickly growing bored with it, Diana begins to embellish the dance, adding sensual movement as she presses her hips up against Rafe, her arms high above her head, weaving about like snakes. Andras offers his hand to Tierney and soon they’re dancing as well, Valasca jumping in with Alder.

I play a few more tunes, everyone learning the folk dances with happy ease, changing up the steps, showing off. After I finish about the sixth song, Rafe goes over to Wynter and holds out his hand, even though he knows that she’ll inadvertently read his thoughts by touching him. Wynter looks surprised, but pleased, and takes Rafe’s hand. I play a formal waltz, and they whirl around the fire, joined by Jarod and Valasca, Trystan and Alder.

Diana approaches Yvan as I finish the song and holds out a hand to him. “Come on, Fire Fae. Aren’t your people famous for their dancing?”

Yvan looks to the ground, smiles, then gets up. Everyone steps back for them, eager to watch.

I play one of the folk tunes from before, and they start out with the basic steps, smiling at each other, as if they find the simplicity of it funny. Then Yvan begins to stray from it, his movements fluid, almost serpentine, as he slowly adds more complicated steps, waiting to see if Diana can follow. Soon they’re wound around each other, Diana’s eyes bright, her face flushed. A spike of jealousy shoots through me, but also relief. Jealousy at her easy sensuality, her dancing ability, her being so close tomyYvan, but relief that I’m the musician and don’t need to make a fool of myself by trying to dance with Yvan. I could never dance like that, and I don’t want Yvan to know it.

I finish the song, Diana laughing with delight as Yvan dips her low, and Rafe comes over to claim her. “All right, Diana,” he says playfully. “Step away from the Fire Fae.” He mock glares at Yvan.

Yvan releases Diana and she steps back, uncharacteristically flustered.

“Thanks for showing me up, Yvan.” Rafe scowls lightheartedly as he slides an arm around Diana’s waist.

Yvan bows to him, grinning. “I’ve simply had more practice.”

“Yes, well.” Rafe turns to me. “Stay away from him, Elloren. He’s trouble.”

“I’ve been told that on more than one occasion,” I say with a laugh.

“Set down your instrument, Elloren,” Jarod prods, gesturing toward Yvan. “Dance with him.”

There are murmurs of encouragement all around.

“Go on, Gardnerian,” Ariel says, smirking. “Dance with the Fire Fae.”

I shake my head, smiling. “No, I’m not as good as all of you.”

“Don’t worry, Elloren,” Diana says, still flushed. “He’s averystrong lead.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows at her, to which she laughs.

Yvan holds out his hand to me. “Put the violin down, Elloren.”

“I can take over for you,” Trystan volunteers with a slight smile. I hesitate, then pass the instrument to my younger brother and stand up, taking Yvan’s proffered hand.

“Really,” I tell him as he leads me to the open space, “I don’t think I can follow the steps.”

“Do you know the steps to the first dance you played?” Yvan asks, ignoring my hesitation.

“Yes.”

“Dance that.”

“All right,” I say, unconvinced, as we arrange our hands and arms around each other.

Trystan starts to play a Gardnerian folk tune, and Jarod and Valasca drum out a rhythm. We begin in the traditional way, everyone clapping along with the beat and calling out encouragement to me, and I follow along easily, the two of us perfectly in time, perfectly in sync. And then Yvan begins to change the dance, moving gradually closer, wrapping one arm around me, then unexpectedly pulling me in tight.

I stumble into him, stepping on his foot, my flushed face growing hotter. “I’m so sorry...”

Yvan just grins as the others continue to clap out the beat for us. We begin again, and this time, he eases the changes in more gradually, an extra step here, a different hold on me there. Little by little, my body loosens, the rhythm claiming me. He starts to pull me closer, until I’m pressed up against him, his fire licking deliciously toward me, but this time, I don’t stumble. I soon forget there’s anyone else around, aware only of him, fascinated by him—how he weaves around the rhythm, how he weaves around me, his eyes hot on mine, the feel of his hands, his body and fire moving against mine.

Then the drumming stops, and everyone breaks into applause as I stand there out of breath, encircled in his arms. Of course, he isn’t the least bit winded.

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