Page 74 of The Art of Exiley

We stop to watch Mbali, who has joined other members of the Matriarchy of the Isles––all wearing serpent masks––in a hypnotic ceremonial dance.Next to them is a choir, each member splashing paint of a different color onto a giant tapestry as they sing a complex harmony that starts to take visual shape on the joint painting.

Whooping shouts and cheers direct our attention to the main stage at the front of the hall. Two dancers—both Valkyries—have begun a ballet. A spotlight illuminates their shirtless, lithe figures; one has deep mahogany skin, and the other is tan and covered in tattoos. Both dancers wear bird masks and are clearly favorites of the crowd. The music is harsh with a strong bass line, thumping percussion, and electric violin. The dancers are precise and elegant, all rippling muscles and breathtaking speed. With a dramatic drum roll, their wings unfurl, and the dance rises into the air.

There are more whoops and cheers as another figure leaps onto the stage, tears off his dress shirt, and joins the dance. It’s Remmy, Kaylie’s brother. He’s magnificent, spinning on the stage while the others dance hovering above him.

Remmy leaps into an impressive grand pirouette that has the crowd roaring even louder, and then he slows, his body stretched low to the ground, and I have a clear view of his back. There are wings on Remmy’s back, but not like the skin and bone wings of his sister or the dancers above. His are elegant angel-like wings drawn in ink on the canvas of his shoulders and back. The tattoos are beautiful, but they are sprouting from two parallel patches of red, angry scar tissue. And I have no doubt what once grew from that ruined flesh. I wonder in horror what must have happened for him to have lost his wings, but the beauty of his dancing drags my attention away from his back.

Despite the fact that he remains grounded, he’s flying, weaving a tale of loss that I feel deep in my gut. I never knew dance could tell such a story; I never knew it could touch me as music does or as brushstrokes do. But here I stand, completely undone.

Music from every corner of the room is crashing into itself, discordant and harmonious at the same time, rising into a glorious crescendo, and just as I’m sure my heart will explode into a million tiny pieces of grief, the two flying dancers lift Remmy off the stage and fly him above the crowd. As all the faces in the room lift toward the ceiling, the three dance together, the two Valkyries swing and toss Remmy between them as he soars in rhythmic, intricate flips and turns, a shooting star across the night sky.

Longing turns to hope, the whole room feeling it together, our bodies moving with the music. My sense of self dissolves into the crowd as the music echoes in my skull all the way to my teeth. It melts into my blood, rewriting the rhythm of my pulse, painting me as part of this communal masterpiece.

I am incandescent

a gust of evening wind

the last note of a song

the gasp between kisses…

Moments, or hours, or lifetimes later, I turn and find Michael beside me.

“There you are!” he says. I hardly hear the words over the music, but I can read his lips. “I wanted to see your reaction as someone here for the first time. Isn’t it amazing?”

I step closer to be heard over the deafening music. “It’s incredible!”

His face shines, all dimples and joy, and I can’t help but reach up and push the flop of hair out of his face. I would normally never dare, but the atmosphere of Carnevale makes it feel as if the rules are suspended for a whisper of time.

He laughs as it flops right back. “That’s a battle I lost long ago.”

Michael spreads his arms, lifts his face toward the ceiling, and spins. I laugh and spin with him, like the music will carry us away, until I careen into his body, dizzy and drunk on the moment. He grabs my hand andtwirls me under his arm, then twirls me in reverse until the front of my body is pressed up against his. He releases my hand and loosely grips my waist. I put my arms around his neck hesitantly and look up at his handsome face, a face that makes me feel known, makes me feel home. He may have his faults, but he’s trying. And maybe I can help try harder because his people, allthissurrounding us, is worth it.

As our gazes lock, our laughter dies down. Michael’s eyes glitter caramel and chocolate beneath his thick dark lashes. His Adam’s apple bobs, and I wonder what it would feel like against my lips. Guitar-calloused fingers skim my cheek, cup my face. I no longer hear the music or feel the shift of dancers around us. The only sound is the echoing thump of my heart in my ears.

Thump, thump.

The press of his tall, lean body against mine pulses warmth through me. I feel sexy and fierce and reckless. I tip my face toward his, and now our mouths are so close that I breathe in his shaky exhale.

Thump, thump.

I dig my fingers into his shoulders, and—ever so lightly that I almost miss it—he presses a kiss to my cheek.

Thump, thump.

So soft, like the wings of a butterfly passing by, and just as fleeting.

The touch is gone as soon as it began.

“You look radiant tonight,” he whispers in my ear, words tinged with a tender note of regret. And then he releases me and steps away, instantly disappearing into the undulating crowd. I’d almost doubt it ever happened, but the spot where his lips brushed my skin is branded with the sting of a newly inked tattoo.

The noise comes crashing back, and I’m standing alone on the teeming dance floor, my heart warring between excitement and disappointment, my body keyed up and frustrated.

I mentally clutch at the already fading memory. I don’t normally let myself want Michael, but I’ll allow it for the next few hours. Until I have to return to the reality of why I can never have him. Why I can never have any of this life.

Georgie breaks away from a nearby clump of dancers. “I saw that little dance with Master Tall, Dark, and Emotionally Promiscuous.” She yells to be heard. She swats at my arm. “How long have you been drooling over that particular slice of cake?”

“Drooling?” I respond, “More like starving.” I roll my eyes. “Forever, it seems.”

---