Page 13 of The Ascended
I nodded, not trusting my voice. Around us, the celebration was starting to take shape. Elder Keth was making his way toward the fire pit with a bundle of kindling while Henrik tuned his fiddle. I readied my ears for what would undoubtedly be a loud evening of these drunken bastards screaming songs out of key.
Keth crouched beside the cold fire pit, his weathered hands steady as he arranged the kindling just so. The flint andsteel had belonged to his grandfather, and his grandfather's grandfather before that.
The fire caught, small flames licking upward. In the growing light, faces emerged from the shadows—some I'd known since birth, others newer to Saltcrest but no less welcome for it.
"To those who came before," Keth raised his cup. "And those who'll come after. And to tonight, which is all we get for sure."
"To tonight," everyone echoed, and drank.
That was it. No grand speeches, no elaborate ceremony. Just acknowledgment of time and mortality and the simple fact that we were here together.
"Cards?" Thatcher appeared at my elbow, already eyeing the traders who'd clustered near one of the side alcoves.
"Go fleece them," I said. "Just don't be too obvious about it."
"I'm never obvious. I'm subtle as a passing breeze.” He was already moving away, that easy charm sliding over his features.
"You're subtle as a brick through a window," I called after him, but he just laughed and kept walking.
"He's going to clean them out," Lira observed.
"Probably." I watched him settle into the group, already dealing cards with the practiced ease of someone who'd been running games since he was sixteen. "They look like they can afford it."
Henrik's fiddle cut through the chatter with the opening notes of a song. The first one was always "Fisher's Dawn," and everyone was expected to sing along whether they could carry a tune or not.
The voices rose around me, blending together into something bigger than the sum of its parts. I found myself singing too.
Salt wind and morning tide,Nets cast upon the foam,Every sailor knows the seawill call him home.
It was a working song, something to keep rhythm when you were hauling nets or mending lines. But here in the caves, with voices echoing off the stone walls, it sounded more like solidarity.
"Dance?"
I looked up to find Marel standing over me, hand extended. He was smiling, but there was caution in it.
"I'm comfortable here," I said, which wasn't entirely a lie.
"Come on. It's tradition."
"Since when?"
"Since right now." His smile deepened. "I'm starting a new tradition. Dancing with stubborn women who pretend they don't want to."
"That's oddly specific."
Lira snorted into her wine. "Just go dance with him, Thais. Before I throw up from all this romance."
I shot her a look, but let Marel pull me to my feet. The space near the fire had already been claimed by other couples, and Henrik's fiddle turned slow.
And intimate. Too intimate.
Marel was a good dancer. His hands were sure on my waist, and he led without being pushy about it. We moved through the steps, spinning and stepping around each other in the pattern everyone in Saltcrest learned as children. I found myself watching his face, trying to summon the feelings I should have had after so much time together. There was affection, certainly—even desire—but the deeper current that should have run beneath it was conspicuously absent.
"You've been avoiding me," he said as we came together for the closer portion of the dance.
"I haven't."
"Really? Because I've been to the oyster beds three times this week and somehow never managed to run into you."
