As promised, he found the room with a beautiful set of double doors painted blue and covered in carvings of all manner of birds, largest at the bottom to smallest at the top. Beside the doors was a young man. "Master Jankin?"
"Yes, that's me. I hope I'm not late."
"No, still early. Would you like water or anything?"
"Water would be lovely."
"This way." The man led him through a door a short distance down the hall from the blue doors, into an antechamber room, small and minimally filled, but still beautifully appointed. He poured water from a crystal pitcher into a matching glass and handed it to Jankin. "A bell will ring shortly, go through that curtain there, you'll see where to dance and everything fromthere. Not so different from your first night, really, just smaller in scale."
"Thank you." He finished the water, set the cup aside, and went to stand close to the curtain, which was mostly beading.
Just minutes later the bell rang, and he pushed through into a room that skirted close to opulent, all blue and black and gold, fresh flowers and even a small fountain of trickling water. In the corner were the duo who'd be playing the music for his dance. He smiled and nodded before getting into position, and in the next breath, the music began, and he fell into it.
As it was a private dance, though not as private as he'd secretly like, his dances were a bit more sensual, every move slower and more drawing, not the energetic fanfare used for public performances. He rarely watched the audience as he performed, mostly because it was basically impossible, but also because it could be distracting, especially if they were leering—or worse—and immediately made him uncomfortable, which broke his concentration.
He wished he could look now, though, whenever the dance allowed, because he'd like to see the approval on Shafiq's face, that soft smile he offered up so rarely.
Instead, he put his all into the dance, same as ever. He'd dedicated his entire life to the skill and never did it by half.
When the first set ended, he bowed and withdrew, gulping down water when he was back in the antechamber. Moving back to the curtains, he asked the servant, "Who are all these people?" Men, mostly, about ten in all, not including Shafiq and his concubines. Only two of the guests were women. They were all dressed in beautiful finery. Strangely, though, the harem wasn't scattered about the guests as they would normally be at such an affair, at least as Jankin understood matters. Nadir and Ender sat on either side of Shafiq, and served only him.Berkant was the only one seated elsewhere, right between the two women.
Jankin wasdyingto know all the politics of it all, the subtle moves taking place, the silent conversations happening, who was being rewarded, who punished, why, the fall out…
He'd never been interested in such things, except passively, but it had never been this interesting before. What would it be like, to be part of the game, work with the others to do what Shafiq needed, moving pieces quietly and subtly, then returning to their chambers to discuss it all?
Lately it felt like he was becoming someone else. Someone who wanted to hold still. He wasn't sure what to do with that.
He went out as the bell rang again, dancing the second part of the dance he'd broken into three, this section a little bit faster than the first, and the third would go slower again, with the fourth and fifth being each their own thing.
At the end of the second set, a fresh pitcher of water waited for him. "Thank you."
The servant smiled. "You really do dance beautifully, Master Jankin. I am surprised you were not sponsored by your own king."
"I had plenty of offers, but at the time I first left Rittu, I wasn't good enough to catch a royal eye, and I wouldn't have wanted to stay in one place anyway. Later, it was well known I preferred travel, and so he didn't ask. Anyway, the king has plenty of dancers. He hardly needed one more."
Plus, there was nothing as thorny and treacherous as the Rittuen court, and he had no desire to get involved in that mess.
Funny how he felt so completely opposite when it came to the Tavamaran court. Clearly he just needed the right incentive, in the form of a handsome, compassionate king. What a silly fool he was.
By the time he'd finished his water and tidied up his hair from two rounds of dancing, it was time for the third. Probably seemed absurd to go back and forth so much, and certainly he'd been made to dance for long periods of time without stopping before—it happened a lot in the Havarin colonies, where every Margrave fancied themselves a king—but he was aways immensely grateful when people let him rest.
He caught Shafiq's gaze this time as he entered the room, though not on purpose. There was a hint of a smile, though his attention remained on his guests.
The last part of this dance was slower than the first two. When performed in its entirety, the concept was of a flower growing, thriving in full bloom, and then finally wilting. It was often performed with fans, ribbons, or other accessories to further that. Given he was working in a small space, though, he'd opted out of using them. On one occasion he'd performed it with four other dancers, each of them a different color/flower, representing a whole garden growing and fading through the seasons.
Shafiq would probably enjoy the full performance, solo or ensemble. Maybe he could do it properly before he left.
The flurry of words that followed him out of the room this time was louder than usual. Probably because by this point everyone was fairly drunk, unless they'd been properly pacing themselves. That seemed a strong part of the entire drinking culture—measured sips, careful savoring, matching with the pace of the food and conversation. And then there were those who simply drank and drank, with little mind paid to anything else, and they definitely were looked at askance.
All so complicated and interesting. Nevermind memorizing all the different types, sub-types, and the ridiculously florid names. There was so much to learn, even before getting to the many people and countless relationshipsand how they all tied to business and government and more. A complicated puzzle, at the very least.
By the time he was finished, he was sore and sweaty—and there was still one more dance to go. Still, the applause was always a rush, and there was more cool water waiting for him, and he liked to think he wasn't imagining Shafiq's eyes lingering on him.
What a delight it must be, to have that sort of attention whenever you wanted it. And to have your wishes respected when you didn't, because Shafiq had certainly proven himself capable of that.
"We'll have food waiting for you when you finish your last set," the servant said with a smile as he returned to the antechamber. "Normally, I think you would be invited to finish the meal with them, but it's not that sort of meal and… well, some of them are free with their hands, no matter how often they are admonished and disciplined for it." He shrugged in thatwhat can you do, rich folksway that was the same the whole world over.
"Food would be wonderful," Jankin said. "I swear sometimes I could eat the entire contents of a pantry after I'm done performing. My trainers always insisted that such levels of eating are essential to maintain the strength needed to dance so much. I don't work quite that hard anymore, more selective in where and when and what I perform, but I still eat quite a bit." Many had teased him for it, insisting he was a glutton and would get fat, but especially when he was younger, he simply danced and practiced and moved too much for that to ever really be a concern. Maybe in another decade or so, when his joints started to weaken, limiting his movements.
