And it is true. Emerin and Tahira hate the plain gowns and the lack of jewels. Asha and I take it in stride.
Hanah even places those ridiculous rubies around my neck. They hang heavy against my breasts. Torchlight glimmers off the jewels as I run my fingers against them. They’re lovely, but not what I would choose. If I were given a choice, I would pick a simple hematite stone set in silver.
I sway back and forth as Hanah braids my hair and ties the end with a silk ribbon. Our gazes meet in the looking glass as she smiles.
“You look lovely, Lyra.”
“Thank you,” I gush, my tone too loud, too jovial.
I scrub my fingers against my forehead as the lightness increases.
I’m floating.
A smile pulls at my mouth as Hanah leads me from the bedchamber, down the long corridor, and to a door.
I brush my hand against her arm. “Did you know I’m air?” Her brow lifts as I continue.
“And I can float?”
“Oh, My Lady.” Hanah shakes her head and grabs my arm, as if she intends to keep me from walking into the room.
I pull away and dance into the dining hall. The room is not the grand spectacle I had envisioned, but rather an intimate space with an enormous table that dominates the center. At least fifty high-back chairs line either side, each occupied by a man wearing a crimson phoenix on his surcoat—the phoenix that holds the Fate of all Hematites firmly within its grasp.
Grandfather would like to think he can rewrite Fate, but I have always believed there is no rewriting what is already written in blood. Especially, when he cannot accept that House of Silver was defeated decades ago. He still leads his rebel armies against House of Crimson, hoping to reclaim what he believes was stolen from him.
“It is my birthright,”he has often muttered as he stares at a map of Hematite land.
I draw my attention to the man at the head of the table. Jasce leans back against his chair with his fingers steepled in front of his lips. His gaze moves to me as the lightness takes over my body.
I twirl, allowing my cotehardie to spin around my body. “I’m air,” I announce.
“Oh, a dance. How spectacular,” Aleksander says from his place next to Jasce. He raises his goblet, saluting the air.
Jasce doesn’t budge, nor does he unstack his hands. They remain against his mouth, and his gaze stays locked on me.
The rest of the men stare, their eyes caught on me as I spin and spin and spin.
“Enough!” Jasce commands, but I’m not finished.
I dance my fingers in front of my face and sway my hips, caught up with the beat only I hear. How it drums. How it lures me on.
There’s something freeing about this dance. Something carefree and endless.
I sway my hips more, wiggling them the way the dancers did for Grandfather. He never saw me when I attended the dinners he didn’t invite me to. I was behind the thick curtain—hidden away, but I saw how those women moved. It made the men stare.
So, I copy those movements, swaying my hips, thrusting out my breasts. Surprisingly, Lyra’s body reacts perfectly, as if she has done this type of dancing before.
Suddenly, strong hands reach out, grabbing me, stopping my mindless spinning. I gasp as Jasce brings me into his arms and throws me over his shoulder. Another gasp escapes me when he carries me from the room.
“No.” I squirm, trying to get away from him. “I need to keep dancing.”
“Hanah,” he bellows as he carries me kicking and squirming down the corridor.
She appears from a nearby room and curtsies. “My Lord.”
“What happened to Lyra?”
She blinks and glances at me, still struggling to free myself, then quickly lowers her eyes to the floor.
