dance?'
'Yes!'
Yuri caught her up, pulling her around, and her feet moved into the pulse of their own accord. Faces, muted in the firelight, flashed past. She loved dancing perhaps more than anything except for flying, was good at it, and this firelit stage, a hall enclosed by dark, with sound echoing in the air, voices singing with pipes, bodies, skirted tunics, brushing past her, the fine taste of grass and dust on her tongue, all heightened her senses so that the steps seemed as natural as breathing.
After two dances, Konstantina took Yuri away from her. Tess wandered to stand near the musicians, looking for a familiar face, but it seemed to her that all the men she knew were out dancing. She rubbed her hands together, feeling a little stupid. Vladimir came up to her. He smiled, looking straight at her.
'Oh, hello, Vladimir,' she said, feeling even more stupid. If she had exchanged twenty words with him on this journey, she would have been surprised.
He laid a hand on his necklaces, stones that winked and gleamed in the firelight. He wore bracelets on each wrist, rings on four fingers, and his eyes were unusually dark, startling against the blondness of his hair. 'Neither you nor I have partners.'
Tess lowered her gaze. She knew this dance all too well; it reminded her of Jacques. 'No,' she replied faintly.
He put out his hand, palm up.
Flushing, she put her hand on his and let him lead her out to the circle. He was her height, slim-waisted, and he danced gracefully enough that he easily covered the mistakes she made. He did not speak much, either. She danced with him again and again. Then, catching sight of Bakhtiian to one side, he excused himself hurriedly and walked away.
Left alone, she put her hands, warm from him, on her cold cheeks. A drum pounded out a slow, elegant rhythm, and Tsara ran up to lead her out into a line dance for women. Pipes serenaded them as they swept through the measures, the bright bells on their trousers and the brilliant headpieces of gold flashing against the firelight. But they abandoned her ruthlessly when it came time to dance with the men again-not, Tess thought, out of any selfishness, but simply because they seemed to think she could fend for herself. If only she had their confidence.
And Vladimir came up and asked her to dance again. They stood in the farthest ring of light after the dance ended, sleeves touching, the hem of her long tunic brushing the tasseled tops of his boots, and she felt in charity with Vladi for keeping her company. Glancing at him, she caught him looking at her speculatively. She flushed again, and cursed herself silently for flushing. I'm terrible at this, she thought. / ought to just- He watched her steadily, and he smiled, as if he was aware of the way her thoughts were tending. / ought to just get it over with. God knows, he's pretty enough.
He laid his hand on her arm, light but intimate.
'Why aren't any of the other women dancing with you?' she asked.
His hand tightened on her sleeve. 'Someone said something. Kirill. I'd wager. He never has liked me.'
'Vladimir,' she began, suddenly guilty, knowing it was herself who had spoiled his chances, and somehow they had taken a step back, out of the last ring of light, and now they stood in shadow.
'Tess!' It was Yuri. Vladimir whirled and vanished into the darkness.
'What is it?' Tess asked a little peevishly, as Yuri halted next to her.
He didn't answer for a moment, looking past her into the dark where Vladimir had disappeared. The music ended. 'The next dance. The one I taught you that you liked so much. Come on.' He took her hand, hesitated. 'It isn't so bad for me to dance with you because everyone knows that by giving you my sister's tent my mother sealed us brother and sister by every claim but blood. It's all right for a brother to ask his sister to dance.'
'Are you trying to tell me something?' Oh, God, she'd done something wrong. As always, with men; as always.
'We'd better hurry. They're forming up.' He dragged her into the circle and placed her so that her back was to the fire and he faced her. 'Now don't forget: step, behind, step, behind, step, then turn, and you've got the quick step-hop. And don't forget to switch partners. But when the hold is called, you're to stay with that partner until you've missed a step. That's the contest. But don't worry. No one will be watching you anyway.'
The drums began, a slow, straight beat in four. Tess did not worry. Identical sets, the music starting slow and getting fester and faster, and the switch of partners; if they wanted to make this a contest-where those who made mistakes dropped out and the last pair without mistakes won-she was happy just to dance it, because she loved its complexity. No man, faced with this foreigner when the drummer called 'hold,' would expect her to dance without error.
The pipes came in with the melody. She danced the set twice with Yuri and on a double clap and turn moved right to a new partner. Spins and high steps, stamps that sounded hollow and muffled on the ground, a strong arm pulling her around, laughter across the fire. A man whistled. She loved it. She had that sense of dancing that anticipates the rhythm and so is exact, the ability to duplicate the melody in the steps. She danced, spun to a new partner, danced, moved.
The high melody, faster now, pierced through the thick sound of feet, of breath expelled and drawn in, of the snap of fire and the slap of clothing. The lutes took up a counter-melody and the drums added an off beat. The women's long tunics swelled out on the turns, sinking back in, swirling around legs. Tess stamped and twirled and came to Niko. He grinned, breathing hard from exertion, and swung her around. As the dance went faster, it became somehow easier for her as she lost her self-consciousness in her absorption in the music. Low drums came in, the high ones pounding out patterns above, matching the pipes. She danced, kick-hop, slide step away, clap and return, moved to the next partner, danced, stamped, and whirled into the arms of Bakhtiian.
'Hold!' yelled the drummer: hold to this partner. The contest had begun.
Bakhtiian glared at her, but pulled her in, and they pivoted. Where she pulled out, she felt an exact counterweight against her. His hand on her lower back signaled her steps, and when he had to turn her so fast that she got dizzy, his other arm steadied her, strong at her waist, until she got her balance back. By the end of the first set, they understood each other. By the end of the second, they could no longer tell if the music was speeding up.
Tess laughed. Step-behind and five stamps, five stamps. She felt as if her soul were flowing out through her limbs, her fingers and her toes, her eyes and her lips. His face seemed luminous, as though sparks of fire had caught it and then spread down to burn in flashes on his shirt; he was not smiling. He spun, and she spun-the drummer called out, 'To end!' — and she and Bakhtiian pivoted ten times and came to a perfect halt, stock-still and panting and exactly placed in the circle.
Except there was no circle. They had won.
'Oh, God,' said Tess in Anglais.
'You're a good dancer,' said Bakhtiian, releasing her and bowing as they did at the court in Jeds. His hair seemed thicker, fluffed into a luxuriant disarray by the activity, touched with moisture on the ends. For an instant she had the urge to touch it. He straightened.
Yuri stood beyond, laughing. Beside him, Kirill had his arms crossed on his chest, grinning. Tsara stood next to him with one hand draped possessively over his arm. Konstantina clapped and cheered, egging on those around her. Niko and Mother Sakhalin stood together, smiling. Vladimir stood off to one side, alone, and he looked furious.
'Thank you,' Tess said. Words deserted her. She stared blankly at him, and he averted his eyes. 'Ah, yes,' she went on, stumbling, mortified. 'You understand.'
'Understand what?'
'Dancing.' She felt as if she were about to dive into a deep pool of murky water; something lay in the depths, and she did not know what it was. 'Some people move their feet while there is music, some move their feet with the music.'
He smiled, swiftly, like the sight of a wild animal in flight: a moment's brilliant grace and an unfulfilled suggestion of beauty. 'What you found in riding, you already knew in dancing.'
Tess could think of nothing to say and was beginning to feel stupid again when Yuri came up.
'Tess, I had no idea you could dance so well. Everyone knows that Ilya can dance like the grass, but he never does. I don't know why.''
