him. No one else would even notice, but Nikandr knew it all too well. The smile he’d suppressed earlier returned, and this time there was nothing he could do to stop it. Atiana had come to dance, and he had not been tested in a very long time indeed.
As the lute and harp strummed a heavy chord, the crowd collectively clapped. In time, Atiana spun and brought one leg low over the ballroom floor, her dress flourishing as it did so. Nikandr jumped into the air, clearing her sweeping leg, and kicked both legs out, touching his toes with the tips of his fingers.
A collective gasp filled the room. Nikandr had jumped very high, partially to impress, but also to let Atiana know that he had accepted her challenge.
The second chord came, the crowd clapped, and Atiana repeated the low sweep of her leg. She was very good, Nikandr realized, her motions fluid. No doubt she had practiced only to drive her superiority home in front of as many people as she could manage. Nikandr jumped again, and the crowd murmured.
The progression continued, Atiana spinning, Nikandr leaping, as the pace of the music increased. It was a time where the two lovers were exploring their emotions after being lonely for so long, a celebration of their newfound love. The clapping came faster, the music more lively. The crowd became more animated, some people yelling “Hup!” as Nikandr leapt and kicked his legs straight out.
Typically the woman, even if she were more fit or a better dancer, would end the dance when she saw her partner begin to flag. Atiana would do no such thing.
Nikandr was no stranger to this dance, and certainly not to dancing in general, so he was able to continue for quite some time, but the demands on the male partner were great. His stomach began to tie in a knot and the muscles in his legs tired as the crowd clapped in a frenzy and the music marched on.
Still, Nikandr thought, her efforts would be taking their toll. Part of him hoped she would slip or be unable to sweep her leg, or that she would simply stop, her breath coming too quickly, but another part hoped that the challenge would not be so easy.
Nikandr’s breath came in ragged gasps as he dropped to the balls of his feet, ready to launch himself into the air once more. His thighs began to burn as if they’d been replaced with bright, molten lava.
He launched himself once more. And again, knowing he had only a few more in him.
And Atiana knew it. He caught that same little smile as she spun around once more.
She would fail, he told himself.
She would stumble.
She would fall.
Nikandr pushed himself harder than he ever had. He sounded like a wounded animal as hard as he was breathing, and he barely cleared her leg as he leapt into the air. He was no longer able to touch his toes, and he couldn’t extend his legs completely. It was an embarrassment to the form.
And then.
He could neither leap high enough, nor fast enough. He raised himself up, but Atiana’s leg caught his ankles, sending him sprawling to the floor.
The crowd went mad, clapping and yelling and laughing, some sending piercing whistles about the room.
CHAPTER 11
Nikandr’s knee flared with pain where it had struck the marble tile. He sat, nursing it as the crowd continued to roar.
Atiana stood over him, extending a hand while staring down at him. Laughing, Nikandr grabbed her hand and allowed her to help him to his feet.
The Vostromas clustered on the dais were all of them laughing or smiling. The rook was beating its wings against the air, twisting its head, a clear sign of displeasure.
As he stepped back and snapped his heels, a curious smile touched the corners of Atiana’s mouth. “It seems Vostroma has won this round,” Nikandr said.
The words were met with a raucous round of applause, particularly from the Vostromas. “Next year, Nischka!” a voice in the crowd shouted, referring to their anniversary dance, where couples would reprise this dance. Often the partner who had won would defer to the other, but Atiana would not yield-not in a year, not in ten-and Nikandr found a part of him that bore respect for that.
He spent most of the night dancing with the other women of Vostroma, but after a time, he and Atiana, as per custom, were allowed to leave the ball to speak with one another in something resembling privacy. They stood outside in the central hall with Atiana’s Aunt Katerina standing a good distance away, ready to act as chaperone. Whether it was the awkwardness of finding themselves together after what had happened with their dance or the fact that they were suddenly being watched not by a crowd but by a single person, Nikandr didn’t know, but neither he nor Atiana appeared ready to say anything to the other. It was intensely awkward, but he was pleased to see Atiana mirroring his own feelings.
“Would you care for a walk outside?” Nikandr asked. “A walk, nyet. But a ride would do nicely.”
And Nikandr, despite himself, smiled.
With Atiana riding to his left, Nikandr urged his pony along the road leading down toward Volgorod. Katerina hadn’t been pleased at all that they had wanted to ride, but it was the prerogative of the wedding couple, and so she could do little but put on a sour face and go along with them. With the recent attack, a full desyatni of streltsi were sent as well, five on the road ahead, and five behind. They stayed far enough away, and the two of them were used to such things, so it didn’t bother them overly much to have an escort. Atiana’s aunt, on the other hand, was a different story. As old as they were-Nikandr twenty-four and Atiana twenty-it felt strange to have a chaperone, but Katerina seemed to be taking her duty very seriously.
The city of Volgorod far below them was almost entirely hidden in the darkness, but there were a few taller buildings near its center that had lights in their windows, giving some sense of its size and shape. Somewhere amid them, Nikandr thought, was Rehada’s home. He managed to prevent himself from glancing over at Atiana, but felt conspicuous in doing so. A part of him wished he could ride to the city and spend the night with Rehada, but another found himself glad to be alone with Atiana. He had decided shortly after realizing the wasting had taken him that he would share it with his bride. He had not found it in himself to tell another soul, even Victania, but Atiana was different. She deserved to know, deserved the option of backing out of the marriage if she so chose. All she’d need to do was tell her father, and in all likelihood he would have the contracts declared dead.
“Come,” he said, pulling the reins of his pony over and heading northward over the tall grasses of the highlands. He needed to remove the sight of Volgorod, if only to get the feeling that Rehada was watching him out of his mind.
Atiana followed, and soon they had gone far enough that the city was hidden. Only the lights of Radiskoye could be seen, and he decided that that was the right of it, no matter how much he might wish for something else.
“I’ve always loved Radiskoye,” Atiana said.
“You have?”
“Don’t be so surprised. Galostina is too spare. Radiskoye is grand and stately.”
“Galostina is proud.”
In the moonlight, he could see her shrug. “Proud, perhaps, but she was built with only one thing in mind.” She pulled her pony to a stop and slipped down off the saddle to the snow-covered ground in one smooth motion. She began walking, leaving her pony to nibble on the exposed grass. “Was my father hard on you today?”
Behind them, Katerina pulled her pony to a stop. Nikandr couldn’t see her expression, but her stiff posture told him all he needed to know.
Nikandr dropped down to the ground and walked alongside her. “Your father? Nyet. He was kind, if a bit severe.”
She laughed. “My father is nothing if not severe.”
“There is something I would share with you,” he said.
She stopped, forcing him to do the same.
