Page 10

Chapter Ten

A ries

The harvest festival hits like a shock. After days of quiet in our cottage, the noise and color feel like too much all at once.

Lights strung overhead sway in shifting patterns, throwing shadows over the packed crowd.

The air’s thick with the scent of roasted meat, sweet pastries, cut hay, and late-season blooms—loud smells for a loud night.

“Remember,” the Committee member intones, their multifaceted eyes reflecting the festival lights, “you must complete three traditional challenges while bound by the Unity Cord. Physical contact is permitted only where the cord connects you. Failure to maintain proper distance elsewhere results in a mark against your progress.”

The Unity Cord is deceptively simple—a length of shimmering rope that binds us wrist-to-wrist, leaving about two feet of space between us.

“Your first challenge awaits at the Weaver’s Dance,” they continue. “Then the Harvest Race, and finally the Trial of Trust. You have until the first moon rises to complete all three.”

They ghost from view, leaving us alone in the crowd. Callie’s hair glows like honey in the festival lights, twisted into another intricate braid that my fingers created this morning .

The memory of her soft sounds as I worked makes my hands itch to touch her again. How is it that I avoided her for annums and now, after only a few days crowded into our little cottage, I yearn for her?

“So,” she says brightly, clearly trying to dispel the tension, “Weaver’s Dance?”

“Might as well.” Following the flow of the crowd, we quickly discover the first challenge of simply walking while bound together. Our natural gaits don’t quite match, leading to several stumbles before we find a rhythm.

“Sorry,” she mutters after the third time we nearly trip. “I’m not usually this clumsy.”

“It’s not you,” I assure her. “We just need to…” Adapting my longer stride to match hers, I find the perfect synchronization. “There. Better?”

Her answering smile does something dangerous to my chest. “Much. Though I’m a little worried about what this Weaver’s Dance entails.”

The dance area comes into view—pairs of people moving in intricate patterns while somehow weaving ribbons into complex designs between them. As we watch, one couple creates a perfect star pattern, earning applause from the gathered crowd.

“That doesn’t look so bad,” Callie says uncertainly. “Just some basic weaving while we dance. How hard can it be?”

Very hard, as it turns out. Our first attempt ends with both of us hopelessly tangled in the ribbons, earning good-natured laughter from the onlookers. The Unity Cord doesn’t help. It limits our movement and forces constant awareness of each other’s space.

“Maybe if we…” Callie starts untangling us, careful not to touch me. “What if you lead with your left instead of right? Then I could… ”

Working together, we eventually manage a simple pattern.

The dance itself requires us to mirror each other’s movements, maintaining eye contact while weaving the ribbons between us.

Each turn brings us tantalizingly close before we move to the edge of the Unity Cord’s bounds, so we don’t break the rules.

“You’re actually pretty good at this,” she says during one such near-brush, her cheeks flushed from exertion. The scent of her—clean sweat and something floral—makes my head spin.

“Had some practice,” I admit, guiding us through another turn. “Childhood dance lessons which actually proved helpful in my gladiator training. Turns out it helps with balance and coordination in the arena.”

Her eyes widen slightly. “You never mentioned that before.”

“Never came up.” Another turn, another near-touch. “Besides, not many opportunities for conversation when we’re avoiding each other on different ships.”

The words slip out before I can stop them. Her rhythm falters slightly, but she recovers quickly. “No, I suppose not.”

Working together, we eventually create a passable butterfly pattern with the ribbons. Not perfect, but enough to satisfy the requirements. As we exit the dance area, a chime signals the completion of the first challenge.

“Two more to go,” Callie says, consulting the festival map with our bound hands. “The Harvest Race is next—looks like some kind of obstacle course through the fields.”

The course proves both more challenging and more amusing than expected. We have to navigate hay bales, crossed logs, and various farming implements while staying connected by the cord. Each obstacle requires careful coordination and communication.

“Left,” Callie calls as we balance on a narrow beam. “No, my left! ”

“Same thing,” I grunt, adjusting my step to match hers. “We’re facing the same direction.”

“Well, excuse me for trying to be specific,” she retorts, but there’s laughter in her voice. “Duck!”

I drop just in time to avoid a swinging hay bale, pulling her down with me through the Unity Cord’s connection. We end up on opposite sides of a hay pile, the cord stretched taut between us, both breathing hard from the close call.

For a moment, we’re separated by only the width of the hay bale, close enough that I can see the rapid rise and fall of her chest, smell her light floral scent mixed with exertion. The Unity Cord vibrates between us like a plucked string, our synchronized breathing the only sound.

“That was close,” she breathes, her eyes locked on mine across the golden barrier.

“Too close,” I agree, my voice rough. The urge to reach around the hay bale, to close that final gap between us, is almost overwhelming.

“We should…” She swallows hard, making no move to increase the distance the cord allows.

“The next obstacle,” I finish, though neither of us moves immediately. The moment stretches, heavy with awareness and the maddening restriction of being so close yet unable to touch.

“We should…” My voice comes out rough. “The next obstacle…”

“Right.” She straightens quickly, creating proper distance. “Can’t fail now.”

Working together, we eventually complete the course, learning to anticipate each other’s movements, to communicate with gestures and quick glances rather than words. By the end, we’re moving almost as one person, the Unity Cord more guide than restraint .

The final challenge—the Trial of Trust—turns out to be deceptively simple. One partner must guide the other, blindfolded, through a maze-like garden while collecting specific flowers. The trick is that only the blindfolded person can pick the flowers, relying completely on their partner’s guidance.

“I’ll wear the blindfold,” Callie offers. “You’re good at giving directions.”

I am not sure whether this is a veiled insult or not.

The soft lavender cloth covers her eyes, leaving her completely dependent on my guidance. The Unity Cord takes on new significance as I lead her through the garden, describing each flower’s location and characteristics.

“Slightly to your left,” I murmur, watching her fingers brush the petals. “The stem is thorny, so be careful. Cup your hand around the bloom first, then slide down to find a safe grip point.”

She follows my instructions perfectly, adding another flower to our collection. The trust she’s showing, allowing me to guide her while she’s vulnerable, makes my chest tighten. After everything that happened in that cell, everything that came after…

“You’re very good at this,” she says softly as we navigate another turn. “Making me feel safe even when I can’t see.”

The words hit like a physical blow. “Callie…”

“I know,” she cuts in. “We’re not talking about it. Just… just guide me to the next flower.”

Working together, we complete our collection just as the first moon rises. “We make a good team,” she says softly, her words surprisingly natural.

“We always did,” I reply. “Even in that cell, even when everything was horrible, we found ways to protect each other.”

This isn’t hate anymore. To be honest, it was never hate. It’s something far more dangerous—and far more precious.

The Committee member takes form to verify our success, then vanishes again, leaving us alone in the lamp-lit garden.

“Can I…” She gestures to the blindfold with our bound hands.

“Here.” Reaching up with my free hand, I carefully untie the cloth. Her eyes blink open, adjusting to the light. This close, I can see the tiny flecks of gold in the green, the slight dilation of her pupils as she focuses on me.

“We did it.” The relief is obvious in her voice. “All three challenges.”

“We did.” Something shifts in the air between us, heavy with possibility. The Unity Cord seems to quiver with our matched heartbeats.

A distant chime breaks the moment. “That’s the signal to return,” she says quickly, stepping back to the proper distance. “We should…”

“Yeah.”

The walk back to our cottage is silent but charged with new awareness.

The Unity Cord has taught us a dangerous lesson—how well we can move together, anticipate each other’s needs, trust each other’s guidance.

When it’s removed, the ghost of that connection will remain, another layer of intimacy these trials keep forcing upon us.

Keeping proper distance feels harder with each passing day. And we’ve barely started.