Page 95 of The Darkening (The Darkening)

The song’s last note hangs in the air, but before it can fall, it’s joined by warm beats of hands on a drum. The thrum of a sitar joins in, its voice pitched lower than Amma’s. The crowd opens up, and three children are the first to dance. A man with long white whiskers pulls a tiny woman to her feet, and she admonishes him as her shawl slips off her head. Lovers and friends, siblings and strangers; they all fall into a dance of interlocking hands and interweaving bodies.

I drop my hands, holding the ikonlight at my side. Dalca’s knuckles brush mine.

I steal a glance at him and find furrowed brows over thinking eyes.

What must it look like to him? Folks bundled up to the chin in rags, joining their voices to the music, leaping in a chaotic dance, and wearing expressions of joy that wouldn’t be out of place on a child?

Even in the chill, my cheeks grow hot. I can’t expect Dalca to understand what makes this precious to me, what makes this worth fighting for. I shouldn’t have brought him here.

“Let’s go,” I say, tugging on his sleeve when he doesn’t move.

We’ve gone two steps when mugs of sundust are pressed into our hands by a cheery woman with a long braid of frizzy gray hair and a gap between her front teeth. Dalca tries to refuse.

“Oh no, love, you’re shaking from the cold. Have a little. It’s weak, but we have more than enough.”

She beams at him until he takes a sip. His expression freezes, and very visibly, he swallows. I hide my smile under my cup.

“My boy was tall like you. Never said when he was cold, too. Stay warm, love. Both of you.” She winks at me.

“Thank you,” Dalca says with such solemnity that she giggles and pats his cheek before taking her pot of sundust to another cold soul.

I swallow my tea down and take his cup too, stacking them along the wall where there are a few others.

Dalca watches her pour with a funny look on his face.

“First time drinking sundust?”

Dalca blinks at me. “Was that what that was?”

“Fifth ring’s finest,” I say.

“She didn’t know me,” he says.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“That was kind of her,” he says, turning to me with a puzzled look.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Okay, I’m sorry, let’s go back—”

He cuts me off. “Will you dance with me?”

He holds out a hand.

Mystified, I consider him for a long moment. There’s no mockery, no pity in his eyes.

I take his hand. A smile curls his lips as he pulls me into the dance. He’s a fast learner, and I’m not much of a dancer myself, but soon we blend in well enough. I catch glimpses of him through a bridge of arms as the dance pulls us apart, and when we come close, he pulls me to him, earning himself a spattering of laughs as the flow of the dance breaks and bends to envelop us.

His breaths puff against my lips, and my skin knows the exact shape of the distance between us.

“I’ve never met anyone as brave as you,” he whispers.

I shake my head. “I’m not—”

“You are. I wanted you to stay, to be safe. But...”

“But?”

“I want you by my side more.”