Of Blood And Fire by Ryan Cahill (best classic books of all time .txt) 📕

“Find me after we eat,” Anya said. The dimples on either side of her mouth creased as she smiled. Calen felt like leaping into the air. His heart raced as Dann turned him around and walked him into the crowd.

“Smooth,” Dann said.

They caught up with Rist and made their way through the chaotic celebrations, over to the table where their families sat. When they arrived, Vars stood up and pulled Calen into a tight hug. He stepped back for a second and gripped Calen by both shoulders, beaming at him.

“My boy… You will always be my boy.” Vars’s eyes gleamed. “Come on – I’m sure you’re starving.”

“And thirsty!” Tharn Pimm extended a tankard of mead, placing it almost forcefully in Calen’s hand. Calen couldn’t stop his smile from spreading ear to ear as he looked around the table. The Havels, the Pimms, his mother and father, Ella. Family.

He joined Dann and Rist at the table, grabbing greedily at the wide assortment of food that was laid out in front of him. Even after eating earlier, his stomach still rumbled. The hours passed as they all ate and drank, telling stories and tales of days long gone. It was a welcome change from the cold nights in the forest.

Vars was deep in a story about when he and Lasch were young and stole a chicken from Old Master Pimm’s coop when Dann leaned in close enough so only Calen could hear, and whispered, “You think maybe, you might have somewhere to be?”

“What do you… oh.” A nervous knot twisted in Calen’s stomach as he remembered his conversation with Anya. “She probably doesn’t even—”

“Get out of that seat right now and go find Anya.” A grin crept across Dann’s face as he grabbed Calen’s hand and looked him dead in the eye. “You got this – now go.”

Calen took a deep breath inwards, steeling himself. “I got this.” I do not have this. He saw Rist nod at him as he stood up, a knowing smile on his face.

Calen tentatively pushed his way through the throng of people that filled the feast tent. Everywhere he looked, people danced and sang, and in every corner of the tent, bards played a different song. How was he meant to find Anya in this madness?

He recoiled as a chill shot up his right arm. “Fuck sake,” he said, feeling the damp patch on the sleeve of his shirt. “You just have to get it in your mouth—”

“Looking for me?” The sweet scent of honeysuckle hit Calen before he heard the words. Anya stood in front of him, her hands clutching at the corners of her green floral dress. Calen’s voice caught in his throat at the sight of her. Gods damn it. Say something. “Ehm… I was.” Say something better.

“I hope you came looking for that dance.” Anya raised an eyebrow as she gave Calen a cheeky smile. Her freckles always stood out when she smiled like that. “There’s a bard over there,” she said, nodding her head towards the other side of the tent, “apparently her music is beautiful, if you wanted to…”

“Let’s go!” Calen said, jumping at the opportunity before she changed her mind. “Lead the way.”

Calen couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face – or the shiver from running through his body when Anya took his hand. For some reason, pushing through the crowd again didn’t irritate Calen the way it had before. They didn’t speak as they made their way over to the other side of the tent. But that suited Calen just fine – he had no idea what to say.

The closer they got to where Anya had pointed out, the more the crowd thinned, and the soft, melodic sound of a woman singing drifted into Calen’s ears. He couldn’t make out the words, but her voice was mesmerising. A rapturous applause broke out just as they reached the edge of the crowd that stood around the bard.

“She is beautiful,” Anya whispered.

The woman sat on the edge of a long table with a lute in her hand, one foot rested on the cross-leg of a chair, and the other on the ground. Her skin was a dark chestnut brown, like the petals of the Dalya flowers that Calen had seen in the window of Anya’s home. Her short-cropped hair was as dark as jet, and two dimples held up the edges of her smile. She wore sturdy leather riding boots, and a long purple dress pulled in at the waist by a thin leather belt. It seemed an odd combination to Calen.

Anya was right – she was beautiful.

But Calen knew better than to say that out loud. His father had warned him of that once, when they were drinking in The Gilded Dragon. A woman can call another woman beautiful, but you can never agree.

“Thank you,” the woman said, giving a slight bow at the waist. “For those of you who have just arrived, my name is Belina Louna. I hail from the western lands of Narvona, and I am privileged to be passing through your village tonight. Now, would you like to hear a traditional Narvonan love song?”

A chorus of cheers broke out at the suggestion. But Calen thought he saw the woman smiling at him and Anya as she spoke.

“Okay, so we call this one, On Summer Nights.”

The melody that came from the woman’s lute was slow and sweet. Calen could still hear the rumbling of the louder, more up-tempo music coming from other spots inside the feast tent, but they drifted into the back of his mind when she started to sing.

“On summer nights, when the moon paints the sky,

On summer nights, when your touch is all I know.

When the stars shimmer in the sea up high,

And the warmth of your love holds me close…”

The touch of Anya’s hand broke Calen’s concentration. “Dance with me?”

As if by magic, Calen’s heart hammered against his chest,