Vassal by Sterling D'Este (ebook reader computer TXT) 📕

didn’t want to dance with Tristan at all. She wanted to fight him, to break his mouth so badly that he’d lose his ability to give that infuriatingly cocky grin.

But Enyo had said this dance was about what her heart demanded, so why shouldn’t she give it what it wanted?

Delyth swung at Tristan, letting anger inform her movements and their dance became one of blows flung but not landed, of graceful, twisting movements and angry hooks.

For a few seconds, Delyth got it. The thrum in her ears. The abandon to animal feeling.

And then she lost the rhythm, driven off course by her ire. She tripped and fell, hitting a wing painfully against the stone floor.

✶

Enyo watched Tristan and Delyth for the first few steps and then turned to Etienne.  She sketched her fingers through the air, designing the path they would take. “The fire is the center and the heart. If I am the sun, you are the moon, if I am the day, you are the night. When we meet again, we will portray the next step. Whatever that may be.” Etienne heard Delyth grunt as she fell to the floor.  Enyo gritted her teeth, the storm picked up again, trees once more bending and yielding to her temper.  “Find your rhythm, mage,” she instructed, feet already skittering across the cave floor as she started her arc.

Etienne wasn’t sure what his heart demanded of him at that moment. It hammered uselessly in his chest, a stupid, panicking thing.

He did know, though, that he was just about as different from Enyo as a living thing could be. In every way she was physical, he was cerebral.She was a Goddess, he a mortal.She did not fear. He did.

He was her opposite in this. He could prove that.

No. Didn’t have to prove it. He just was.

Etienne steeled himself as Enyo began her sweep across the cave floor, oblivious to the others. If they watched or began their own dance, it was all the same to him.

For her every movement, he was her reflection, a mirror that only showed exactly what the user was not. His steps were jerky, unbeautiful, but he kept the rhythm through his feet.

1 2 3, 1 2 3, 1 2 3… 4 and 5

His breath picked up, his shoulders tensed. Always, he kept away from Enyo. Letting her chase him. Following in her wake.

It was easier than he’d thought it would be, though filled with none of the uninhibited ferocity Delyth seemed to crave.

Enyo met Etienne at the top of their crest and grinned at him fiercely. She lunged, having no intent to actually make contact. He would duck. She’d spin to kick, and he’d block.

They fought each other in the air and then broke apart, panting, dancing the opposite way.

They met again, and this time Enyo caressed his arm, tender and sweet. She nuzzled into his own hesitant touch against her cheek.

Broke apart.

It certainly wasn’t as polished or dynamic of a dance as Enyo and Tristan had shared, but in some ways, it was more revealing of their natures.

༄

Delyth had pushed herself up to watch Etienne and Enyo, but now she turned back to Tristan, her face set.

“Let’s go again.”

Tristan had been watching the others as well, his expression calculating. Delyth didn’t care. She was going to get this, to feel this.

Tristan nodded, and she began again, starting in the same manner as before, her teeth bared in a feral grimace.

She fell even sooner.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Tristan asked, his face pinched in a snide smile. “It's not enough just to know what you feel.”

For a moment, he wasn’t Tristan at all, but Chief Swordbearer Rhys grilling her and Tanwen for their mistakes in training. “Gods, Delyth,” he’d growled, half exasperated, half proud, “if you’d just think in these situations…”

Delyth stood again. Enyo had danced differently with Tristan and Etienne, so it must not only be about what she felt but how that fit in with her partner as well.

And the rhythm. She mustn’t forget that.

She looked at Tristan carefully.

He was annoying beyond measure. Cocky. Careless of Alphonse. She didn’t like him. She didn’t want to be like him…

He was a good fighter, though, and so was she.

Delyth nodded towards him. “Once more.”

She started slower this time, letting their tumultuous ‘fight’ build slowly, keeping the rhythm always in the back of her mind like she would if it was a count for some drill in the training fields of Glynfford. They weaved and struck, gave ground and took it.

Anger still burned, low in her belly, but she could think around its edges.

❂

Enyo was cradling Etienne’s body against her own as she glanced over at Delyth and Tristan. Their dance was wildly erratic, and she paused in stroking Etienne’s arm to study their movements.

It looked almost like a battle, aggressive and thrusting. Neither wanting to yield and yet having to because the dance demanded there be both take and give; the flow mattered more than pride.

She smirked as they came together in a final clash of wills, and Enyo plunked down on her rump beside the campfire to see who would yield at last.Etienne was dragged down beside her by the grip she had about his wrist, forced to sit and watch.

She had always loved dancing.

But more so, she had loved inspiring dance. Inspiring her people to great feats of emotion and power.

⚄

The big winged bitch had finally got it.

Tristan wasn’t sure whether to be glad, since he got to dance again, or disappointed since he would not be able to hold it over her head.

Ah well, the boy still had learned faster. That was something.

As the speed of their contentious dance peaked, his grin widened. They’d been skirting around this contest of wills for weeks now. He knew she wouldn’t stop. She’d be determined to put him down.

And what fun would that be?

At the last moment, Tristan simply stopped, forcing Delyth to veer awkwardly away, her wings thrust out for stability.

Pity. She kept her