But she sat bolt upright as the first notes slashed through the still air of the hall. Electricity raced up her spine—not magical power, but something other, something from the core of herself. She was in no danger of working a spell, but her eyes were riveted on the scene in front of her as the Dancers expressed through movement their devotion to the Goddess as Warrior.
The Dance had leaps, but they were not frivolous, nor were they competitive, unless the Dancers were competing against themselves, each trying to outdo her own last display of strength and control. It looked like a fight, if fighting were art. The men and women on the floor leapt and rolled and came together with movements that were just a hair short of being violent. But there was no contention; there was only the bond of loyalty and fierce determination.
And then the music shifted, rising a note, and Miryo’s heart rose into her throat. With that shift the music became sharper, even more fierce, and she suddenly felt a longing to be out of her chair, out of the castle, out on the road; she wanted to be riding to find her doppelganger this minute. The challenge sang in her blood, driving her to victory. With this feeling in her, surely she could not fail.
She tightened her grip on the chair until her knuckles turned white and forced herself to breathe. Not yet. You can’t leave yet. Not today. Not now. But tomorrow…
Tomorrow, I hunt.
The Dance finished abruptly in a final, breathtaking pose, and she unclenched her hands. They ached from the strain. Massaging them surreptitiously, Miryo eased back into her seat and glanced over to her left.
Edame, who appeared not to have noticed her various struggles, gave her a sour smile. “I could do without the Warrior Dance. It never seems to fit into the sequence, no matter where they put it.”
This contrasted so sharply with Miryo’s own reaction that she did not respond. She didn’t exactly like the Dance, but it had roused in her feelings she could hardly contain. Edame, it seemed, did not feel that way. Which was not unexpected; the Warrior was not often honored in the witches’ religious practices, because of her absence from their magic. Miryo’s reaction was the odd one.
The priestess had finished her closing invocation, and the people in the hall began to move again. The Dancers emerged from behind their curtain, lining up to be presented to Iseman and Terica. First among them was the priestess, who exchanged warm words with the Avannan Lord and Lady before gracing Miryo and Edame with a chill nod.
“Blessings of the Goddess on the unbalanced,” the woman said, and stepped aside for the company of Dancers.
Edame made a vexed sound. “I hate the ones who do that.”
“Do what?” Miryo murmured, pitching her voice for only Edame to hear.
“Call us ‘unbalanced.’ At least most priests have the good taste not to be so… open about it. Look at the way she looked at us. Like we’re wayward children who refuse to hear what the Goddess is trying to tell us.”
Edame’s description was an apt one. The woman’s gaze had been faintly regretful, in what was quite possibly the most irritating way imaginable. “How many are like that?” Miryo asked. “I know some priests and priestesses don’t approve of us, but the teachers never tell us how many are likely to make an issue of it.”
The Fire Hand shrugged. “It depends on where you are, and what sect they’re from. Less in Currel, for example, being so close to Starfall. Nalochkans aren’t bad. Avannans are the worst. They click their tongues and shake their heads over whatever it is we’re doing wrong—and of course no one ever tells us; we’re supposed to guess that on our own.”
“So they don’t tend to make trouble.”
“Not usually, no. But there are exceptions.”
Miryo continued to nod and smile at the Dancers at they filed past. She wished the line would hurry up; she was still humming with energy. And dawn was hours away yet. Miryo took a deep breath and forced herself to sit quietly.
The line was nearly finished at last. It went in order of increasing rank, save for the priestess; the first ones presented had been those who did not even perform tonight. Now there were only four Dancers left, the last of whom would be the leader of the company.
The next-to-last woman froze when she reached Miryo.
She recovered smoothly, and bowed with perfect grace to both witches. “Goddess be with you,” she murmured, and moved onward. Miryo marked her, though, and her face, with a small scar on her chin. Tonight she would seek that Dancer out, and ask her why she had frozen, as if she recognized Miryo’s face.
There was a reception afterward, of course; the visit of a company as famed as Eriot’s was an occasion for celebration in this city so heavily populated with Avannans. And even those who did not honor Temple Dance as the highest form of religious adoration knew a social occasion when they saw one. The hall was filled nearly wall-to-wall with people.
Miryo detached herself from Edame as quickly as manners allowed and began to circulate. The Dancers were easy to spot; black hair was reasonably common in the eastern domains, but they were the only ones with bare, unadorned heads. Finding a specific black-haired Dancer, however, was much more easily said than done, especially in this crowd. Miryo was about to give up in frustration when Kan materialized at her side.
“Rice wine?” the Cousin said, offering her a goblet.
Miryo took it, distracted. “Kan, I need you to do a favor for me. Find Lionra, the seneschal. There’s a Dancer in the company with a scar on her chin. I need to know what room she’s in tonight. She’s high-ranking, just below the company leader. Be discreet if you can.” She could go to the company’s leader and ask for the Dancer’s name, but that would spark interest she would prefer to avoid.
Kan nodded and vanished into the crowd, leaving Miryo with wine she didn’t really want. She continued to peruse the room, keeping an eye out for the Dancer, but before much time had passed Edame reappeared, looking irritated.
“There you are. I realize you are perhaps not planning on joining my Ray, but it will still do you good to speak with some people here. You should be seen.” She took Miryo’s arm and led her through the crowd.
Socializing was not what Miryo wanted to be doing at the moment, but Edame was impossible to argue with. She endured the next few hours patiently, watching the Fire Hand flit from group to group. Finally, pleading exhaustion, Miryo escaped to her own room.
Kan was not there, and neither was Sai. Miryo stood in the middle of the sitting room and fidgeted, wondering what to do. Should she go seek out the Cousin, or wait here for her to return? They could waste hours tonight chasing each other through the keep. She decided to stay where she was.
Her determination was sorely tested; it was nearly Low before Kan came back. Miryo braided and rebraided her hair repeatedly to keep herself busy. She was twisting it into a low bun when the Cousin finally entered and bowed. “I apologize for taking so long. The Dancer’s name is Sareen. She has a room to herself in the western wing. It’s next to the room of her company’s leader, and two down from that of the priestess.”