Ileth explained, haltingly, that she hadn’t heard of any other dragons of the Serpentine fearing the dancers.
“Ahh, but no dragon monopolizes any one dancer, do they? That is what brings the fate down. And that is why you dancers never become dragoneers.”
If she was getting closer to Fespanarax, things moved in the other direction with Galia. Galia stayed friendly toward her, but they rarely spent time in activities just the two of them, save for eating and sleeping. With the Tribals taking care of the dragon they didn’t groom or feed him together, and all their plans for Galia to tutor Ileth further in being a dragoneer seemed forgotten.
Galia spent more time with the Baron, and especially with his cousin Dandas. She was often in the village with the Baron and Dandas, or riding horses with Azal and Dandas, or at a game with some of the younger children with Dandas watching and teaching her how to play.
Their Galantine continually improved, Galia’s through practice and Ileth’s through a great deal of reading, both aloud and to herself. Taf especially took it upon herself to tutor her and improve her manners, and slyly, in moments when she was positive her father was far away, she had Ileth show her some elements of dragon dancing, which apparently had kindled something in Taf’s imagination the way meeting Annis Heem Strath and Agrath had sparked Ileth.
Taf would go silent when questioned about her cousin and Galia, as though ordered not to reveal anything.
She finally got something out of Young Azal of Chapalaine, though. Usually reticent, she saw him limping back one afternoon from riding, carrying a muddy helmet and looking as though he’d been dragged through a hedge. Or six.
“Are you injured?” she called as she hurried out from Fespanarax’s arena.
He waved, and she fell into step with him. His horse didn’t like it much; she must carry some of the dragon’s odor with her.
“I’m fine. Just a fall. I was brushed by a branch trying to catch up to them. Your friend Galia and Dandas left me chewing on the clods flying from their horses’ hooves.”
“So your cousin is with Galia, alone?” Ileth sensed they were doing something improper, unless Dandas was formally courting her. That couldn’t be happening, could it?
“He’s not my cousin,” Azal said.
“Well, your father’s.”
“Girl, everyone with the title Baron in this land is related in some manner or other. They’re all cousins. The first time I saw him was in the village with you. All the girls in my family are mad over him. I’m done talking about the fellow. He’s as transparent as that monocle of his.”
“Lucky you,” Ileth said slowly. “I have a feeling I’m not.”
Her prediction turned out to be entirely correct. Ileth spent most of that night discussing Dandas with Galia over some of the gift tea (Ileth was carefully rationing it out). Or rather, Galia spoke of him and Ileth just put in a word here and there. Those were her favorite kinds of conversations to have, unless the subject was Riefense Dandas. Even more frighteningly, Galia had several of his titles memorized.
“Chapalaine isn’t at all impressive compared to his estates. There are several,” Galia said.
“How do you know?”
“He told me. It wasn’t brag. I asked him whether the Baron was typical of his peers or not. He said he was on the lower end of the scale, where property is concerned, and this was one of the smaller Baronies. Then he described his estates. Well—his family’s.”
“He’s Galantine.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed,” Galia said, scowling.
Ileth sipped her tea. Whatever else he might be, Dandas knew his tea. Invigorating yet soothing, with just enough bite to make you notice the flavor.
“I’m not falling in love with him, if that’s what you think,” Galia said. “He’s likable, courteous, and knowledgeable. Yes, he fought against us, but I fought against him, even though the last time arrows were flying I was a novice.”
Ileth wondered if Galia was arguing with her or herself.
“Does he ask you about . . . ask you about our dragons, or the Serpentine?”
“Never. Remember that time he asked how many dragons we fed? I gave him an earful, and he said he’d watch his conversation in the future and not probe on matters military, even by accident. The closest he came since was when he asked me what it was like to fly. I introduced him to Fespanarax. He touched his scale, ran a finger across the trailing edge of his wing, and said nothing. No, he did say he’s large. Or maybe mighty. Not sure of the word he used. Fespanarax tried to get coins out of him through me. Odd that out of all of us, the dragon is the only one that hasn’t learned any Galantine. He’s been here years.”
Ileth tried to picture Galia, who hated Santeel Dun Troot and everything her family stood for, falling in love with a Galantine aristocrat. “Wh-What do you talk about?”
“Oh, life. Views on art. Status. You know, in some ways, the Galantines are more equal than us. People like us, we’re always scrabbling, trying to make a name for ourselves. If I were a Galantine girl, the fact that I’d grown up eating rats wouldn’t matter a bit if a man like Dandas married me. I’d instantly be elevated to his status, and he wouldn’t be reduced at all by mine. Not like the Vales.”
Ileth felt like there was a flaw in that, but she wasn’t clever enough to pry it open. She tried to think of what a better intellect, say the Lodger’s, would say to show her she was wrong. Well, the Lodger liked to hold a mirror up to an argument sometimes.
“What if you were a wealthy Galantine girl and-and-and he the rat-eater?”
“I don’t think it ever goes that way,” Galia said. “How would they court? The family wouldn’t let him in the door.”
“You might want to consider the reasons for that.”
“You’re in a nasty mood,” Galia said. “Just because you’re having an awful time here doesn’t mean I must.”
Ileth finally saw the Dance of the Tribals, and it was far from an awful time. It turned out to be one of the highlights of her stay at Chapalaine.
Their routines were intricate and geometric. They danced close to each other and whirled as though they were interlocking gears. One turn out of place and they’d lock arms and go down like the Baron’s cart with a tree stuck in its spokes.
Fespanarax accepted the performance with his usual relaxed disinterest. His ears did flick about in time to the music here and there.
The music played was mostly percussive. Sometimes they danced with cymbals on their fingers, so they made their own music or accompanied the instruments. With time to study it, Ileth figured out that the lead dancer in each group was passing off cues for what series of moves to do next; one gesture might mean four different turns and a change of dancing positions, another a series of arm movements up and down above their heads. Brilliant dancing, all in the spur of the moment.
Their dress was heavier than that of the Serpentine’s dragon dancers, but in some ways more provocative. They bared their midriffs, which Ileth found surprising in the relatively staid Galantine lands. She later learned it was something to do with their umbilical attachment to their mother and the moon. Or the moon was their mother. They were cryptic about it and both were speaking in tongues foreign to them.
She, in turn, exhibited Serpentine-style dragon dancing and they delighted in it, applauding some of her extensions with an enthusiasm only another dancer would have. She found the Tribal music enjoyable to dance to; it was wild, improvised, varied. The musicians watched the dancer and threw out little challenges that she, as the dancer, either accepted or refused. She felt that the music was seducing her into pushing herself to leap higher, spin more, express herself with hands or face or torso.