Ace of Shades (The Shadow Game #1)(39)
“We don’t always have the flying trapeze in the show,” Alice said, while Enne crawled unsteadily on to the platform. “But guests like it. It looks impressive.” As she spoke, she reached for the rope, then reeled in the closest trapeze. She handed Enne the bar, and Enne’s stomach leaped as she reached out for it. “You won’t have to worry about catches today, thankfully. There’s nothing like that in your routine. But you need to be comfortable with the bar.” She raised her eyebrows as she examined Enne’s face. “I can already tell it’s going to take you a while to be comfortable.”
Enne reddened. “Dancing is generally done on the floor.”
Alice didn’t look amused. “Six days, missy. It would be awfully embarrassing for the troupe if you broke your legs in front of an audience.”
Enne managed not to say anything unladylike...but she was certainly thinking about it.
Alice continued her lesson plan, but Enne was barely listening. She felt ill, even as she fixed her gaze securely above the floor, locked only on the space in front of her. She rehearsed the very angry words she intended to give Levi when all of this was over.
“Go,” Alice commanded.
Enne took a deep breath, held the bar and leaped. She lurched forward, and the world seemed to give out beneath her as she soared.
As she went backward, she reached her toes out behind her for the platform, coming a few inches short. Her breath tightened in panic.
“That’s not how gravity works, missy,” Alice said. Enne couldn’t tell if it was amusement or annoyance in her voice. “You’ll need to give it some push if you intend to come back.”
That would’ve been nice to know ahead of time, instead of when she dangled limply fifty feet above the ground. She desperately tried to avoid looking down.
On her second return backward, Alice instructed again, more emphatically, “Push.”
So Enne pushed. She kicked her legs behind her as she reached the peak, then brought them in front of her as she sped forward. Her body, much like the movement of the trapeze, was an arc. Her core ached from keeping her legs so straight, but it wasn’t terribly difficult. She’d always been strong.
After two swings, Enne had generated enough force to make it back on the platform. She exhaled shakily and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Alice pursed her lips. “Your technique is very precise.” But her sour expression and complimentary words didn’t seem to match. “Much better than the last girl. Did it feel good?”
Enne nodded. She wouldn’t mind doing it again, now that she wasn’t so nervous.
Alice relayed some more instructions. “If you can lock your knees around it, or even sit up, I’ll be really impressed.”
Enne had always considered herself someone who rose to the occasion. After all, being from one of the lowest-tier dancing families at her school, every challenge was an opportunity to prove herself. This might not have been ballet, and this certainly was not her finishing school, but her familiar competitive drive began to take over.
She leaped, this time more comfortable with her center of balance and with the trapeze. When she reached the highest point of the arc, she kicked her legs up, tucked them beneath her arms and latched them onto the bar. As she let her hands go, a few memories from her childhood returned to her, of similar games played at parks, of cartwheels and swings, of tumbles and scraped knees, none of which she’d thought about in years. Lourdes had never approved, she recalled.
As she glided, she almost had the urge to laugh. She didn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed herself like this.
When Enne returned to the platform, she did so only to catch her breath.
Alice handed her a cup of water, which Enne gratefully accepted. “None of it’s difficult, what you’re doing, you know.” There was a strange edge to her voice. “I’m not surprised you can do it, but it’s your form that’s more interesting. You sure you’ve never done this before?”
“No.”
“You’re quite the natural.” Enne had never been called natural at anything. Everything she was good at, she’d worked for. Everything she’d earned had been an uphill battle.
Then Enne placed the edge in Alice’s tone—she felt threatened.
“What’s your split talent, missy?” Alice asked.
“Counting.”
“You any good at it?”
She hesitated, knowing what Alice was getting at. “No.”
“Well, maybe mommy didn’t really know the daddy after all,” she said pointedly.
Enne glared at her as she took a sip of her water. There’d been times when Enne had wondered if her Abacus split talent was wrong—she’d never prided herself on her analytical or problem-solving skills—but it didn’t make sense. It wasn’t Enne’s father who’d been the Abacus, but her mother. And Lourdes had known Enne’s mother, the woman who’d entrusted Enne to Lourdes’s care before she’d died. So if there was a case of mistaken paternity, she’d have to question her Salta blood talent, not her split talent. But she was a decent dancer. Decent enough for a Salta.
She’d always known she was a bastard. She wasn’t ashamed about it, but that didn’t mean she appreciated what Alice was implying. Lourdes rarely spoke of Enne’s birth mother, so Enne knew too little about her to have any attachment. But still, the comment felt crass and unkind, even for New Reynes.