Dragon Rose(44)

But then I saw him.

He made his way through the crowds, dark head held high. And though everyone wore their best to honor Lilianth on her bridal day, he outshone them all. His doublet was of dark green velvet, and a heavy necklace of gold and onyx hung from his shoulders and and dropped across his chest.

This was the first time I could recall seeing all of him, seeing his entire form instead of only his face. Somehow I hadn’t thought how tall he would be, how elegantly he would wear his garments.

We might have been alone in the hall. He moved through the revelers as if they were shadows, and came straight for me. Closer, closer, and then he was so near I could have reached out and touched him…if I’d only had the courage to be so forward.

He bowed, a gesture worthy of the king’s hall. “May I have the honor?”

So courtly, and so out of place in his velvet and gold. The forest shade of the doublet seemed to reflect in his sea-colored eyes, turning them almost green.

Somehow I found my voice to reply. “Of course.”

He took my hand and led me to join the other dancers, where we all faced one another in a long line. A pang went through me as he released my fingers so we might perform our honors to one another before the dance began. I had never thought that I would touch him, never thought I would feel the warmth of his hand against mine, and I only wanted him to hold my fingers tightly in his for as long as possible. True, we would touch one another throughout the dance, but it was not the same thing.

The music began, however, and I had no time for regrets. This dance, called “Grey Mare,” was one I usually enjoyed. But in my dream I could only curse its lively nature, which meant there would be only limited contact between my dream man and myself. How I longed for musicians to play a Sirlendian verdralle, so he might take me in his arms. But the dance was still deemed quite scandalous, especially out here in the hinterlands. Quite possibly it was danced every day in the king’s court in Lystare…but we were very far from there.

The stranger did not speak, not even to offer his name. We only traced our steps around one another, down the set and back up again, until at last the song ended and everyone applauded.

Then he did say, “Something to drink?” to which I nodded and followed him to the refreshment table. He poured a cup of cider for me but did not immediately hand it over, instead leading me away from the crowd and up a narrow flight of steps until we emerged onto a small balcony which, I realized, was the same spot where the elders had drawn the name of the Bride from a polished urn.

I saw no urn this night, and the air was fine and mild, just as it would have been on that day in early Sevendre when Lilianth’s wedding took place. The stars glittered overhead, so close it seemed I could reach out and touch them. Neither of the moons had risen yet, but I knew Taleron would be full, and Charis waxing past three-quarters. An auspicious day for Lilianth, or so the lore of such things went. I wasn’t sure I believed the moons and the stars really had that much bearing on our lives here on solid ground.

The stranger handed me the cup and I drank, letting the cool sweetness of the cider slip over my tongue and down my dry throat. He stood quite close, and once again I was struck by his height. In my dream I thought I could even feel the heat coming from his body after the exertions of our dance, although I saw no sheen of sweat on his brow.

“Thank you for the dance,” he said, a commonplace, but still I thrilled to hear him speak. Something about his voice sounded oddly familiar, as if I had heard him once in passing in Lirinsholme, although certainly I did not know his face.

“You are most welcome,” I replied, feeling—strange as it might seem in a dream—oddly shy now that we stood alone and face to face, with no one else to note our exchange. He only nodded, and I hesitated, unsure as to what I should say next. Casting about for something safe and polite, I ventured, “Lilianth looks very lovely, does she not?”

“Yes, she does.” His tone was almost too warm for my liking, but then he added, “She is very lovely indeed, but she does not hold a candle to you, Rhianne.”

I opened my mouth to protest, for I had always thought Lilianth much prettier than I, with her pink cheeks and dimples and forget-me-not eyes. Whatever words I might have been about to say were smothered, however, as the stranger pulled me toward him and pressed his lips to mine.

A dream kiss should not count, I suppose, and yet nothing in my life had ever felt as real as that. His mouth was warm, and he tasted of sweet cider. Sweet, too, was the scent that seemed to cling to his dark hair, something fresh and herbal I couldn’t identify. I’d never realized how solid a man would feel, pressed up against me like that, how my whole world could shrink down to just the taste and smell and feel of him.

The cup of cider fell from my hand and clattered against the wooden balcony. The stranger jerked backward at the sound. “Oh, no…”

“What?” I asked, for I clearly heard the distress in his voice. “What is wrong?”

“Goodbye, Rhianne,” he said, and he began to grow hazy and indistinct, as if he were made of mist and was blowing away with the morning breeze.

“No!” I cried, and reached for him, but it was too late. He was gone.

I sat up then, my breath coming in great heaving gasps, and I realized I was in my own bed, with the hangings drawn about me and three heavy blankets below the silken coverlet to provide extra warmth. No one else here to keep away the chill of the early winter night; I was all alone.