Sintija's cheeks blossomed pink with a flush of wine and dancing as her lips moved away from Turpin's cheek. She lingered in his embrace as she tried to decide whether the tension in Turpin was restraint or disappointment or anticipation or some mixture of all three.
He dipped his head lower and his breath tickled her ear as he smoothed errant strands of hair out of the way. "You don't need to give me an answer right now, though I would be sorely disappointed if you let the Elders pair you with someone else."
She shivered as she pulled away and looked from Turpin. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears. The pulse of the Word around the dancers beat in time with the rhythm of the music of the festival. It was distracting to have everyone in one place, perhaps, she reasoned, she was perched on the edge of a blade like Turpin had suggested. It was not long ago that she was ready to meet her death. She had thought of the templar, Markos and she had not known why.
She saw at the edge of the dancing area were scatterings of couples in quiet conversation beneath the soft lights. There was serenity on their faces. Sintija wondered if that was what she was missing.
Her eyes settled on the wreath of flowers on the table beside them, and the chalice of honeyed wine she was to present to her chosen partner. This was their custom. She had never been allowed to participate before, she had been too young and now that she was a Laumina, she had to make a choice.
"I know. Please meet me under the willow when Meneo moves into its arms and I will give you an answer," her eyes returned to Turpin once more. His expression was frustration tempered with impatience but he still smiled. She kissed his cheek and slipped away into the crowd, taking the wreath and chalice with her.
She felt his eyes follow her as she weaved through the crowd. She wanted to run. It was all so overwhelming, to spend your life in shadow and then be thrust into the light. But she found the willow and was content that no others had decided to meet there away from expectant eyes.
The bark of the willow was rough and comforting against her back as she leaned against it. The din of the merrymaking had dulled in the distance. She closed her eyes and focused on the natural sounds of Debesskoka, the wind as it rustled through the forest, the light rushing of the river and the distant call of owls.
Why do I think of you? "Markos."
------
"Markos?"
Jo placed her hand on his forehead. She looked concerned. After a few moments, Markos realized why - he had sat down, without remembering he'd done so. He rubbed at the neck where his collar chafed. "What?"
"You are burning up," Jo accused, taking his wine glass and setting it further away on the small, decorative table next to the cushioned bench they had found. "Is it your injury?"
"No," he winced, she had not stopped fussing at him over the incident. It still hurt his pride that he had been recalled. "It's just stifling in there. I will sit out here in the breeze for a while. You go on inside without me, I'm sure you'll be missed."
Her eyes sparkled in the lantern light as she smiled charmingly. "My public will surely think it a crime that you have withheld me from them for so long." She rose from beside him and gently kissed his cheek. "Don't tarry too long, or else I will dance with Sir Lucius."
Jo was half-way through the door before he could reply. He frowned at her back and watched until her lithe form disappeared among the dancers. He cast his eyes upward towards the full moon.
It was the perfect night for a hunt. He would have rather been out in the forest tonight, there was freedom on nights like this. The ballroom held more rules than any battlefield he ever cared to step foot on without the satisfaction of killing your enemy. You could duel but there were even more rules involved with that. It lacked the honesty of war and masqueraded hostility as peace. But he wondered, why had Josphina mentioned her tonight? Sintija.
The smell of the elf and the warmth of her persisted in his thoughts. He had hoped that perhaps, tonight, she would evade this thoughts but, Jo had conjured her. He closed his eyes and tried to will the image of the blonde from his mind. The brilliant blue of her eyes staring at him sparked in his memory.
Sir Markos Louvel.
He heard her and caught a whiff of familiar perfume. He sprang to his feet as he opened his eyes. Where was she? He searched the garden for a tell-tale sign of golden hair among the well manicured bushes, stopping beneath the large yew that was planted at the heart of the greenery. Snowy white tuberoses swayed in the breeze.
He stared at the flowers, laughing bitterly at himself. What had he intended to do if he had found her?
He stared upward at the yew and saw glimpses of starlight peering through the branches.
"I didn't expect to see you out here." A velvety, feminine voice whispered from behind Markos. He closed his eyes again.
"You can't be her. Just some phantom to torment me, a curse for failing in my duties."
"Is it truly a curse?" Came the reply. He turned and saw the specter of his dreams, clad in a white gown with flowers braided into her hair. Brilliant blue eyes shone like sapphires as they looked up at him in disbelief. A wreath of braided ribbons and flowers was held loosely in her hand.
Markos's hands trembled at his sides as he looked away from the elf woman. "...this can't be real."
Warm hands closed around his, small, delicate but lightly calloused from weapons training. It felt real. "Then let it be a happy dream," Sintija whispered.
He wrapped his arms around her and embraced her, drinking in her scent. He drew back long enough to kiss her. The press of their lips felt real, and the after taste of sweet mulled wine seemed real enough.
He watched a flush spread across her lovely face and the tips of her ears but she pulled out of his embrace. His heart jumped into his throat as the fear of losing her rose up until he caught her hand. The warmth of it reassured and calmed him.
"Let's dance for a bit, it's a lovely night for it," she suggested as she placed the wreath on his head. Markos felt like the gesture meant something but he didn't understand. All the mattered was that she was here. She wanted to dance with him.
The wind carried the music to them. Sintija beamed at him as she placed his hands on her waist and hand, nudging him to led their private dance. Markos held her closer than was truly proper but, he didn't care. Nothing else mattered but the light of the moon and the way it cast the shadows across her lovely face across from him. He marveled at how radiant she was.
He wasn't sure when the music had stopped. He thought he faintly heard applause and laughter which signaled that he dance was over but he wasn't ready to let her go. Emboldened, he whispered down into her ear, "Stay the night with me. If I must close my eyes, I want it to be next to you."