Valeria cradled her stinging hand, transparently torn between gratitude and resentment. That had always been the way between them. Morag did not expect it to change now they could talk to one another like mother and grown daughter instead of captor and hostage.
Then Valeria surprised her. She said, “You’re a wise woman. Did you know that?”
“I would think so,” Morag said dryly, “considering that that’s my title.”
“You know what I mean,” Valeria said with a flash of impatience—quickly and laudably suppressed. “Will you stay with us for a while?”
Morag’s throat was tight. Ridiculous—getting choked up because her most rebellious offspring had stopped wanting to see the last of her. But there it was. She got herself under control and said, “We can stay for a few days. We thought we’d see the coronation and the Dance.”
“I’m not riding in the Dance,” Valeria said.
“I didn’t think you were. You’re not a full rider yet, after all. I still want to see. That’s a rare sight for the likes of us—not just a Dance of Time but a coronation Dance.”
“Rare for all of us,” Valeria said. “Blessed, too. We’ve seen the last of all the disruptions. The gods have promised us.”
“I know,” Morag said.
Valeria shot her a glance but did not ask what she meant. She drew Morag’s hand to her lips and kissed it and held it to her heart.
Damn the girl, she would have her mother in tears next. Morag should reclaim her hand and go to bed like a sensible woman, but she could not bring herself to do it.
She sat where she was, trapped more willingly than she would ever admit, and watched her daughter watch the fire. Valeria’s heart beat under her hand as it had once under her own heart, strong and clear. Even from the beginning it had set its own rhythm.
Morag closed her eyes. She would remember this. When they fought again, as they inevitably would, the memory would bring them back into harmony.
For a while. But then, thought Morag, everything changed—and everything remained the same. That was the way of the world.
She was a wisewoman. She knew. Valeria herself had said so, and Valeria was as wise as any young thing could be.
SHATTERED DANCE
ISBN: 978-1-4268-4898-8
Copyright © 2006 Judith Tarr
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Worldwide Library, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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