Fire Dancer

by Catherine Jones Payne

  “That was nearly flawless, Kyla,” she said. “Except for that one thing you did with your hands. And you could stand to point your toes a little more.”

  But I read it in her eyes. She thought I could win.

  And if Breanna thought I stood a chance, so did I.

  I grinned. “Thank you. It felt good.”

  “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get you home. You look exhausted. You need to rest between now and the audition.”

  “I have practice tomorrow,” I said.

  “Aye.” She pulled me into a hug but then jerked away with a disgusted look on her face. I grinned at her. She should have known I was covered in sweat.

  “Go to practice or Deirdre will eat you. But don’t come in early. Don’t stay late. Just get lots of rest. You don’t want to go into the audition tired.”

  She bent over gracefully—Breanna’s every move was graceful—to pick up the snuffer. In a single, smooth movement, she lowered it over the torch and snuffed out the light. When she was satisfied the torch’s flame was dead, we walked toward the tent flap, her gliding, me shambling.

  We broke out into the festival grounds—dead quiet, on this non-show night—and she glanced over at me and chuckled. “Aye. You, my dear, will be doing nothing except the bare minimum at practice and getting rest between now and the audition.”

  I gestured with my head to one of the tables near the path. “Let’s sit a while.”

  “Sure.”

  I collapsed on the wooden bench and leaned over the table. Pain shot through my feet, my legs, my back. “Ugh,” I groaned. “I’m used to pain after practice, but I didn’t know every muscle in my body could hurt like this.”

  She sat down beside me, and her eyes sparkled. “You’ll feel better when they announce you as the next Phoenix.”

  I chewed my bottom lip. “We don’t know that yet. It could just as easily be Shayla.”

  Breanna shook her head. “I mean, it’s possible, but you danced that so well. And you’ve been proving to Deirdre how hard you’re working for this.”

  “But Shayla’s been proving herself too,” I whispered.

  Breanna nudged me, and I grabbed at my ribs with a little yelp of pain. She pulled back, her eyes widening like she was afraid she’d broken me, but I burst out laughing.

  “I’m sore, not wounded.”

  She pursed her lips and folded her arms.

  Even though the rollicking laughter hurt my tender muscles, I couldn’t contain it. “You should have seen . . . the look . . . on your face,” I managed.

  The corner of her mouth tugged upward, and she joined in my merriment. When I got my breath again, I leaned back, despite my protesting muscles, to gaze upward. A thin layer of cloud cloaked half the sky, but the other stars were dancing in all of their glory.

  Breanna followed my gaze, looking up at the vast expanse stretching over us.

  “I’m glad you’re my sister,” she said.

  I leaned against her shoulder. “Yeah, I’m a pretty good sister.”

  She laughed and shoved me away. “Only sometimes.”

  We fell into an easy, comfortable silence, and then an emerald phoenixfly flitted past my ear and landed on the table in front of us.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said, breathless.

  “You never tire of them, do you?”

  “How could anyone get tired of them?”

  I shrugged. “Fair point.” I still found them wondrous.

  The phoenixfly took to the air again, fluttering around us before soaring up into the sky, like it belonged among the stars.

  I chuckled. “It was disappointed not to find any fire here.”

  We fell into silence again. I wanted to savor this moment and keep it close, to live in it forever. Away from the dance stage and the confusion about boys and the agonizing decisions about my future.

  “Kyla?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I really am happy.”

  I looked up at her and smiled softly. “I know you are.”

  She sighed. “Mama’s convinced you think I’m miserable.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Mama’s trying to make me miserable.”

  She gave a little laugh. “Now that I can believe. What’s she doing this time?”

  “Trying to set me up with Liam Flynn.”

  Breanna sputtered and then burst out laughing. “You and Liam Flynn? Has she gone mad?”

  “Mama’s just being Mama. Remember when she tried to talk you into marrying Gainor?”

  She made a face. “He’s twenty years older than me! His daughter and I were friends as children.”

  “But he was on the council, and that was good enough for Mama.”

  “Well.” She threaded her fingers together and leaned her elbows on the table. “I’m very glad Papa disabused her of that notion before I had to.” A soft smile played on her lips. “And very happy with the way things ended up instead.”

  I finally asked the question I hadn’t dared voice before. “You’re glad you married Darick when you did? Even now, having to give up dancing?”

  The sigh that wracked her body was deep. “Aye,” she said finally. “I wouldn’t change the way things happened. I love Darick. I love this little one I haven’t met. I’m . . . sometimes excited about being a mama. And I was going to have to give up dancing eventually. I’m glad it’s for Darick.” She rested a hand on her stomach. “And I’m glad it’s for this little one.”

  She wasn’t showing yet, but I reached over and placed my hand on hers. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

  “Or him,” she said.

  I shook my head. “I think it’s going to be a girl. And her Auntie Kyla is going to spoil her tremendously. All sweets and no dinner.”

  A faint smile turned up the corners of her lips. “You’ll be a great aunt.” She pushed back from the bench and stood. “And a great mama someday, if you decide that’s what you want. But don’t let Mama rush you into making any decisions. Or Nolan either, for that matter. You just enjoy the time you get to dance. And I hope you love every minute of it.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  My nerves flared white and hot the morning of the audition. I woke up nauseated. It was like the first day I’d ever performed a show in the troupe, but even worse.

  I’d jolted awake a half-dozen times throughout the night, somehow panicked that I’d sleep through the audition and miss my chance altogether.

  Never mind that the audition wasn’t until ten in the morning, and neither my parents nor Breanna would dream of letting me miss it, even if I did somehow sleep three hours past my usual waking time.

  First light had just begun to caress the land with its tendrils of lavender and mist.

  I pulled on a top and skirt and walked into the main room. Papa was sitting at the table, already dressed for the day and peeling a bilafruit.

  He smiled at me. “I thought you might be up early today.”

  I sat across from him, and he tossed me the husked bilafruit and reached for another to peel. I bit into the fruit’s pale flesh, enjoying its tangy tartness. “I couldn’t sleep,” I said around the bite of food. “I mean, I slept. But not very well.”

  “Nervous for today?”

  I swallowed another piece of fruit. “More than I’ve ever been for anything,” I said, staring down at the table.

  He laughed. “More than when your mama found you and Nolan wandering around the festival?”

  That brought a smile to my face, at least. “More than even then. Because I knew that Mama would bluster, but you’d support me.”

  He reached for my hand and squeezed my fingers. “I believe you can do anything you set your mind to. It doesn’t matter that the thane wants Shayla to be the Phoenix. Doesn’t matter who Deirdre and the council expect to pick. They’ll see your drive and your talent.”

  I wanted to tell him that the other girls were just as talented and almost as driven—that Shayla might even be as driven as I was—but I tried to soak
in the words instead, taking them to heart. “Thanks, Papa.”

  I ate a small breakfast of shucked bilafruit—my nauseated stomach couldn’t handle anything else—and then rose and left the tent before Mama awoke for the day. It was just as well. Papa calmed me, but Mama and I were like sparks to a blastpowder keg. If one of us was agitated, it never ended well.

  And I was certainly agitated this morning.

  A few people were moving about camp as I strode toward the festival grounds. The audition would be held on the dance stage, and I wanted to get there before anyone else did. To have a moment alone, feeling the atmosphere.

  But when I got there, Shayla was already onstage, stretching.

  A wave of irritation washed over me.

  Shayla noticed me and stood to her full height, smirking. “What’s the matter, Ky? Can’t handle someone beating you?”

  I rolled my eyes and didn’t reply.

  This only served to annoy her more. “What’s the matter? Too afraid to speak?”

  “Shut up, Shayla.”

  A wicked smile curved across her face. “There’s that temper I remember.”

  But I couldn’t stop myself. “You don’t get to be Phoenix just because your papa’s the thane. You have to earn it.”

  She shrugged and rolled her shoulders back. “I don’t expect any special treatment. I don’t need it.”

  I huffed. It galled me that she was right. She might get special treatment, but her talent spoke for itself.

  Grumbling under my breath, I turned around and stalked away, toward the dressing tent. She might have gotten here first, but I’d still take home the prize.

  I hoped.

  The torches were dead, the tables abandoned. I passed by them quickly, but my eyes darted around the festival, trying to take in every detail, to ground myself in the present moment so I could forget the nerves tugging at my chest.

  I couldn’t escape the feeling that this day would inexorably change my life, one way or the other. If I won, I’d give my life to the role of Phoenix for the next several years—practicing, perfecting my dance, honing ways to add magecraft to my routine without anyone noticing.

  If I didn’t win . . . I hadn’t thought that far ahead. There wouldn’t be a second chance. Shayla was my same age. By the time she retired, they wouldn’t want to give the role to me. They’d give it to a younger dancer who had more time before she was likely to get married, and fall pregnant.

  I swallowed. I had one shot at this. If I didn’t win, the best I could reasonably hope for was to dance in the troupe until Mama married me off to a nice Fintan boy. Like Liam. Or one of his awful friends. Ugh.

  My thoughts flitted to Nolan, and I shook away the creeping despair. It wasn’t true. I had options. I could stay and choose that life. Or I could leave to be with Nolan. Or I could leave and go somewhere else entirely.

  Or . . . I could stay and try to become a mage. If I could convince the council, somehow.

  I sighed as I shoved my way into the dressing tent. Breanna had urged me to not give up on my dreams, but that one seemed so far-fetched as to be impossible. The council had never let a woman be a mage. Not in our three-thousand-year history, if the stories were to be believed.

  What made me think I could be the first?

  Breanna’s face flashed in my mind, and I pictured her holding her baby in her arms. A baby girl, I felt certain.

  What options did I want for my niece? Did I want her to someday stand in this same tent, nerves eating away at her sanity because she only had one chance to pursue her ambitions?

  I looked around to make sure I was alone and then lit the torches on either side of my vanity with a whispered word. Perching on the little stool, I examined my face in the mirror. I looked tired. And I couldn’t look tired at the audition. They had to envision me wooing the crowds at every show. Like Breanna did.

  I reached for my basket of makeup and dug out a clean brush and a small bottle of alabaster pigment cream that perfectly matched my pale skin. I poured a puddle of the cream onto my hand and dipped the brush into it, painting it across my skin with long, smooth strokes. I took particular care to blend it underneath my eyes, where the dark circles most highlighted my exhaustion.

  When done, I inspected my face. The flaws were covered—at least enough that they wouldn’t be seen from stage. Now time to add the drama.

  I contoured my cheekbones with rouge and shadow, and then I lined my eyes with dark black paint that I winged outward from my lash line.

  Instead of mascara, I reached for a pair of lavish lash feathers. I’d put these on Breanna enough times to know how to apply them, but as I held them up to my own lashes, I suddenly understood why Breanna asked for help before each show. It was awkward to put them on my own eyes.

  So I turned my attention to my lips, first lining them and then painting them a dramatic red.

  I was almost done when I heard the tent flap rustle. Breanna walked in, wearing a flowing dress that fell to her ankles, just above her brown sandals.

  “I thought you might be here already,” she said. “Especially when I saw Shayla warming up.”

  I waved her over. “Can you help me with the lash feathers?”

  A soft smile crossed her face. “I’d be delighted to.”

  She reached for the tub of sticky paste and unscrewed it, dipping a small brush into it and dotting the liquid along my upper lash line. She held her breath as she carefully pasted the lash feathers on, piece by piece.

  When she finished, she said, “Now, be careful not to touch them unless you have to.”

  I blinked. How did Breanna dance in these things? I couldn’t see out of my upper peripheral vision, and they weighed against my eyes.

  But I wanted to look the part when I auditioned. And, if I won, I’d have to learn how to dance in them eventually.

  “You look beautiful,” Breanna said.

  I laughed. “That’s what I always say to you when I help you get dressed.”

  “But it’s true,” she said. “You look like the Phoenix.” Tears swam in her eyes, but she didn’t look sad. Not entirely, at least.

  I swallowed a lump in my throat and stood. “I should get dressed.”

  Breanna nodded and sat on my stool as I shuffled over to the changing area in the middle of the tent and ducked behind the long curtain. I riffled through the troupe costumes, looking for mine.

  It wasn’t there.

  That’s odd.

  I pulled the costumes forward on the rack one at a time, reading the names sewn inside.

  Raicheal. Ciara. Taryn. Mada. Faline.

  Costume after costume after costume. Mine wasn’t there. Panic pulsed in my chest. It had to be here. I knew I’d brought it back and hung it up.

  I counted the costumes. There was only one missing.

  “Breanna!” I called, my voice frantic. “Someone’s taken my costume!”

  A moment later, Breanna pushed the curtain aside and shoved her way into the changing area. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “I’ve looked three times,” I said, my breath coming fast. “It’s gone.”

  And then the answer burned in my chest. Shayla. It had to be.

  Breanna darted to the costumes and looked through them one by one. Then looked through them again. Then counted the costumes.

  “Eternal flame,” she whispered under her breath. “Someone’s trying to sabotage you.”

  “Shayla,” I murmured. “None of the other girls would do this, and I’m the competition she has to eliminate.”

  Breanna’s jaw tightened. “Let her try.” She pressed her hands together. “Okay. We’re going to solve this. This isn’t going to wreck your audition. Who in the troupe is closest to your measurements? Can you borrow the costume of someone who isn’t auditioning?”

  I chewed my lower lip. “I’m shorter than most of them,” I said. “I think Aislinn and I are pretty close, but she’s competing today.” Then I shook my head. “But it doesn’t matte
r. I’ll borrow someone’s. Raicheal is close to my height. I’m sure she’ll let me use her pants. And Mada’s chest measurements are close enough to mine that I can get away with using her shirt, I think.”

  Breanna nodded, but the expression in her eyes was distant, as if she were concocting a plan of her own. “That would work,” she said, “but the troupe costumes are designed to hug your form perfectly. It would be clear you were borrowing someone’s.”

  “The council won’t notice,” I said.

  “Deirdre will. And you know she’s all about making a great first impression.” But Breanna’s eyes were alight.

  Hope flared in me like an ember. “What’s your idea?”

  She turned to the parallel rack and grabbed her own costume—the Phoenix costume—off of it. “We’ll turn the tables on Shayla. You’ll wear mine. Let the judges truly envision you as the Phoenix.”

  A slow smile spread across my face. Breanna was right. Of all the dancers, her measurements were closest to mine. Her hips were curvier, but unlike the form-fitting troupe outfits, the Phoenix costume had a half-skirt that strapped around the waist and billowed out behind. It would cover the fact that her pants weren’t made for me.

  “Let’s do it,” I said. “Quick, let’s take it back to our tent. I need to practice the dance wearing that skirt.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Breanna and I heaved aside the table in the living space of the tent to make more room for a dance floor. Then she had me run through Scarlet Moon twice. The skirt proved only a minor annoyance. Then she stopped me. “Don’t tire yourself out,” she warned. “You know this dance. Let’s do your hair.”

  I sat at our table while Breanna ran a comb through my hair and began twisting the red locks into an updo. But she left a framing strand on each side of my face, just like she did with her own hair when she danced as the Phoenix.

  When she finished, she stepped back with a grin on her lips. “It’s perfect,” she said. “You’ll stand out.”

  “In a good way, I hope,” I muttered. “They might think it an arrogant stunt.”