Fire Dancer

by Catherine Jones Payne

  I pushed my way toward him. “Mind if I join you?” I asked.

  “By all means,” he said, gesturing toward the empty seat.

  I narrowed my gaze. “Shouldn’t you be doing something . . . mage-ish?”

  He shook his head. “Not on my day off, I shouldn’t. I am going to sit here and watch the dance and then whisk Aislinn off through the festival, like we’re just attendees.” He grinned. “Sweep her off her feet.”

  With a smile, I said, “Good.” Then the mirth dropped away from my face. “Liam, has your mama said anything . . .”

  He grimaced. “About how she’s scheming with your mama? I’m afraid so.”

  “Just so we’re clear, I never—”

  He waved a hand in my face to stop me. “I know, I know. You and Nolan are meant to be. Don’t worry. I know you’re not in on our mamas’ nonsense. My folks wanted us to go have dinner with your family about a month ago, but I put a stop to it.”

  Meant to be? My heart leaped at the idea, and then I wrinkled my nose. Why did everything have to be so complicated? If Nolan and I were meant to be . . . that meant I’d have to leave the clan. Unless I could somehow do the impossible and convince the council to let Nolan in. And as I sat there, looking at the beauty of the festival, the idea of leaving the Fintan made my chest ache.

  “Good,” I said, turning back to Liam. “Just wanted to make sure there wasn’t any awkwardness between us. I value your friendship and Aislinn’s.”

  The music changed in tempo, and a hush fell over the crowd. “Shhh,” Liam whispered. “Aislinn’s about to come onstage.”

  It had been almost a year since I’d watched the troupe perform, and even though I knew the dances by heart, I found myself enraptured in the show. But it was Breanna’s performance that brought me to tears. Her technique, her artistry, the raw emotion she brought to her dancing. She was perfect.

  What a legacy to live up to.

  When she struck her final pose, I shot to my feet, clapping wildly. The crowd wasn’t far behind, rising one by one from their seats to give Breanna a standing ovation.

  Fireworks boomed in the sky, a dazzling light show in honor of Breanna’s final performance. A flash of bright yellow hurtled into the air and then exploded in a wreath of white and blue. The sparks showered down toward the stage, but faded into nothing before they reached the ground. Another explosion, and this time the fireworks shone in shades of purple and red. Three quick booms in succession, and a million points of yellow-white light hovered in the sky for a fraction of a moment like a curtain of stars. Then they fell and blinked out of existence.

  Even from my place fifteen rows back, I could see that Breanna was crying. When she vanished behind the curtain, I darted out of my seat and up the steps, the fireworks still exploding in the sky. Swishing through the curtain, I found the troupe dancers huddled around Breanna. Aislinn glanced over and saw me and welcomed me into the mass of hugs.

  When we broke apart, Breanna’s eyeliner was smeared.

  “Thank you all,” she said, her voice quavering. “This has been the privilege of a lifetime.”

  Breanna assured me that she was fine but exhausted, that she hadn’t slept well the night before and wanted nothing more than to go to bed early and deal with her emotions tomorrow.

  I went to bed early, too, but lay awake, tossing and turning, unable to force myself to sleep. My feelings were too big and overwhelming—grief, excitement, trepidation. Tomorrow night I’d dance my first show as Phoenix.

  The faint light outside the tent went dark. The nightwatch were extinguishing the torches, marking midnight. With a sigh, I sat up and reached for my small pouch, in which I carried the coal that Nolan had given me and the strange white marble of the labyrinth. Perhaps just holding their familiar smoothness would ground me, help me calm my turbulent feelings. But my pouch wasn’t among the crumpled clothes lying on the ground.

  I knitted my eyebrows and groped through another pile of clothes. Then another.

  It wasn’t there.

  The realization hit me at once. I’d left it on Breanna’s vanity in the dressing tent before the show and hadn’t returned to pick it up.

  At least it gave me something to do. I changed into proper clothes and then slipped out of my room and out of the tent, trying to rustle the canvas as little as possible so I wouldn’t wake Mama and Papa. With only the light of the moon, the stars, and a handful of phoenixflies, I wended my way through the tents and out toward the festival grounds. In the darkness, the great tents, the stage, the torches all looked eerie. Almost dead. I walked a little faster.

  When I neared the dressing tent, I stopped and cocked my head. Was there . . . someone crying in the dressing tent?

  Breanna, I thought. She couldn’t sleep either and came back here so she wouldn’t wake Darick with her tears.

  I pushed through the tent flap to go to my sister and comfort her.

  But it wasn’t Breanna. Instead, Shayla sat at her mirrored vanity, her face buried in her arms, sobs wracking her body.

  I swallowed and took a step back. Awkwardness churned in my stomach. I needed to slip out of here like a phantom and pretend I’d never come. That I hadn’t caught Shayla crying.

  But then Shayla looked up and saw me. A sob caught in her throat.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  “I . . . forgot something,” I said, stepping forward and striding as quickly as I could toward Breanna’s vanity. “I’ll just get it and be on my way. Sorry to bother you.”

  I grabbed the pouch and tied it around my waist. Then I walked back to the tent flap . . . and stopped. Turned back toward Shayla. I didn’t even know why.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked, my voice gentle.

  Shayla shook her head fiercely. “Go away.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. Hesitated. “Is it about the whole Phoenix thing?”

  She bit down on her lip and curled her hands into fists. “I told you to leave me alone.”

  “Fine,” I snapped. “You haven’t wanted to talk to me in years. Why would now be any different?”

  She regarded me with an icy stare. “I haven’t wanted to talk to you?”

  I almost laughed. “You wouldn’t even speak to me at the wake after Grandmama passed away.”

  Now fire blazed in her eyes. “Of course I didn’t. Why would I waste time chasing someone who couldn’t be bothered to make time for me? At some point, I cut my losses.”

  I blinked, once, twice, three times. “What are you talking about?”

  Shayla’s jaw tightened. “After Mama died. She . . . was everything. My world. You knew that.”

  The realization crept over me like tendrils, the shame wrapping around my throat. Shayla didn’t have any other brothers and sisters. Her papa was affectionate enough but . . . busy. Always busy.

  And Shayla’s mama had doted on her. She’d died when we were eleven, the day we arrived in Orivesi for a month of shows.

  I’d spent the whole month running around with Nolan.

  So that’s what Shayla never forgave me for.

  Shayla wiped at her eyes. “Go!” she bellowed.

  I took a hesitant step toward her. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I was selfish. I didn’t realize—”

  “Go!” she yelled again, slamming her hand on the vanity.

  I backed through the tent flap and ran into the night.

  The next evening, I found myself behind the curtain, dressed in full Phoenix regalia, my fingers itching to touch my perfect hair. I looked every inch the Phoenix. Shayla was sick tonight—or that’s what she’d said—and Deirdre and I had hurried to modify the show so that I could dance alone. So here I was, waiting to go onstage as principal dancer of the Fintan for the first time.

  I hoped I’d make Papa proud. Nolan wasn’t out there tonight—there’d been an emergency with one of the sheep at the farm—but he’d see me dance soon enough.

  From where I stood, I could hear the murmurs of th
e gathering crowd. I swallowed. I wasn’t nervous. Not exactly. I’d worked hard, and I knew the dance. And I was no stranger to the stage.

  But still, my heart felt . . . disturbed. I searched my mind and tried to parse out what I was feeling.

  Sadness. For Shayla. For Breanna. For myself.

  I glanced around the edge of the curtain, my eyes searching for Breanna. Couldn’t find her in the crowd.

  And then I heard her voice behind me. “Hey,” she said.

  I turned around, the emotion swelling thick in my throat, and pulled her into a fierce hug.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” she whispered in my ear. “Are you nervous?”

  If I’d been able to utter any words, I might have said, I’m so sorry that it’s not you dancing tonight, or you were the greatest fire dancer the troupe has ever seen.

  When I pulled back, tears brimmed in Breanna’s eyes. “You’ll do wonderfully,” she said.

  I still couldn’t speak.

  “I know,” she murmured. “I know.” Her right hand rested on her midsection. “But it’s okay.”

  Everything in me wanted to ask her how any of this could be okay—how she could accept that she was done dancing. But the first strains of the music wafted across the stage. It was my moment.

  “Go,” she said. “I’ll be cheering you on.”

  I took a deep breath, accepted a lit fire wand from a solemn-faced mage, and moved back to my spot behind the curtains. The music hit my first beat, and I leaped out, flying into a jeté.

  I was glad that this dance—The Silver Swan—was a tragedy. I gave my emotions full rein as I flowed through the movements, barely noticing when the troupe came out to dance behind me. Every moment of this dance was for Breanna.

  At the final pose of the first act, I threw the baton up, watching it arc in the air. When I caught it and whipped it forward, I shot a shower of sparks out of the wand, just as I had on a similar move in Scarlet Moon.

  The crowd gasped and then broke into applause. I maintained the forlorn, tragic expression appropriate to the dance, but when I disappeared behind the curtain, a huge smile spread across my face.

  I had about a minute to breathe while the troupe danced before I needed to go back on. My gaze flickered across the room. Breanna wasn’t here anymore. She must have gone down into the audience to watch the dance with everyone else. With everyone who wasn’t a fire dancer.

  She’d moved on into the next stage of her life. And though there was searing pain and a sense of loss, I hoped with all my heart that she would find nothing but happiness in the days ahead.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “You did marvelously.” Papa hugged me to his side when I reached the grass after the show. Tears brimmed in his eyes. A phoenixfly fluttered past his face, bright against the night, shedding blue and purple sparks. My heart soared. Everything about this evening was perfect. Except that Nolan wasn’t here.

  “My darling daughter!” Mama cried, bowling into us. “You were as lovely as Breanna. Oh, my dear. My girls are the two best dancers in the history of the festival.”

  The festivalgoers were looking at us, but I didn’t care. Warmth bubbled up in my chest. Even Mama was proud of me.

  She leaned over and whispered, “Caolinn and I would like to announce something big for you and Liam soon.”

  Heat flooded my cheeks. I jerked back. “What are you talking about?” I hissed, glancing around to make sure Mama hadn’t been overheard.

  Blazes, Mama would probably be overheard on purpose so she could start the rumors that Liam and I would soon be betrothed.

  A hurt expression overtook her face. “You know very well what I’m talking about, young lady.”

  “I haven’t passed my seventeenth birthday yet.” I crossed my arms. “What would you even announce?”

  She sulked. “Well, it wouldn’t be official yet. But we should take advantage of your triumph tonight, Kyla. You’ll never be as valuable on the marriage market as you are right now.”

  I wanted to be angry. I waited, gritting my teeth, for the rage to well in my chest. For the heated words to come spilling out at Mama. But they didn’t.

  Because I wasn’t angry.

  I was hurt.

  You’ll never be as valuable on the marriage market as you are right now.

  Valuable?

  “Come, now.” Papa put an arm around Mama’s shoulders. “Let’s go home. Kyla’s had a big day. We’ll discuss this another time.” He kissed Mama’s head and pulled her away, then turned around and shot me a wink.

  At least Papa was on my side.

  But Mama’s words burned in my mind. I kept turning them over and over again. You’ll never be as valuable on the marriage market as you are right now.

  Was that how Mama thought of me? As a commodity on the marriage market? I knew she was eager to get her daughters settled, but . . .

  My gaze followed a bright red phoenixfly as it fluttered past me and landed squarely in the middle of a flaming blue torch. Any other insect would disintegrate in the fire. But a moment later, the phoenixfly emerged from the blaze, its wings now flaming blue.

  Hadn’t Mama just seen me dance? Hadn’t she just called me one of the best dancers in the history of the festival?

  Not that I believed her words to be objective. A mother was allowed to be partial. But how could she say such a thing and then turn around and try to have me married off the moment it was lawful?

  She knew that I wanted more than what a marriage to Liam would give me. She knew.

  On this point I’d been clear: I didn’t want to marry young. Not before I’d satisfied my ambitions, accomplished everything I’d set out to do.

  And I wasn’t done yet. Not nearly.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I set out at a jog for the dressing tent. I needed to get out of my costume. And then spend an hour or two practicing magecraft to burn away all my angst.

  I set four bushes on fire that night. While I managed to tamp the blazes out quickly enough, I winced at the ash-laden ruins each fire had left in its wake.

  Even if there wasn’t an arsonist running around these parts, the evidence I left behind after magecraft practice might be enough to alarm the council.

  I just couldn’t consistently get it under control.

  With a sigh, I rubbed my temples with soot-tinted fingers and then walked back in the direction of camp.

  My sandaled feet scuffed in the grass, and I tilted my head back to look at the stars as I walked. My eyes traced the phoenixbird constellation, and I sucked in a deep breath of clear, cool air.

  I was almost to my tent, now, and I wiped my hands on my skirt and hoped Mama and Papa were asleep already so they wouldn’t see my sweaty, disheveled state.

  “Kyla?”

  Breanna sat outside my tent, her face serene.

  “Everything alright?” I asked.

  “Just waiting for you,” she said. “Papa told me about your fight with Mama.”

  “Calling it a fight is an overstatement,” I muttered. “Papa pulled her out of there before it got ugly.”

  Breanna chuckled. “That’s for the best. Wouldn’t do to have the Phoenix fighting at the festival. The council would pitch a fit.”

  I gave her a wan smile. “It would have been memorable.”

  She clambered to her feet, one hand resting on her stomach. “Take a walk with me.”

  I slipped my arm through hers, and we wandered amid the tents and back toward the festival grounds.

  “You were beautiful tonight,” Breanna said. “I was so proud to be your sister.”

  “I’m always proud to be your sister,” I quipped.

  She laughed and punched me in the arm. “You know what I mean.”

  We reached the outer edge of the festival grounds, which lay dark and quiet after a long night of revelry. I swallowed. The torches were out. Breanna had waited up late for me to return.

  “I’m sorry to keep you up.”

  She waved her hand.
“I’m not going anywhere tomorrow. Wouldn’t have been able to sleep, anyway. There’s been so much on my mind.”

  “Are you okay?” I asked. “Was it as hard as you expected? To give it up?”

  We reached the outermost table, and she slid onto the bench. I sat next to her.

  “Nay,” she said at last. “I felt the baby move today.”

  I squealed and whirled toward her, then reached a tentative hand toward her stomach. “May I?”

  She rolled up her blouse so that I could press a hand to her bare skin. I rested my palm there, holding my breath, waiting.

  The baby didn’t move.

  After a minute, I scowled at Breanna’s pregnant belly. “Not much of a performer, are you, little one?”

  Breanna laughed, and her face was free of all the grief and anger that had burdened her recently. I leaned back and studied her.

  “You’re different, somehow,” I said. “Is it motherhood? Are you . . .” I didn’t know how to finish.

  Her smile grew thoughtful. “I don’t think so. At least not in the way everyone says. I felt the baby move today, and it was wonderful, of course. It did remind me of all the happy things to come. But . . . it’s more than that.”

  I looked at her expectantly.

  “Darick made a cradle for the baby, and he showed it to me today. I can’t wait for you to see it. It’s beautiful. And he was so excited to show it to me. He’d made it with so much love.”

  I waited, sensing there was more.

  “He brought it in when I was just about to make bread. And when he left, I decided to make an extra loaf to bring to Saiorse.”

  I nodded and leaned against Breanna’s shoulder.

  “Saoirse has been so sad since her husband’s passing, you know? But she brightened so much when I brought her that loaf of bread. It was the first smile I’ve seen from her in months. And it made me realize something. The secret to dancing that I forgot to teach you.”

  “Wait, what?” I retraced the contours of Breanna’s words. “This is about dancing?”

  “It’s about everything,” she said, gazing up at the sky.