The Legend of Asahiel: Book 02 - The Obsidian Key (52 page)

Torin nodded, opening and then shutting the door behind her.

Once she had gone, he shuffled back to his feather-stuffed mattress and fell heavily upon it, wishing now that he had simply ignored the young woman’s knock.

T
HE NEXT TIME
S
AENA CAME
rapping at his door, when the last of the meager daylight had faded, Torin was sorely tempted not to respond. Though wide awake, standing beside a poorly sealed window overlooking the rains outside, he continued to have second thoughts about what he had agreed to.

“Torin? Torin, are you in there?”

He closed his eyes. He had already told the woman yes. It was too late to ignore her now.

He moved to the door, and with a deep breath pulled it open. Saena looked radiant in a gown of black and red, woven of a thick material that hugged her frame. She appeared far too elegant, Torin immediately determined, to be accompanied by the likes of him, who had scarcely taken the time to bathe and shave before donning a clean tunic and breeches.

“You look lovely,” he managed, and saw her eyes sparkle. “Are you sure you want to be seen with me?”

She curtsied before him. “I would be honored, milord.”

For some reason, the gesture made him uncomfortable, and he found himself glancing back and forth down the hall.

“Where are Dyanne and Holly?” he asked, noting well their absence.

“Traver escorted them on ahead. We’re to meet them at the pavilion, wherever that is.”

Torin gritted his teeth before grabbing his cloak from a nearby hook and handing it to her. “It’s still wet out there,” he muttered.

Together, they made their way down to the street, taking advantage of a rear exit so as to avoid any jeers or stares from the tavern patrons below. From there, they simply followed the masses. Small wonder this frontier city had seemed so busy earlier. By the look and sound of it, everyone within a dozen leagues had come to take part in the celebration.

A light rain dripped from blackened skies, but could not dampen the spirit that had swept over the people of this city—resident and visitor alike. Fire hissed atop lampposts and torches and in the hands of juggling street performers, who sent it spinning and twirling to the delight of onlookers. Food and drink were everywhere, while music and laughter enlivened an already festive air.

Saena slowed continually, drawn to one happening or another with child
like enthusiasm. Torin, however, kept them moving along, anxious to catch up with his Nymph comrades. He wondered if he might run into Warrlun anywhere, and hoped that he didn’t.

The crowds thickened as they neared an open-walled stage covered by a wooden roof erected high overhead. The structure was enormous, with risers and balconies built along the edges. Beneath the permanent awning, hundreds were in attendance, milling on and around a boarded dance floor, waiting for the festivities to begin in earnest. Minstrels sang and played in the background, but as of yet there was more talk than laughter, more eating than drinking, more mingling than dancing. Activity here was louder and more heavily concentrated than it had been in the streets, causing Torin to yearn for the quiet and privacy of his room.

His fears concerning his humble dress, at least, appeared unfounded. While most of the women wore gowns and jewelry, few of the men looked any more regal than he, with as many outfitted in tunics and jerkins as vests and doublets. More importantly, many were wearing their blades as ornamentation. A great relief, since he wasn’t about to let the Sword—even masked by its leather wrappings—out of his sight. All in all, he felt he blended in nicely. With any luck, he would escape this insufferable night without notice.

A youthful attendant intercepted them, begging to hold the lady’s cloak for a mere copper. Saena accepted his offer with one of her smiles, only barely remembering to check with Torin, whose cloak it really was. He shrugged. It was just a cloak. If lost, he could find another.

After that, with Saena clinging to his arm, he mounted a pair of steps to reach the pavilion floor, feeling as though he were wading into a churning ocean.

“Now what?” he asked of his companion.

“We meet people,” Saena exclaimed, enraptured by the sights and sounds of merriment all around her.

He should have known. Alighting upon one conversation after another, the woman proceeded to make happy acquaintances of any who would have her. In a matter of moments, she had introduced him to no fewer than a dozen strangers, most of whom greeted him with an eager smile and a ready handclasp. Torin was hard-pressed to see a point to it all. It would be a miracle if, after tonight, he were to ever encounter any of these people again. If this quest had taught him nothing else, it was that he was liable to lose any friends that he made. So why seek to gain any here?

Still, he nodded politely and answered when spoken to, trying and for the most part failing to remember the names of those with whom he came in contact. He spent the majority of his time standing around awkwardly, searching for some sign of Dyanne, wondering how he was to ever find her amid this throng.

Saena, meanwhile, was never satisfied to remain in one place for long, always venturing off to engage someone new. At times, she would seem to simply disappear, abandoning him at the side of one he had only just met in order to greet another. Thus far, she had always returned. He wasn’t sure what he might do if she didn’t.

It was during one of these absences that he found himself looking abruptly at a familiar face.

“Hello, outlander,” the woman greeted.

Jaecy, he recalled. From the Giant’s Tongue. Only prettier than he remembered her, with braided hair, rouged cheeks, and a deep-cut dress that exposed more flesh than Torin was comfortable seeing.

“Having fun?” she asked, twisting her hair into curls with a restless finger.

As he searched for a response, his ears keyed to the music, which had grown much louder—generated now by a full orchestral troupe. “The tunes are lively enough,” he replied.

Her smile turned lascivious. “You like this ballad, do you?”

Torin turned his attention to the bawdy lyrics. Too late, he wondered what he had gotten himself into.

“It has a fair melody,” he answered finally.

“A fine rhythm to dance to,” Jaecy agreed, moving close.

“There you are,” a voice interrupted.

Torin turned as Saena reached up to seize him by the arm. With a brittle smile for the local serving girl, his companion pulled at him with a firm, energetic grasp. He glanced back to Jaecy with a look of helpless apology, but made no attempt to resist as Saena whisked him away through the writhing crowd.

“I think we’re safe,” he observed after several moments of pushing their way into the throng. The song had ended, and the dancers were applauding. A perfect time to make their next escape.

He turned to find the nearest egress when Saena spun him about and cast her arms about his neck. All around them, other dancers were pairing up, as musical pipes started off what promised to be a tender ballad. Torin resisted, at first, as Saena began swaying to the slow, smooth tempo, then finally relented, setting his arms loosely about her waist. It was pleasant enough, he had to admit, to feel a woman’s embrace again—even if they were only forced together by circumstance.

She drew closer, and he fought the instinct to push away. Instead, he allowed his gaze to drift over her shoulder in survey of those around him.

Where he finally caught sight of Dyanne.

He was startled by the reaction just seeing her in that moment triggered: a warm rush deep in his breast that rolled quickly over his shoulders and down his spine. The Nymph was breathtaking in a woolen dress of similar style to Saena’s—tight upon her torso and billowing slightly over her legs, where it ended several inches above her ankles. Its frills and highlights were the color of the emerald, set upon a background of deepest night. Its fit was less than perfect in certain areas—such as the plunging neckline that revealed more than it should have of the corset beneath. But that was to be expected of a garment for which she had been fitted at the last minute. And in a way, such tiny flaws served only to accentuate her own, natural beauty.

In turning with the music, he was about to lose her, and so he shifted his head, angling for a better view. Weaving couples clogged the dance floor be
tween them—a distance of ten or more paces—but now that he had spied her, he was determined not to let her out of his sight.

With her, of course, was Holly, and Torin had never been so grateful for the pair’s camaraderie. For even together, they faced no small task in warding off the packs of suitors surrounding them. Torin’s jaw clenched when he saw Traver among those that circled like vultures. The man was hanging back, feigning aloofness as he spoke with another group of ladies, but his shifty gaze never strayed from Dyanne and Holly for long. That the girls appeared to be ignoring the scoundrel was Torin’s only consolation.

He determined that he would make his way over to her just as soon as this dance with Saena ended. Even as the idea entered his head, however, he was struck by a sobering thought. What would be his reason for doing so—just to say hello? Perhaps he, too, might invite Dyanne to dance. But would she welcome him? Or would she turn him down as she had the rest?

That was it, he realized, the truth behind his inability to approach her over the past few days. He was afraid. Afraid of being rejected. Afraid of losing what bond they had. As small and inconsequential as their friendship must seem to her, it was already more than he was willing to risk.

The song came to a close. Partners bowed to one another and withdrew, or else moved off together in search of drink or rest or any number of social pursuits. As others took their place, Torin merely stood there in the center of the floor, paralyzed with indecision and self-doubt.

“Thank you,” Saena said.

Torin nodded, but could not quite manage a return smile.

The music turned lively again, and Saena was off to mingle with the crowds. Torin followed her for a time, climbing the steps of an elevated platform at the pavilion’s edge. There he stopped to lean against the railing—a comfortable position from which to keep his eye on Dyanne.

The entertainment lasted well into the night. Revelers came and went, singing and dancing and partaking of the festive atmosphere with all manner of mindless amusements. As much as possible, Torin kept to the side—like one of the city watchmen there to keep the peace. As tempted as he was at times, he could not bring himself to let go and join the excitement—not even when it seemed that Dyanne and Holly had chosen to do so. Throughout the hours he watched them as they frolicked from place to place upon the pavilion floor, offering pleasant smiles and good cheer to all while somehow evading the more serious overtures that surely came their way. They were like butterflies amid the throng, capturing attention wherever they flew, but never constrained to any single area—or any one person—for long.

For a time, Traver followed them everywhere they went. But even he, Torin noted, eventually moved on in search of those more likely to fall victim to his charms. Witnessing this brought a smile to the young king’s face. And yet, as he watched Dyanne spurn the advances of one swain after another, he had to wonder just what a man might do to win her affections.

Every now and then, Saena would return to him, introducing him to another newfound friend, engaging him in conversation, or drawing him out for
another dance. He tried to accommodate her, but he was never more content than when she let him be, allowing him to observe rather than participate, leaving him alone with his reflections.

Dyanne and Holly remained inseparable. On rare occasion, Torin caught one or the other’s playful smile. Whenever he did, he felt that familiar tug, the need to confront Dyanne with his feelings—or at the very least, to engage in some lighthearted activity that might open a dialogue between them. But time and again, he failed to make himself do so. He could not take that chance without having at least some assurance that her reaction would be a positive one. And while he knew not what it might take to impress her, he felt certain it was something more than he possessed.

Even the most obvious opportunities passed him by, such as when Dyanne herself began swaying from side to side while skipping through the crowd to a fast-paced rhythm. Holly followed directly behind, clinging to Dyanne’s hips, mimicking her friend’s every lean and shift. Together, they pranced through the gathered masses as if they owned the entire floor. Others soon joined the chain, latching onto Holly in the same manner. Within moments, a string of no fewer than a dozen people was worming its way across the pavilion, a laughing procession that drew additional members with each winding pass.

More than once, the string of dancers slipped by Torin’s position. Each time that it did, he had to resist the urge to grab on. It would be so easy, he told himself, to reach out, to free himself of all senseless concerns and to join the celebration. Yet with Dyanne at the head, he dared not, fearing that the string might break beneath his uninvited weight. The best he could do was to stand aside and admire the woman’s cheerful inventiveness, basking in the delight she so easily brought to those around her.

Indeed, all but he appeared to be enjoying themselves—and even he no longer wished for the festivities to end. For he might never again be given a chance such as this, to study the more whimsical side of this woman he had come to hold in such high esteem. He followed her motions whenever possible, feeling as if he could watch her forever. There was something lyrical about her beauty—made all the more stunning by the joyfulness that went with it. Everything about her was compelling: her hair, strands so delicate they could only have been woven by Olirian hands; her skin, so bright and smooth in the gleaming lamplight; her smile, like the lustrous sparkle of a priceless gemstone…

Torin forced himself to look away. He did not know which was more absurd: his thoughts, or his helplessness to properly express them. The entire issue was ridiculous. He would simply march up to her and confess what he was feeling. If she cared for him in any measure, she would flash him that dazzling smile and admit as much. If not, he would continue on his way, reminding himself that it was her choice to make.