From Ashes and Dust (Book One)

Chapter 8.1

"If people try to make conversation with us, it will be clear that we do not understand French. Nor will they know what we are saying," Spyro said. He looked around the hall they hastily walked through.

Looping an arm through Spyro's, Vatra pulled him in tighter to her side. "A few might know our language, so we have to be careful of what we say. Which won't be much. We're just here to make sure Enyalius doesn't cause any trouble. Find a way to avoid conversation if someone tries to talk to you. You've never been very talkative, anyway," Vatra toyed.

"It is not me I am worried about," Spyro replied. He looked at her with a scolding gaze. "You are the one that often finds yourself into trouble. And it is I that has to remain behind to clear things up."

Vatra blew a raspberry and pretended to focus on the artwork adorning the walls. There were paintings of people she'd met years before, all of whom were, thankfully, no longer alive to recognize her. Extravagant gold work was displayed between the portraits.

These people are a little too trusting, Vatra thought. She imagined swiping a golden horn—only imagined it—before the sound of music drew her attention. Beating drums and horns muddled with laughter and people clapping poured out from an open doorway in front of them.

The banquet hall spanned nearly as high as it was wide. Tables lined with an array of food had been pushed to the sides of the room, and a few people rummaged around the feast displayed. In the center of the room, dancers had taken up a carole. The circle was only about twelve or so people, but it was clear by the red faces of others standing not far off that the dance was ongoing, and people were jumping in and out.

Vatra scanned the room. Her eyes fell on the royal ladies and lords sitting to the side of the room. They were talking amongst themselves, laughing and pointing to the dancers. It appeared a few of the lower ladies were trying to convince each other to join the circle.

"I do not see him," Spyro whispered.

The two of them made their way in with fake smiles and greetings to a few people. Short, simple words that were easy to remember. Eventually they stopped beside a drunken man slumped over the edge of one of the food tables. His chair was nearly tipped over under him.

Carefully, Spyro used the toe of his shoe and wedged the chair's leg back to a sturdy position. "I did not think we were late to the party," Spyro said with clear distaste to the man's state.

"Some like to start drinking early," Vatra muttered. She was more distracted by the task of finding Enyalius. "I don't see the king. Maybe Enyalius is trailing him around like a lost puppy," Vatra added.

"Or, perhaps he is just out of sight," Spyro offered. He turned to Vatra and darted a quick look over his right shoulder.

Following his gesture, Vatra noticed a familiar face amongst a small group of ladies. "Figures," Vatra said.

The sun-kissed god was pressed between adorning women. Milky white arms and barely covered bosoms guided over nearly every inch of the front of his tunic. Their vibrant gowns put Vatra's cotehardie to shame, and they wore a variety of headdresses and coronets tucked into their meticulous braids.

"You do fit in with them," Spyro commented.

Stifling a laugh, Vatra gathered her heavy skirts and prepared to draw Enyalius' attention. "I do enjoy your sense of humor."

"Did I tell a joke?" Spyro questioned, an innocent light flickering in his brown eyes.

Vatra gave a small nod and patted Spyro on the arm before starting across the room. She chose to not approach Enyalius head-on, and decided that drawing him out would be her best option.

A lady turned to leave the carole at the perfect moment.

Darting in her place, Vatra grabbed the hands of two men she didn't know. They looked over at her with surprise, but hardly made an attempt to ignore a pretty woman taking their hands so confidently. Vatra knew many men would have acted the same regardless of the country. It was a weakness she often played on.

The man to her right was donned in a dull yellow tunic that reminded Vatra of a withered flower. His eyes were kind, at least. A soft green that barely left the side of her head from the moment she entered the carole. He had to have been in his thirties, and was puffing air against the tight buttons across his belly.

Hopefully, Enyalius would take the bait. An opening was going to present itself soon.

Unblinking, Vatra followed the carole's movements. The group moved effortlessly left to right. Every dancer kicked out the opposite leg of the direction they moved after two steps each way. The circle tightened to the center once a kick was done in each direction. When they were all within a couple strides of the opposite side, they clapped a few times then expanded the circle. Four more kicks, and the dance was repeated.

Vatra was glad the dance was easy to remember, and something she'd learned years ago. It didn't require much focus.

The flickering candles and torches danced shadows over their faces. Each bead of sweat, each wrinkle at the corner of a mouth, was illuminated. Laughter boomed from around the circle as mistakes were made. Vatra did not falter from the tugs on her arms as people tripped or hesitated. Her concentration was on the man directly at the wall beyond the circle. Enyalius' wide grin bounced into view every time the lord across from her hopped to the right.

She willed him to draw his flirtatious whispers from the woman to his right. Red hair curled into braids hid his fingers as he dared to touch her head. Vatra was sick to her stomach.

Finally, like her thoughts had been audible, Enyalius looked up. He drew a glance around the room, white teeth slowly fading as his blue eyes landed on her. A tremor quaked the muscles in his jaw.

Squaring her shoulders, Vatra challenged the god with a raised brow. She slipped her hand from the grip of the man to her right, feeling him weakening against her hold. He appeared to take the break as a sign of his own weakness and breathlessly muttered something to Vatra in French before turning and stumbling off.

Enyalius replaced the gap instantly. His cold fingers wrapped around Vatra's like a snake coiling a rat.