Finvarra's Circus

22- Awaken and Asleep

Leanna paced in an aimless circle, her body shaking to the tune of the flickering flames. Her stomach had long stopped twisting, now settled on a constant knot that stifled all breaths. She plucked a steady tune on her satin robe, an ever changing song of rattled nerves and regret; their lyrics one question: What on earth have I done?

What on earth had she done?

She paused, staring down at the moving shadows on the hardwood floor. Whatever she'd done, it was too late to undo it now. The circus closed for the night, the show long over, all that remained were the rumors, that the magnificent Leanan Sidhe was far less than magnificent. As Minerva had ushered her through the dressing tent and past the cookhouse, the eyes of the performers branded her skin, their stares saying just that. Not even Kioyo had come to see her. He didn't even look at her when she passed him. Through the pain and glitter, through the music and confetti Leanna saw his disillusion, all of their disillusionment. More, she knew of their disappointment in their king. Finvarra had brought her there. He'd promised them freedom. And like before, he'd been blinded.

Leanna shook her head. How could she think she would change anything with her meddling? She'd been a fool to believe it— a true jester in King Finvarra's court.

And now? her heart asked. Leanna toured her eyes around the tent into which she'd slipped into—Finvarra's tent. She sighed. And now Finvarra wouldn't want to see her . . . would probably have Tomas carry her out and through the crystals for being a fraud. Her shoulders slumped with an exhale. Oh, but she just had to explain . . .

Despite the fire at the hearth, Leanna rubbed her arms and circled the tent. Maybe the action would add warmth to the chill of guilt that touched her. At Finvarra's desk, her hands ran lightly along a yellowed world map, marked with intricate symbols. Her heart panged. The circus may never see those places again. Beside them, cages draped in black fabric hid memories of others they too would never see.

A candelabra at the corner of the table gave her pause. Her fingers trembled as she lit the three wicks. Staring into the fledgling flames, she forced herself to consider their meaning, something else she was guilty of.

"Bless they spirit and thy journey home," she murmured to the memory of the three fallen horsemen.

A gentle breeze whispered past, carrying a familiar scent in its phantom fingers. Leanna's heart clenched and she spun towards the door. Like a moth to a flame, Finvarra appeared borne of the night. Dark shadows cradled his eyes, his glow non-existent. Leanna swallowed deeply. He looked so terribly human, it hurt.

Blue eyes pinned on her in an instant, and he held her stare. But though he looked directly at her, Leanna knew he didn't see her at all.

A few stilled moments and he slid off his coat, his glossed gaze still worlds gone. Wordless, he hung it at the coat tree. Slow and composed steps drew him away from the door, away from her as he walked to the bar while undoing his cravat. Each soundless step buried his agony deeper behind a mask of cool indifference. Leanna watched on, heart breaking with each of his steps. She had caused this. A mask she'd help destroy was now bonded back together, the consequence of her actions the glue.