Page 55 of Kingdom of Dance

He watched her, bewildered and more frustrated than ever. If only he could read her mind. But regrettably, there were some things even magic couldn’t achieve. The thought drew him up short. It was the first time he could ever remember wishing for his magic to be stronger. It was something of a shock to realize that if his magic could free Princess Zinnia from whatever prison she was trapped in, he would use it not grudgingly, but gladly.

He shook his head to clear it. He was losing perspective. King Basil had the most powerful enchanters in the land at his disposal, and they hadn’t been able to do anything for Zinnia.

“How do I look?” Zinnia asked him unexpectedly, tilting her face up to his.

He blinked down at her, thrown by the blunt question. Those sparkling brown eyes still glinted slightly, reminding him irresistibly of how it had felt when she pressed her face into his chest, letting the tears flow. Her hair had been tied elegantly back at breakfast, but sometime in the mad dash to the caverns it had come partially loose. Gentle brown waves curled around her face and cascaded over her bare shoulders and neck, her shawl having slipped down to her elbows. The shadows in the cavern gave her figure the appearance of extra curves which he hadn’t noticed in the bright light of the morning. And all the while, her secrets hid in her eyes, maddening and perplexing him.

If he was honest, she looked more alluring than any woman he’d ever seen. But he didn’t intend to tell her that.

“Is it obvious I’ve been crying?” Zinnia clarified impatiently when he failed to speak.

“Oh,” said Obsidian. He looked again at her face. Red cheeks, puffy eyes. “Yes, it is.”

She sighed. “I guess I’d better sit down here for a few more minutes, then.” Finding an even patch of ground, she did just that, patting the space beside her invitingly. “Aren’t you going to join me? Surely you won’t be missed, given your sole purpose for being in the castle is to follow me around and watch me silently out of those dark, brooding eyes.”

Her teasing surprised a laugh out of Obsidian, and he seated himself beside her, his back to a crystal-free stretch of stone.

“I thought I was being inconspicuous.”

“Not really,” she told him cheerfully. “You draw more attention than you realize.” She threw him a cheeky glance. “Especially from the women of the castle. I’m told the maids find your grimly mysterious air quite dreamy.”

Obsidian stared at her, taken aback by this feedback. He felt a pang of irritation. She was probably making it up to tease him, but now he’d feel self-conscious every time he passed a maid in the corridor.

“Tell me about your grandfather,” Zinnia instructed him.

“I’d rather not,” said Obsidian curtly, taken off guard by the abrupt change in topic.

“I’m not a giggling maid,” Zinnia informed him, unimpressed. “And I don’t find your dark secretiveness at all charming. Just talk already.”

Yet again, his mother’s words flashed through Obsidian’s mind.

You’re going to need to talk about it all sometime, Sid, with someone. Or you’ll simply burst one day.

He thought of his embarrassing but strangely relieving explosion a few minutes before. It seemed she’d been right.

“You want to know about my grandfather?” he said, shooting a sideways glance at Zinnia. It occurred to him that the conversation might be able to serve more than one purpose. “Well, he’s probably the worst man in the world. The worst person, even,” he amended, still watching her surreptitiously.

“Goodness,” said Zinnia mildly. “That’s dramatic.”

Obsidian let out a breath, disappointed. He’d noticed that while she didn’t seem able to say anything outright, her reactions did sometimes give information away, such as her fear when he’d asked if anyone was hurting her. He’d hoped that if some sinister person was responsible for what was clearly a disastrous situation, she would disagree with his claim that his grandfather was even worse than that individual, and he’d be able to read it on her face. But if her thoughts had flown to the orchestrator of her distress, she was hiding it well.

“Is it true, what he said?” the princess pressed. “Did your father raise you to be afraid of your magic?”

“Of course not,” said Obsidian sharply. “My father was an infinitely better man than my grandfather, and he and my mother raised me with love and integrity. Something my grandfather proved himself incapable of in his own family.” He scowled. “And I’m not afraid of my magic.”

“Are you sure?” Zinnia asked dubiously. “It seems like you are.”

“Of course I’m sure,” he said. “I’m not afraid of it—I hate it. It’s not the same thing.”

“Why do you hate it, then?” Zinnia asked.

“Because it comes fromhim!” The words burst from Obsidian with unnecessary force. “And I hate him like poison. I don’t want anything to do with anything that comes from him. My father was the best man alive, and all my grandfather saw in him was the disappointment of a son born without the magic he valued more than his own family.”

“I see,” said Zinnia quietly, her tone giving Obsidian the uncomfortable impression that she understood more than he’d said.

“My grandfather is the one who taught his son to fear magic, not my father,” Obsidian went on, needing her to understand that she couldn’t trust a word that came from the older man’s mouth. “He used his magic on my father all the time, for discipline, and in his endless attempts toimprovehim. I think he hoped that if he exposed my father to enough magic, it might stick.”

He glowered down at his hands, which were splotched with blue and red from the dancing light thrown off by the crystals. He must be accidentally emitting power again.

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