Page 74 of Frost Like Night
She looks back at Ceridwen and Jesse, now whispering to each other as the crowd no longer watches them. They look even happier, if that’s possible—their foreheads together,him stroking his fingers through her hair.
“That,” Nessa says. “I wantthat.”
I lean against her. “Me too.”
A few hours later, the clearing in front of the main tent is just as beautiful, if not more so, than the ceremony site.
The evening light cuts through the trees, casting the camp into the hooded shadow of approaching night. A few of the tents have been removed to make room for tables and a crackling fire in the center of the area. Strands of braided fabric are tethered around the perimeter, creating a decorative foundation from which hang lanterns, golden glows flickering in the breeze. The musicians reposition themselves on the edge and start in on an upbeat song, one that encourages the regathered crowd’s happiness. More people have joined now—off-duty soldiers, along with those of us who helped set up the last-minute celebration.
Conall, Nessa, and I stand on the edge of the clearing, watching the guests gather. A few begin dancing, and Nessa grabs Conall’s hand. “Dance with me!”
He throws her a skeptical stare. “What?”
“Dance!” She tugs him toward the fire, the flames casting an orange glow on those already dancing.
Conall’s eyes dart to me, back to Nessa, and he lowers his voice. “Not now, Ness.”
Her face falls. “Please,” she adds. “Please, Conall. We need this. He was my brother too.”
Conall angles his shoulders as if to block the conversation from reaching me. “Nessa,” he hisses. “This isn’t appropriate—”
“Conall,” I stop him. “She’s right. You deserve to be happy.”
Conall’s expression falls. “All right, my queen,” he says, and I hold back my annoyance at my title still on his lips. If that’s what it takes to get him to accept Nessa’s prodding, I won’t fight him.
He lets Nessa drag him over to the dancers. She holds his arms out and tries to move to the rhythm, which urges the barest smile onto his face.
Sometime during all this, Ceridwen and Jesse sneak in, and they whirl past Nessa and Conall in their own frenzied dance. Kicks and twirls that fluff their clothing, the beat of the song picking up and coaxing everyone’s intensity higher. I can’t help but laugh at it all, the hodgepodge of colors around the licking flames, the steady ebbing of the guitar and violin and now a few bowl-shaped drums that send beats ricocheting around the clearing.
Someone appears next to me, their presence heavy, and I know who it is without needing to look.
“What did you think of the ceremony?” I ask, my eyes shifting to Sir.
He crosses his arms, his attention on the dancing. I almost expect him not to respond, or to start talking of war strategies, but some of the tension in his shoulders eases.
“I think Winterian weddings are more beautiful,” he says.
I can’t stop the way my eyes widen. The heat from the fire and the dancing bodies makes sweat break across my brow, and all of it goes ice cold beneath the glassiness in Sir’s eyes.
He frowns. After a moment, his shoulders harden again and he nods toward the fire. “You’ll get this. For yourself. Someday.”
I choke on Sir’s sincerity. “Thank you,” I whisper, and every piece of my heart aches.
Fingers clamp around my arm.
“Come on!” Nessa sings, tugging me into the fray as Sir waves me off. I wish the temptation of losing myself to such a carefree activity was enough to distract me, but I feel the pressure of Sir behind me, of his words, the sort of thing I’ve wanted to hear from him for years.
This night makes such things possible.
So I fling my body into a spin, giggling when Nessa grabs both my hand and Conall’s, knotting us into an awkward tangle. Conall smiles fully now and Nessa positively beams in the firelight and the pounding music and the wafting aroma of food—roasted pork, spicy mulled wine, and something so thickly coated in cinnamon that the air is heavy with the rich scent.
The song ends, switching to one that makes Ceridwen yelp in recognition from across the fire. By the intensityof the drumbeats, it sounds less like the lulling Autumnian music and more Summerian. And it must be, based on the way Ceridwen hurls her body into a set of choreographed movements, arms jolting, feet tapping a pattern on the ground.
Her Summerian friends are the first to join her dance. Jesse picks up on it next, and soon everyone around the fire is trying to follow, arms flapping, feet pounding, laughter roaring.
Conall hesitantly tries out the first few steps and Nessa doubles over, laughing so hard I fear she might splinter. His smile stretches even wider, and we both join him, moving our arms out, in, out, our feet sliding through the stomping pattern.
Ceridwen grabs Jesse, her Summerian friends split into pairs, and the dance grows closer, the music urging couples to bend into each other as the song continues.
