Page 25 of The Garnet Daughter
“You alright?” August whispers.
“I’m fine,” I reply and am instantly distracted by the flames reflecting in his eyes.
But then a small form, Ruth’s young daughter Aster, sprinting toward us, pulls my attention. “Calliape!” she shouts as she throws her arms around my neck.
“Mama said not to bother you when you are with the Viathan,” she confesses.
“Oh, that’s alright. You have grown so tall,” I say and mean it. She sprouted like the vines that grow at the very top of the mountain.
“Can I paint you?” she asks and is already reaching into her satchel.
“Um. Yes, that would be ok.” I glance over at August, who watches me closely.
She giggles and lifts my chin, using a stick of white pastel to paint the same markings on my cheek as she and some others have. I was older than her at the last conjunction celebration, but I remember painting my arms and face with flowers and moons and crying when they washed off the next day.
“Aster!” Ruth calls as she joins our little group on the tree stump. Her eyes light up with a laugh as she approaches. “I’m so happy you both decided to join us.”
We stand to greet her and lean closer to hear over the music.
“We followed the smell,” August says as she hugs him, his face a bit surprised at her affection.
“Will you fully join us, Calliape?” she implores, holding my hands.
“No.” I smile, the paint already dry and tight on my skin.
“Oh, come. August, I’m sure, would love to celebrate with us.”
“He doesn’t dance.” I come up with a weak excuse, not knowing if it is true or not.
But like the fool he is, August steps forward, beaming at me. “I will dance with you, Callia.”
I shake my head, which only encourages him.
Ruth pulls at my arm, enticing me to join her and her waiting husband Kieran as another song begins. Her hand finally slips out only for August’s to slide to my lower back, ushering me along.
“Seems you’re not getting out of this one,” he whispers from behind me, sending bumps across my skin even with the heat of the fire increasing as we get closer.
“Seems not.” I turn to him when we approach the group already dancing. He has no idea what he is doing but he looks just as happy as the others, his charming dimple on full display as I line myself up with him.
“You lead.” He grins.
I hold out an expectant palm. “Step opposite of me. This one’s easy.”
He intertwines his calloused fingers with mine, and as I push forward lightly, he follows the circle my steps make. I narrate our moves aloud, to switch directions then hands, and he does so all while staring at me like my instructions are his lifeline. To my surprise, he dances effortlessly, and somehow his grin grows even broader.
“Both hands now.” I reach for his other palm and fumble a little as I bring both closer then up in the air, over our heads.
“You said this was easy.” He laughs.
I press my lips together to hide my smile and turn my face to the side now that we are closer, the dance naturally pulling our bodies together to perform the steps correctly. His chest is against mine, pressing into me snuggly, his slow and strong breaths on my cheek.
We have embraced dozens of times in the past, held each other close as we folded, but it always served a purpose or was a quick, comforting gesture with an end in sight. Never quite like this.
The sudden thought distracts me from announcing the next step, but as if anticipating my body’s automatic sway, August does the same, matching my movements and pulling in closer somehow. Our breath mingles in tandem, wordlessly carrying out the rhythm. For some reason, the music seems softer now, the people around us farther away or perhaps gone entirely. Then his hand steals to my lower back, drawing my hips forward. A gasp escapes me as he leads our next spin.
“August.” I shake myself from whatever daze the bonfire and music is putting me in. “We should try to get closer. The elders are on the other side of the fire.”
I bring our hands down, glancing over to their resting spot, but when I turn back to August, his gaze is only fixed on me. A look I haven’t seen in some time covers his face, but now his eyes are more hooded, more searching. The intensity almost suddenly radiating from him causes me to stumble over my own feet on the next turn. But as if he were born Frithian, dancing around the bonfire at every occasion since birth, he takes hold of me, scooping me up in another turn and holding me against him. Every bit of our purpose for being at this celebration andany protesting words die in my throat when his gaze flicks to my mouth momentarily.
