The Chronicles of Faylon: Saahira | Chapter 30 (Patreon)

The glittering paper lanterns of Skolos’s Last Rest tapered off near the towers before they were swallowed by the bright white silks, verdant green banners, and sky-blue hues of Ludus’s Symphony. The god’s love of first springs, fresh ideas, and endless music flourished here in the faces of the road’s merchants and the enthusiasm of the street performers.

Instruments and performers in flowing silks danced and sang, accompanied by cheering, giggling children attempting to follow in their complex footsteps. Lord Ludus favored feats of strength, bringing blacksmiths and leatherworkers to the symphony, hammering out their own rhythm in time with the performers around them. In the alleyway between two of the shops, wooden swords clattered together as two boys a little older than Isa warred for their imaginary kings.

Saahira closed her eyes and let the sounds carry her home. The fall of the hammers recalled the memory of curling up inside Father’s forge, listening to him work while she read a book or watched the object take shape in his hands. A girl giggled nearby, and Saahira so easily imagined Isa’s sweet face, her dark hair tangled with twigs and leaves from wrestling one of the farm boys.

“I really like this road,” Saahira murmured, opening her eyes.

“Oh? Better than the others?” Cyprus guided them around a circle of people clapping in time as a man dressed as Lord Ludus expertly played his six-stringed violin.

“Well, maybe not better…” It was impossible to choose her favorite. Each one of the roads had a sense of place and instilled delightful scents and sounds and sensations that Saahira attributed to the four gods. Even the masks and paper lanterns of Skolos had turned death into a more playful affair. Like a mortal’s final game of hide and seek. But as they walked down Ludus’s Symphony… “This one just reminds me of home.”

“How so?”

Saahira shared her days in the forge and Isa’s antics with Cyprus. Gesturing to the performer, she added, “The harvest celebration feels like this. All of the music and everyone’s excitement.”

“Really? It’s this loud?”

“No! Not nearly. I think there are more people standing on this road right now than there are in all of Almaryn.” Saahira laughed. “Still, my father has two pairs of wooden swords he lends out to the farm boys to battle out their grievances. And when the sun sets, the Minister of Ludus plays his violin for the village’s Agaline. That’s when the dancing starts.”

“Is that so?” Cyprus glanced over his shoulder with a sly smile. “Well, we have the violin, and it would seem that the sun is starting to set.”

Saahira’s fingers tingled with nerves. Surely nobles had a much more dignified way of dancing than the random, ale-influenced spins and arm waves of an Almaryn tavern girl. In the fairy tales she’d read so often, nobility and royalty practiced dancing for banquets and grand balls. There had to be some grain of truth rooted in that.

“Why do you look as if you’ve just seen another phantasm?” Cyprus asked.

“I…” Searching for something, anything to get her out of dancing, she gestured toward the setting sun. “Shouldn’t we head back? I don’t want to miss curfew.”

Cyprus tilted his head. “If you’ll let me, there’s one last place I would show you before we leave.”

Saahira nodded, heart still fluttering with the thought of utterly embarrassing herself in front of him. They turned and he led her away from Ludus’s Symphony, away from the dancing and clapping, and back to the center of Endolwyn. The distant song of the violin still reached her ears as they ascended the steps of Lord Ludus’s tower.

“Is this one thirty floors of desserts?” Saahira mused.

Cyprus chuckled. “Not quite.”

Crystal doors gave way to a crisp spring morning awaiting them inside the tower. Blue panels mimicked a clear sky while uneven cuts of white hugged their edges like fluffy clouds. Green crystal wrapped around the tower’s base, matching the carpet’s grassy color, and at the center of the ceiling, an enormous, intricate chandelier with a hundred candles illuminating the room in a warm glow: the sun. The illusion made Saahira forget that outside, autumn still draped over the world’s shoulders, and the sun had begun to relinquish its hold on the sky to the moons.

Another polished podium like the one they had seen in Agaline’s tower awaited them, this one accompanied by a young woman in a long white dress embroidered with blue flowers. Her hair was braided and pinned to the nape of her neck, held by a pair of decorative sticks with matching blue flowers dangling from their edges. Behind her stood a statue of Lord Ludus and his violin, tall and lithe and smiling like the sun. And behind him, ten people—eight with instruments Saahira had never seen before—played a gentle song that fell on the ears like a playful summer breeze.

“Greetings, travelers,” the woman said. “Where will this journey take you?”

“To the top floor, please.” Cyprus passed two coins across the podium, and they were accepted with a grateful bow.

“A fine choice.” She reached a hand towards each of them with a smile. Saahira paused before taking it, bracing herself for the uncomfortable sensation of translocation, and the room melted away.

It seemed to happen much faster when she was prepared for it. The room didn’t spin for as long, and her stomach stayed out of her throat. However, the darkness clung to her vision with gusto. She blinked over and over again, her worry compounding when she couldn’t chase it away.

“I will give your eyes time to adjust before I leave you,” the woman said through the darkness, hand still in hers.

The fear that she’d lost her vision subsided, replaced by an entirely new anxiety. Why were they in such a dark room together?

She blinked again, and the room gradually came into view. The crystal panels here were all black, save for two circles—one red and one blue—streaming their gentle light over the empty ebony floors. Another blink revealed a sea of glittering stars, hanging in the air independent of the panels, as if she could reach up and pluck one from their number.

“Saahira? Can you see?” Cyprus asked.

“I think so.” Saahira withdrew her hand from the woman’s, but Cyprus’s fingers remained twined with hers.

“Very good. I will return for you when your time is over.” Without any further explanation, the woman vanished.

What are we doing here, Cyprus? Searching his face revealed nothing. Her stomach was ready to leap into her throat after all.

“As you move up the tower, the floors represent a different time of day,” Cyprus explained softly, even though they were the only two people in the room. “Morning on the first floor, midnight on the last.”

“So the blue and red circles are the moons,” Saahira murmured, afraid to disturb the space between them.

“Yes. And, as you said, dancing is for after the sun sets.”

Saahira’s breath caught in her throat. The heavy stones that settled in her chest were the only things keeping her stomach from rising. All she had to give him was the truth. “Please, I can’t dance. Not well.”

“You say that, but this week has proven that you’re a quick study.”

What if she looked foolish? What if she disappointed him? What if… “What if I step on your shoes?”

“My boots can take it.”

“And if someone else comes in here and I crash into them?” Anxious words tumbled from her lips, syllables awkwardly connected by her nerves.

“We have this chamber to ourselves.”

His answer wasn’t nearly as reassuring as she’d hoped, and she was running out of questions to ask.

Cyprus’s arm caught the soft red glow of the Vermillion moon as he reached for Saahira’s empty hand and brought it to his shoulder. He was warm and sturdy beneath her palm. Without her permission, her thumb lightly trailed over the line of his collarbone beneath his vest. She caught herself before she reached the edge, silently reprimanding her hand for its curiosity as she snapped her thumb against her forefinger.

Whether he was unbothered or hadn’t noticed, Cyprus said nothing as he rested his hand on her waist. He gently pulled her closer. Close enough that her skirt brushed against his legs. Close enough that a butterfly couldn’t have passed between them. Close enough that she was afraid to speak above a whisper. “Cyprus, what if I fall?”

“Then I will catch you.”

Saahira’s hands felt clammy. Her thumb ached to map more of his chest. He raised their clasped hands, and she glanced from side to side. “I-I don’t hear any music.”

“You will.” Pale blue light illuminated his features, giving his eyes an almost ethereal glow, and he smiled. “Let’s start slowly. Mirror your feet to mine.”

Cyprus stepped backward with his right leg, and Saahira followed suit with her left. When their feet touched the ground, a circle of light sprang up around their ankles, carrying with it a pure, lovely note of music. Saahira’s eyes widened as her attention snapped to the glow, but Cyprus was already moving onto the next step. She followed. Another step, another circle of warm, white light, another note. Then a third. The song was theirs. Theirs to determine the tempo and intensity. Waiting beneath their feet as if Lord Ludus had seeded the notes into the floor.

Breathtaking magic.

Cyprus’s movements were so fluid and sure. Meanwhile, it felt as though she was moving a pair of tree trunks beneath her, her spine as rigid as her legs.

Fears came to fruition as Saahira maneuvered her right foot too quickly and her step landed squarely on top of Cyprus’s boot. Embarrassment and dismay culminated in her frustrated sigh.

Cyprus stopped and chuckled. Afraid to meet his eyes, she looked down. Gods, there wasn’t much space between them at all. She yearned to pull away. To wait for the attendant to come back and save her from humiliating herself further. But he held fast and tipped his head toward his shoe.

“Hey, see? My boot is just fine.” He squeezed her hand. “Relax. Listen to the music as you’re moving.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know. Take a deep breath.”

Saahira frowned, but she did as he suggested. Her chest brushed against his, and she exhaled a little quicker than she’d intended. Maybe he hadn’t noticed. Relax.

“One more time?” Cyprus asked.

Another breath. “All right… One more time,” she agreed.

They stepped and stepped and stepped, and a new song bloomed in their wake. This melody sounded just like the one that the minister had played during the last harvest celebration. Fast, lively, pulsing in Saahira’s ears with her heartbeat. A singing violin, a merry drum, the quick breaths of a pan flute.

No, this was absolutely the same song that she and Isa had danced to beneath the Azure moon.

She couldn’t hide her smile when her feet found the familiar rhythm, guided by Cyprus’s easy steps as he led her across the glowing tiles with practiced certainty. A giddy freedom that only came from dancing trickled into her limbs, unlocking her stiff legs and setting her steps alight.

The hand on Saahira’s waist shifted to her lower back, guiding her faster as their dance sprouted a melody, grew a harmony, harvested an orchestra.

It all suddenly felt so fluid, so natural. Like breathing. A long string of light like the tail of a shooting star followed in their path, reflected in the black crystal panels on the walls.

As the song crescendoed, Cyprus swept her around in a quick arc. She leaned her head back and watched the moons and stars swirl above them, a breathless laugh escaping her chest. Her braid swung with the momentum, and her skirt billowed around her legs.

She straightened and fell into step with Cyprus once more. Their eyes locked, and he smiled. He really smiled. It was warm and handsome and chased the shadows from his eyes. Her heart skipped. Joy swelled in her chest.

They spun and glided as one, their rhythm perfect, not a single note out of place. What had been such a dark, silent chamber on their entrance was now filled with stunning illumination and sound. So much life between them. Their own festival.

The final notes of the violin trilled in Saahira’s ears, and their feet came to a synchronized halt, the toes of her slippers touching his boots. Adrenaline thrummed against her ears, and excitement bubbled in her stomach. Cyprus’s eyes never left hers. His smile gentled but never wavered. They’d come even closer somehow. The scent of his skin filled her lungs, and the heat of his breath brushed against her lips. Her thumb embarked on its second adventure across the line of his collarbone, going so far as to fall into the divot below his throat.

Feelings she didn’t have words for projected a hundred images in her mind. The sensation of his lips against her hand, except he continued to move up her arm, to her shoulder, her throat. It was a desire much different than when the choir crept into her thoughts. Something far more complex than what she’d done on her own.

“Saahira.” Cyprus released her hand and traced her cheek with his fingertips. “You…”

Her heart sped and her eyebrows raised. The fingers against her back curled more tightly against her dress. Was it terrible how badly she wished that he’d kiss her?

But when the shadows returned to his eyes, and his lips reformed to the carefully guarded expression he always wore, an ache needled her chest. He lowered his arm and dropped his gaze. “You are a wonderful dancer.”

Saahira took a step back. The ache branched into a dozen hairline cracks, each one a cruel voice of doubt. You’re only his friend, tavern girl. “O-Only because I had an excellent partner,” she replied, blinking away the remnants of light spots from her vision. She didn’t think they were supposed to burn. What makes you think he would want anything more? “Thank you for bringing me here.”

Turning away, Saahira touched the comb still fastened securely in her hair from the Tokiatsu Den and warred against the painful cracks with logic. You’re not being fair to him. They’d only known each other for six days. There was so much about him that she still didn’t know.

A warm hand slid into hers and held tightly to her fingers. For a time, Cyprus stood beside her in silence, looking between her and the enchanted sky. A soundless conversation floated between them while their gazes searched for anything but each other. He needed time. She needed patience. The ache dissipated, and the cracks mended. But before a final resolution between them was reached, their attendant returned to bring them back down to the first floor.

Even as they pushed through the patrons of the Swirling Cups to dig Maurice free from a heap of cards, Cyprus’s hand never left hers.