Vassal Sterling D'Este (top 10 books of all time .TXT) 📖

brushing against Tristan’s nose, mouth inches from his, breathing him in. Consuming him. She knew him.

“You—”

༄

“Stop!” Delyth called, her voice loud and cracking. Almost immediately, Etienne’s hand was on her arm, tugging her back. Had she stepped forward?

“Don’t,” he said. He looked like a coward. “You’ll piss her off. You can see that blizzard as well as I can, can’t you? She could bring the mountain down on our heads.”

“But that’s Alphonse’s—”

“I know.” Etienne was running his hands through his hair. “But it might not go far and—and we could stop them then…”

So she was just supposed to watch some man paw at her little bird?

Anger was dimming the edges of Delyth’s vision, much like it did when her skin came into contact with Calamity. Only now the sword still lay sheathed in their tent. She shoved away from Etienne and stepped forward again, but for once, he was faster.

“Enyo,” he said. “Will you teach us the dance? To—to honor you?”

Tristan shot the mage a shriveling look, tearing his eyes away from Alphonse’s lips. “You? You’re not worthy.”

⚄

The flicker of familiarity, of realization, faded in her eyes as the others spoke, and Tristan’s grip tightened. Tried to hold her attention. Only it was gone, the moment passed. She swallowed and looked away, remaining in his grasp, practically purring as she smoothed her thumb over his throat possessively.

“Will you dance, too, Ba’oto?” she asked, her voice silken and raw all at once. The storm outside sputtered slightly, trees straightening their branches in relief.

“The priestess won’t know the old dances.” Tristan’s voice was assured, for all that he should have known less of Enyo’s time than one raised by the temple. He didn’t care.

For a second…  just the barest moment… Enyo had recognized him.

How long had it been since someone had known him?

It was getting harder to hide his true nature. To remember why he wanted to. And now, Enyo was looking away, dismissing him again like he was the equal of the barbarian priestess.

Delyth’s eyes were on him, though, not Enyo. She glanced at his hands, where he held the Goddess. Her face, still red from anger, showed a struggle for calm. She took a deep breath.

“Yes, Enyo. I will dance.”

Fuck her to the Cursed Realms. She only agreed to separate him from his old friend, out of jealousy for a simple, mortal girl.

“What do you know of it?” he demanded, his face uncharacteristically dark.

She swallowed. He could see desperation now, pathetic and human.

“I know it looks like flying,” she said. “All wild abandon. It calls to the wild in me too.”

✶

Enyo tsked at Tristan, patting his cheek affectionately before climbing down out of his arms, her thighs releasing about his hips. Etienne sighed in relief despite his earlier words to Delyth. The dance had been graphic in both violence and sex.

“I was just starting to forgive you, Crael, don’t make me regret it already. Your jealousy is tedious,” the Goddess said, stroking him affectionately before turning away.

Enyo approached Delyth and peered up into her eyes with an appraising manner as she reached to take Delyth’s hand, then dropped it, wincing. Etienne furrowed his brows, confused. Since when did Enyo have any problem touching Delyth?

“I will teach the mage, Crael, you may teach the warrior.” Without a backward glance, she turned and sauntered over to Etienne, suddenly nervous about his new dance instructor.

“The first thing about the duality dance you must embrace is the music.” She placed her hand over his heart, tapping it in a simple and addictive rhythm. One two three. One two three. One two three… four… and five. “If you always carry the music, then your feet will never get lost. Do you understand, mage?”

Etienne nodded uncomfortably, mentally repeating the rhythm. This was a far cry better than being on the other side of a raging Enyo, but he didn’t feel as though he was very far away from that fate either. It had been a complicated sequence of moves, and he felt as though disappointing the Goddess would be dangerous.

Over her head, Etienne could see Tristan nodding in agreement. “Did you hear that?” he barked at Delyth, who refused to answer him. Her face was stony, her arms crossed over her chest.

“A simple nod will do,” Tristan said. “If you can’t manage ‘Yes, Master Dancer.’”

Delyth rolled her eyes, but it didn’t seem to phase Tristan. He mimed the first couple steps of the dance with insulting slowness. “Now, you. And keep the rhythm. It's the most important part.”

Delyth started the motion a little awkwardly, and Etienne grimaced, turning his eyes back to Enyo. “Is that the same for both partners?”

“It is, and it is not. This is not a formal dance dictated by the human courts. It’s a dance of life. My life is different from yours. Your life is different from hers. We all walk the same path: birth, youth, maturity, decline, frail haggard age, and death. How we carry ourselves on the path, however…” She hopped and skipped the footwork, fast and joyful. She swayed and dipped. Slow and deliberate. She teetered and stumbled. Morose and clumsy.

“I cannot tell you what lies in your heart, mage. Only you can tell me. Show us, with your dance. What does your heart demand you to do?”

༄

Delyth stopped abruptly, turning to look at Enyo while she instructed Etienne. She cocked her head to the side for a moment, then turned back and scowled at the rogue.

“That makes so much more sense than following your steps,” she told him bluntly. “How am I supposed to be free while pretending to be like you?”

She glanced back over towards Enyo only to see Etienne swallow. He looked as though the idea that this wouldn’t just be a feat of memorization was thoroughly unwelcome.

Delyth snickered a little maliciously, her temper foul. Did they not teach dancing in fancy schools?

Tristan was glaring at her. “Fine. Since you don’t need any more instruction, let’s dance.”

Delyth faced off with him, her shoulders tense. She