'cause we put love first
—
Around them the dancing crowd pressed in and twirled out again after a burst of jovial laughter—but at what?
Mystified but too proud to turn and look, Aghavni plucked a champagne flute off of a passing tray and took small, measured sips. Bubbles fizzed and burst against her throat, pleasantly ticklish. She was too impatient to wait for Austin's return. When he chose to reappear again she would urge him to take her rosé for himself, and in his fumbling gratitude anticipate a dull sort of amusement.
From behind the sweet, rose-tinted glass of her drink Aghavni swept a coy eye over Anandi. The warping of the fluted glass did nothing to the emissary's image except to magnify it: clear satin skin, tasteful ocean finery, the highborn, near predatory way she held herself. She would rather die than admit it—and the Hajakhas were rarely serious except in matters of their own deaths—but Anandi elicited a fascination in her that she repressed easily enough, yet could not quite forget.
O's blithe remark, however, elicited a different sort of fascination that was so light and feathery Aghavni drowned her laugh in champagne. Wryly she looked at Anandi, this time purposeful—her smile was a reflection of O's own: lazy, indolent, forgivable.
“Oh Apolonia. Such a forgetful girl...” Anandi crooned, and Aghavni was almost dazzled by how effortlessly the blow was deflected. If it were her she could not say, with confidence, that she would have done it better. Yet still she was not fooled—there it lurked, the emissary's anger, in the glint of an eye, the tilt of a chin, the imperceptible tug on Apolonia's black locks. If O and I were proud, she thought, then Anandi is our equal in every way.
Perhaps more.
Austin did not return. Maybe he did know a hopeless cause when he saw it, and they had all discredited him like sneering stepsisters, noses turned to the skies.
“It seems you two have a lot in common." (Twin eyes, positions, titles. The way they held themselves—effortless but not at all, like ducks in a pond, their serenity a sham if only you peeked below the surface.) Aghavni regarded O with a curious half-shrug.
But Anandi spoke first. Aghavni's curls brushed her neck as she handed her glass to an idle waiter; we have similar eyes don’t we? Her spine tingled as the violinist launched into a thrilling vibrato; and at least one mutual friend. The ballroom burst into a frantic waltz, hips jostling hips, scarfs loosening around necks, sweat blurring sculpted hairlines.
A shoulder jostled into her. She stiffened and forgave it with a thin smile.
"Are you also a princess of a faraway tribe? Persecuted by distant cousins? Responsible for the survival of your species? Aquatic and carnivorous by nature?”
Suddenly Aghavni was overcome with sparkling amusement. Her teeth glinted like pearls as she reached forwards and ran her muzzle along Anandi's sleek neck. She smells of perfume, she hummed, and salt, and blood.
"I am neither carnivorous nor aquatic," she laughed, as if it were a shame. And then she spun away, far enough away to dance like a heathen (in a crowd of mystics) but not far enough to lose herself. Elegantly she danced, slim-ankled, swan-necked, in step with the raucous crowd. Sweat beaded along her pale, curling hairline. Roses in buttonholes burst into brighter bloom.
"But unfortunately, Emissary, we are more alike than you may think." The sea of glittering faces broke apart as she twirled dizzily through them, back to Anandi, back to O. The music swelled to a stop, and heaving breaths filled the ringing silence like wine in a chalice. She stopped, too, panting.
"The Hajakhas are a dying breed. My cousins—" she paused, smirking deeply, "—despise my father and in turn me. It is alright, I suppose. I am not so fond of them either."
She stepped aside as the fatigued retreated to fill their glasses, and the young snatched partners for another round. "And finally," she said coolly, "in Solterra my species is not so welcomed as yours."
Mystified but too proud to turn and look, Aghavni plucked a champagne flute off of a passing tray and took small, measured sips. Bubbles fizzed and burst against her throat, pleasantly ticklish. She was too impatient to wait for Austin's return. When he chose to reappear again she would urge him to take her rosé for himself, and in his fumbling gratitude anticipate a dull sort of amusement.
From behind the sweet, rose-tinted glass of her drink Aghavni swept a coy eye over Anandi. The warping of the fluted glass did nothing to the emissary's image except to magnify it: clear satin skin, tasteful ocean finery, the highborn, near predatory way she held herself. She would rather die than admit it—and the Hajakhas were rarely serious except in matters of their own deaths—but Anandi elicited a fascination in her that she repressed easily enough, yet could not quite forget.
O's blithe remark, however, elicited a different sort of fascination that was so light and feathery Aghavni drowned her laugh in champagne. Wryly she looked at Anandi, this time purposeful—her smile was a reflection of O's own: lazy, indolent, forgivable.
“Oh Apolonia. Such a forgetful girl...” Anandi crooned, and Aghavni was almost dazzled by how effortlessly the blow was deflected. If it were her she could not say, with confidence, that she would have done it better. Yet still she was not fooled—there it lurked, the emissary's anger, in the glint of an eye, the tilt of a chin, the imperceptible tug on Apolonia's black locks. If O and I were proud, she thought, then Anandi is our equal in every way.
Perhaps more.
Austin did not return. Maybe he did know a hopeless cause when he saw it, and they had all discredited him like sneering stepsisters, noses turned to the skies.
“It seems you two have a lot in common." (Twin eyes, positions, titles. The way they held themselves—effortless but not at all, like ducks in a pond, their serenity a sham if only you peeked below the surface.) Aghavni regarded O with a curious half-shrug.
But Anandi spoke first. Aghavni's curls brushed her neck as she handed her glass to an idle waiter; we have similar eyes don’t we? Her spine tingled as the violinist launched into a thrilling vibrato; and at least one mutual friend. The ballroom burst into a frantic waltz, hips jostling hips, scarfs loosening around necks, sweat blurring sculpted hairlines.
A shoulder jostled into her. She stiffened and forgave it with a thin smile.
"Are you also a princess of a faraway tribe? Persecuted by distant cousins? Responsible for the survival of your species? Aquatic and carnivorous by nature?”
Suddenly Aghavni was overcome with sparkling amusement. Her teeth glinted like pearls as she reached forwards and ran her muzzle along Anandi's sleek neck. She smells of perfume, she hummed, and salt, and blood.
"I am neither carnivorous nor aquatic," she laughed, as if it were a shame. And then she spun away, far enough away to dance like a heathen (in a crowd of mystics) but not far enough to lose herself. Elegantly she danced, slim-ankled, swan-necked, in step with the raucous crowd. Sweat beaded along her pale, curling hairline. Roses in buttonholes burst into brighter bloom.
"But unfortunately, Emissary, we are more alike than you may think." The sea of glittering faces broke apart as she twirled dizzily through them, back to Anandi, back to O. The music swelled to a stop, and heaving breaths filled the ringing silence like wine in a chalice. She stopped, too, panting.
"The Hajakhas are a dying breed. My cousins—" she paused, smirking deeply, "—despise my father and in turn me. It is alright, I suppose. I am not so fond of them either."
She stepped aside as the fatigued retreated to fill their glasses, and the young snatched partners for another round. "And finally," she said coolly, "in Solterra my species is not so welcomed as yours."
