over her?
And why did she like it that the governor made his interest in her so obvious? That he sat at the center table, clearly waiting for her? Why was she so illogical as to thrill at this tangible draw between them when she needed to keep quiet, remain hidden, disappear in darkness only to rise again with dragon fire? She could soon burn evil from the world, if only she remained hidden a little longer. A year, maybe two...
She had no answer, and in truth, she discovered she did not need one. The feelings were real, her attraction nearly overwhelming. She knew the egg enhanced her hunger, wanting to experience these new sensations, these new feelings. So the why of her choices didn't matter. Only the what.
What would she do now? Trust him with useless secrets—tell him the location of the clutch caves—in the hope of fooling Dag Racho that she gave over everything? Or say nothing, run from her attraction, and continue as if the governor had never spoken to her, never seen her, never tempted her with his words? What would she do?
She would dance.
That's all. Dance. Move. And certainly not decide. Not until later when she had time and space to sort through things. For now, she danced.
Except, it wasn't her usual dance. Her usual dance began with the beat flowing through her body until her heart picked up the tempo and the pace and the purpose of the music. But this time she felt a second beat—not just from the drums. She felt his heartbeat, his tempo, his power. And when she merged with the music, he was there as well, adding another layer to her movements, another reason for her dance.
His reason. His purpose. His presence.
She danced for him and for his seduction; there was no other way to define it. Where before she had danced for herself, for the simple joy of creating form and movement out of sound, now she danced for him, stretching her body toward him, pulling her shoulders up and away to tease him, arching her back to tempt him. And when the beat increased, so did his breath. When the music swelled, so did he. And she. Until with a final crash of cymbals, she collapsed at his feet, breathless, ecstatic, and completely overwhelmed by what she had done.
So, too, was he, for they looked at one another in mutual shock and hunger, and something she could not define.
"Well, well," drawled Monik from the side. "Little Natiya grows up."
"No," she gasped, startled by her own vehemence. She didn't want to feel lust or passion, didn't want to care for any man, woman, or child. Loved ones died, leaving her lost and alone except for the egg. But her thoughts were drowned out by the explosion of noise from the other customers. All about the room coins were drawn out of purses and pockets, hefted aloft, waved in frenzied demand. Where before they would simply have thrown them toward her, now patrons held them out, asking her to come to them, to take the coins herself.
She shook her head in confusion. They had never acted this way before. For some of the other dancers, yes. Monik, certainly. But not for her. And now she did not know what to do.
Hide.
She nodded at the egg's suggestion. It wasn't truly a suggestion, merely an echo of what she had always done. Whenever she had become confused or disoriented, she hid herself, waiting until the terror passed. It was what she did when Dag Racho came for her parents. It was what she did when customers became too demanding and followed her home. It was what she had to do now.
She scrambled backward, ignoring the men, ignoring even the governor's outstretched hand. Her only thought was escape, and so she did, not even stopping when Talned tried to help her. She dashed from the stage and then through the back door. She ran all the way to her home, slamming her feeble door behind her as she stood shaking and confused.
What was happening to her? Why was she changing? What would she do?
She had no answers to her questions, no one to guide her. And so she collapsed onto her
And why did she like it that the governor made his interest in her so obvious? That he sat at the center table, clearly waiting for her? Why was she so illogical as to thrill at this tangible draw between them when she needed to keep quiet, remain hidden, disappear in darkness only to rise again with dragon fire? She could soon burn evil from the world, if only she remained hidden a little longer. A year, maybe two...
She had no answer, and in truth, she discovered she did not need one. The feelings were real, her attraction nearly overwhelming. She knew the egg enhanced her hunger, wanting to experience these new sensations, these new feelings. So the why of her choices didn't matter. Only the what.
What would she do now? Trust him with useless secrets—tell him the location of the clutch caves—in the hope of fooling Dag Racho that she gave over everything? Or say nothing, run from her attraction, and continue as if the governor had never spoken to her, never seen her, never tempted her with his words? What would she do?
She would dance.
That's all. Dance. Move. And certainly not decide. Not until later when she had time and space to sort through things. For now, she danced.
Except, it wasn't her usual dance. Her usual dance began with the beat flowing through her body until her heart picked up the tempo and the pace and the purpose of the music. But this time she felt a second beat—not just from the drums. She felt his heartbeat, his tempo, his power. And when she merged with the music, he was there as well, adding another layer to her movements, another reason for her dance.
His reason. His purpose. His presence.
She danced for him and for his seduction; there was no other way to define it. Where before she had danced for herself, for the simple joy of creating form and movement out of sound, now she danced for him, stretching her body toward him, pulling her shoulders up and away to tease him, arching her back to tempt him. And when the beat increased, so did his breath. When the music swelled, so did he. And she. Until with a final crash of cymbals, she collapsed at his feet, breathless, ecstatic, and completely overwhelmed by what she had done.
So, too, was he, for they looked at one another in mutual shock and hunger, and something she could not define.
"Well, well," drawled Monik from the side. "Little Natiya grows up."
"No," she gasped, startled by her own vehemence. She didn't want to feel lust or passion, didn't want to care for any man, woman, or child. Loved ones died, leaving her lost and alone except for the egg. But her thoughts were drowned out by the explosion of noise from the other customers. All about the room coins were drawn out of purses and pockets, hefted aloft, waved in frenzied demand. Where before they would simply have thrown them toward her, now patrons held them out, asking her to come to them, to take the coins herself.
She shook her head in confusion. They had never acted this way before. For some of the other dancers, yes. Monik, certainly. But not for her. And now she did not know what to do.
Hide.
She nodded at the egg's suggestion. It wasn't truly a suggestion, merely an echo of what she had always done. Whenever she had become confused or disoriented, she hid herself, waiting until the terror passed. It was what she did when Dag Racho came for her parents. It was what she did when customers became too demanding and followed her home. It was what she had to do now.
She scrambled backward, ignoring the men, ignoring even the governor's outstretched hand. Her only thought was escape, and so she did, not even stopping when Talned tried to help her. She dashed from the stage and then through the back door. She ran all the way to her home, slamming her feeble door behind her as she stood shaking and confused.
What was happening to her? Why was she changing? What would she do?
She had no answers to her questions, no one to guide her. And so she collapsed onto her
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