“You have twisted their minds!” Dasie accused him.
“The magic has spoken to them,” Kinrove countered. He still rested on his dais. Several of his feeders stood near him, offering food and drink. He handed a cup back to one of them, drew a shuddering breath, and spoke. “The dance is the work of the magic, Dasie. How can you think it comes from me? The magic has always spoken to me in dance, that is true. When I was younger and less filled with the magic, I danced myself, danced until my feet bled, because that was when the magic spoke most clearly to me.” He accepted a cup from one of his feeders, drained it, and handed it back. He spoke more strongly. “To each of us, the magic comes in its own way. My dance is not something I created to enslave our people. The magic gave me the dance as a way to hold the intruders at bay. And it has worked.”
“The dance must not be stopped.” I had not known that Soldier’s Boy was going to speak. I was as startled as Dasie was. Firada had Jodoli on his feet and they had begun to help him out of the pavilion. At my words, he froze and looked at me strangely. I gave an emptied cup back to Olikea. Likari was trying to hand me a piece of fruit. Soldier’s Boy made a small gesture with my hand, bidding him wait. He drew a deep breath and tried to put strength into his words. “The dance protects us. That shield must not be dropped now. It will take time for me to prepare my war.”
Even that brief run of words had tired Soldier’s Boy. Olikea handed him a cool glass; it was not water, but a very pale golden wine. He drank from it and felt some energy come back. I alone knew of Soldier’s Boy’s hidden flash of anger at what Dasie had done to him. She had drained him of the magic he had so painstakingly built up. Drained it to no good ends when it was what they all would need most in the weeks to come! But he let nothing of that show on his face as he gave the glass back to Olikea. All eyes were still on him. He knew the power of his silence and was not quick to end it, despite the anger kindling in Dasie’s eyes. He tipped the glass again, draining the last of it, and handed it back to Olikea. “I need meat,” he said quietly. “And the mushrooms that have the orange circles inside the stems. And dried cirras berries. Fresh would be better, but I do not think anyone will have those.”
“I will get them,” Olikea replied in a low voice, and rose from her place beside him.