Wind Over Bone: The Estralony Cycle #2 (Young Adult Fantasy Romance) Read Online Free Page B

and she only saw the line of a hollow cheek, the glint of an eye. They began dancing––the music was in three, and slow.
    Sarid wished only for it to be over. The tempo picked up, and the man led her on, ignoring her frantic eyes, her fumbling boots. She tripped; he dragged her feet over the floor. She was frightened now, out of breath, and she looked at Yoffin for help. The little man was oblivious, tapping his feet and drinking his wine.
    “This alcove isn’t big enough for us.” The man spun Sarid under his arm, cracked her like a whip.
    “ On the contrary”––she tried to pull her hands away––“I can’t keep my feet as it is.”
    “ Then I’ll keep them for you.” He pulled her beneath the curtain.
    They were in the main hall now, coursing through gowns and coats, lace and satin. She looked down at her drab rags. The front of her skirts hung low––she saw the wrinkled tip of a sausage. She imagined them spilling over the floor.
    “I am in no fit state to be seen.” Sarid tugged her feet back; he dragged her forward.
    “ And these people are in no fit state to notice you.” He led her across the floor, pulling her up when she fell. “Unless I want them to.”
    “ Where are we going?” Sarid shouted.
    “ To see to Sir Cavidof.”
    Sarid had heard of him. Sir Cavidof brought his six mastiffs everywhere with him. Even to dances. Complaints were few: the dogs were big, mean looking, and impeccably mannered.
    It was a trick, a sabotage. She jerked back, tripping over the hem of her skirts, crushing the sausages. The spicy smell came up around her. People turned to look, some of them pinching their noses.
    Black shapes moved like shadows around skirts, thumped against legs. “Damn those stinking shits,” said someone. Three of them found Sarid.
    They mashed their faces against her, and nipped at and slobbered over her skirts. “Hi, Lotni! Heel, Cortsa!” called a gruff voice. When Sarid tried to tear away they grew more excited, flinging webs of saliva over their deep chests, jumping up on her.
    Sarid’s dance partner melted into the crowd, which had formed a tight ring around her. Three more dogs squeezed through the people and threw themselves on her, and Sarid collapsed. They snuffed and nosed around her skirts, and tore the sausages free. They fought, and the crowd laughed, and a big man with a face all wrinkled in a grimace shoved through the crowd and beat the dogs back with his cane. He apologized over and over, looking more ready to cry than Sarid. He held out a hand. She stared at it.
    Her eyes moved past the hand––she saw Rischa, jacket half off, hair red in the candlelight. He looked as though one of the dogs had vomited on his shoes. He turned to Sarid’s tall, dark dance partner and said something she couldn’t hear.
    Her shock turned into deep, deep mortification. She picked herself up and looked round. The room seemed much bigger than it had been; it waved and rippled as though underwater. She bit her cheek so hard her eyes watered. And then she ran, pushing bodies aside, ignoring the hisses. She ran until she was outside the hall.
    She kept running and reached her fireplace. She crawled through and didn’t get up from the floor. Her gasps became sobs, angry sobs, and she glared at the ceiling. Gryka walked through the fireplace, looking embarrassed. She licked Sarid’s sticky face and tried to fit her gigantic self into Sarid’s lap. Sarid laughed at this, and they slept there on the floor.
     
    ***
     
    For four days Sarid and Gryka rose at dawn, spent the day outdoors, and slipped back inside well after sundown. Sarid was eager to avoid people, particularly Rischa, and the cold didn’t bother her. She was able to clothe herself in warm layers both physical and magical. And she rather liked the cold––a pristine, equilibratory state unsullied by the noise and fervor of warm weather.
    So it was by perverse happenstance that, at dawn on the fifth day, as soon as she